Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

35. Quinn

35

QUINN

The truck is just a few yards in front of me, completely filling my vision. I know in an instant I won’t be able to stop. Thinking fast, I twist the handlebars, laying my bike down and sliding under the semi’s trailer. It’s a risky move, but it’s my only option if I want to survive the next few seconds.

Time seems to slow as I feel the bike slip out from under me. My heart is in my throat, but I force myself to relax, to go with the slide. My clothing takes the brunt, the rough asphalt scraping against me as I tumble forward.

I roll, feeling the bike’s engine grind to a halt as it skids away. My skin stings, but I can barely feel the road rash on my arms and legs thanks to the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m up on my feet in an instant, more pissed off than hurt.

“Goddamn it!” I curse, spitting out the taste of bile that’s risen in my throat.

I whirl around, knowing we’ve lost our chance. The stalker has disappeared. A-fucking-gain.

I take a second to catch my breath, shaking off the shock of the near collision. The sound of running feet snaps me back into action.

“You okay, Quinn?” Atlas’s voice cuts through the haze in my mind as he jogs up, his face creased with concern.

Nico and Killian appear at my side a moment later, their eyes sweeping over me, taking in the fresh scrapes and torn clothing.

“You took a hell of a spill there,” Killian adds, his usually calm demeanor ruffled.

“I’m fine,” I snap, a bit more harshly than I mean to. I take a steadying breath and offer a small smile. “Really. Just a few scratches. Bike took the hit for me.”

I approach the bike, wincing as I take in the damage. The frame is bent, the paint scraped away in places, revealing the metal beneath. It’ll need a full work-over, but it’s still rideable.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I say, swinging my leg over the bike and kickstarting the engine. It roars to life, sputtering a little but still running strong.

The driver climbs down from his cab, red-faced and yelling. I don’t catch his words, but his meaning is clear: he’s pissed, and he wants us to stick around. Killian and Atlas exchange a glance, and Nico shouts something back to the driver that I don’t quite catch, but they follow my lead.

We don’t need the cops showing up, asking questions we don’t want to answer.

I nod to the men, and we peel out in a cloud of smoke, tires squealing as we speed back the way we came. In the distance, sirens blare, and I bet the driver’s made that call. Too bad for him, we’re already long gone on our way back to the shop.

Stepping into the shop, I immediately sense the buzz of energy. Everyone is on high alert, their eyes flitting to the door as we enter.

“We need to up the security,” I announce to the room, my voice steady. “I want eyes and ears on everything. Someone is watching us, and they’re relentless.”

Nods greet my words, and I see the determination in their eyes. We’ve been through a lot together, and they know I wouldn’t ask for more if it weren’t necessary.

“Got eyes on the street,” one of my oldest members, a guy named Chop, chimes in, his deep voice rumbling. “No strange activity so far, but we’ll keep a sharp lookout.”

I send him a grateful look. Chop is our muscle and our guardian angel, always keeping watch while we work.

“Good. Thanks,” I say with a small smile. “I want us all to stick together, no lone wolves. If anyone sees anything suspicious, report it immediately.”

“What about the client appointments?” a young recruit named Phoenix asks, brows knit together.

It’s a good question. We can’t afford to turn away business, but safety comes first.

“We’ll keep the clients flowing through as usual, but only familiar faces for now,” I suggest, pacing as I think aloud. “If we haven’t done work for them, they’d better have a referral from someone who knows us really fucking well.”

There are murmurs of agreement, and I can see the tension ease from their shoulders. This group has been like a family for years, and they know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect us.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” I say with a nod. “Stay vigilant, and keep your wits about you.”

My people disperse, returning to their stations and clients. I take a moment to breathe, rallying my thoughts before the Princes and I take off back home.

When we’re finally back at my place, I pace the living room, too wired to sit still. The events of the day play over and over in my mind like a bad action movie.

“This stalker situation is getting out of hand,” I mutter, raking my hands through my hair in frustration.

“We’ll figure it out,” Atlas assures me, his gaze steady. “We always do.”

I know he’s right, but that doesn’t shake the feeling of being hunted. I hate that we’re on the back foot, reacting to this mysterious player’s moves. It’s like a game of chess, and we’re always one step behind with half as many pieces on the board.

The tension in the air is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

I turn to Nico. “When is the last time you’ve heard from The Saint?”

“Bastard hasn’t contacted me in weeks. He’s onto us, I’m sure of it.”

Atlas runs a hand over his face, his usual calm demeanor cracking. “Our bluff didn’t work. He has to know we’re not spying on Quinn anymore.”

“Then we’re fucked,” Killian mutters, standing stone-still in the corner. “He’s probably the one stalking us now. We’ve lost our edge.”

I feel a surge of anger and frustration. We thought we were being clever, playing both sides, but now it’s all falling apart. The Saint is steps ahead of us, and we’re fumbling in the dark.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, barely keeping my growing anger and desperation in check. “We can’t just sit here waiting for him to make his next move.”

Nico shakes his head, his eyes dark with worry. “I don’t know. I’ve tried reaching out through our usual channels, but it’s radio silence. He’s cut us off completely.”

“He’s watching us some other way,” Atlas adds, his jaw clenched. “We need to figure out how, and fast.”

I pace the length of the living room, frustration mounting. I need answers, or at least some hint of good news. Actionable news.

Fucking something.

Reaching for my phone, I call Willow, hoping she has some news for me.

It rings a few times before she picks up, her voice weary. “Hey, Quinn. What’s up?”

“Hey. How’s it going? Any word on tracking down The Saint?” I ask, my voice tight with anticipation.

“Victor’s been working on it, but I don’t think he’s found much so far. He’s still on it though. This Saint guy is like a ghost.”

I grit my teeth. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do,” she assures me.

I hesitate, then decide to take a chance. “Hey, Willow? You think Victor could do some digging into something else for me? I need info, the kind that wouldn’t be easy for me to get on my own.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “What do you need?”

I lower my voice out of habit, even though all of my men obviously know everything I do. “Ask him to do some digging on the Dark Lotus Syndicate. I need to know everything I can find out about them.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line, and I can almost see Willow’s eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s this about?”

“I have reason to believe my father was connected to them,” I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “I need to know more. They’re some kind of powerful mafia group, but that’s all I’ve got to go on.”

“Shit,” she murmurs. “Of course, we’ll help. Hang on, let me put Victor on.”

There’s muffled noise, and then Victor’s voice comes on the line, businesslike as always. “What can I do for you?”

I explain what I need as he types away, then wait for what feels like forever while he works his hacking magic.

“Hm. I’m already turning up some interesting stuff,” he says, after several long seconds of excruciating silence. “This organization is tight-knit, and they’ve got operations all over the world. Your father was mixed up with some heavy hitters.”

“Do you recognize the name Malcolm Mercer?” I offer the name I discovered earlier, praying I’m wrong.

“Gimme a sec.” There’s another pause, and then Victor’s voice turns deadly serious. “Yeah. Malcolm Mercer. It looks like he’s high up in the Dark Lotus Syndicate. Very high up. He’s one of the leaders.”

“What else can you tell me?” I ask. Knowing his skills, he’s already dug up quite a bit in just a few minutes.

Victor clears his throat. “Doesn’t seem to be a family-run mafia organization. More like a collective. People join, they’re not born into it. Kind of like… a society, almost. They abide by a set of rules and oaths, and in turn, they get the benefits of the organization’s resources and connections.”

“Go on,” I prompt, knowing there’s more.

“Well, from what I can gather, it’s not a group to be taken lightly. They’re very loyal to each other, but they’re also… ruthless. If you cross them, or break their rules, you pay the price.”

I think back to what Ambrose said, about the Syndicate being dangerous and shady. It seems Victor’s findings are confirming that.

“Can you confirm that? Any instances of their retaliation?” I ask, steeling myself for the answer.

Another long pause punctuated by some typing. “There’s one incident I can see where a member is suspected to have been killed by the others. He allegedly broke one of their rules, and his body was found a few days later. It was made to look like an accident, but…”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “But they made an example of him.”

“Yeah. That’s how I’m reading it.”

Joining this organization sounds like signing your life away, and the price for membership could be your life. The fact that my father never joined, in spite of apparently being close to a leader, gives me serious pause.

I end the call with Victor, promising to be in touch soon. The Princes are silent, waiting for me to fill them in.

“So, my dad was close to the Syndicate, but he never joined,” I say, pacing the room as I think aloud. “And Victor is confirming what Ambrose told us—the Syndicate is dangerous as hell. You piss them off, they come for you.”

Atlas nods. “So assuming we can find the marker, you’ve gotta use it, right? That kind of power? Those connections? It could solve all our problems.”

Killian nods in agreement. “This Dark Lotus Syndicate is apparently no joke. With that kind of backing, Enigma would be untouchable and Carnage could rebuild everything we lost and then some.”

I can’t deny the appeal. The thought of having that kind of influence, that kind of protection, is tempting. It could be the answer to all our problems, a way to make things right after what I did to their clubhouse.

But before I can voice my agreement, Nico speaks up, his voice quiet but firm. “I think you should destroy it.”

The room instantly goes silent. I stare at him, sure I’ve misheard. “What?”

Nico meets my gaze, his expression resolute. “You heard me. I think you should destroy it.”

“But why?” I ask, stunned. “This could be our ticket out of this mess. It could fix everything.”

Nico shakes his head. “It’s not worth the risk. As long as that marker exists, you’ll never be safe. The Saint, the Syndicate, who knows who else—they’ll all be after you. Destroying it is the only way to get them to back off.”

I’m speechless. Nico is choosing my safety over his own interests, over the potential gain for his club. It’s a gesture I never expected.

“He’s right,” Atlas says, surprising me even more. “Using the marker might solve some problems, but it’ll create a whole lot more. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder, vicious.”

Killian nods slowly. “Yeah, now that I think about it, they’ve got a point. Better to cut our losses and keep you safe.”

I look around at these men, these friends who’ve become like family. Their concern for my well-being touches me deeply.

“So we find it and destroy it,” I say, just to make sure we’re all in agreement. “And hope that puts an end to this whole mess?”

“Sounds like that’s the plan,” Nico nods, along with the other two men.

I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Even after everything, these men have my back. It’s a stark contrast to the tense and uncertain atmosphere that’s been hanging over us lately.

“Are you sure? It could set you guys back even more,” I ask, referring to the clubhouse. I don’t want to keep reminding them of their losses, but it’s been weighing on my mind.

Nico waves off my concerns. “Fuck the clubhouse. We’ll rebuild, but that’s not the point. The point is, we don’t need the Syndicate for that. Together, we’re stronger than any single gang in this city. We don’t need their help.”

“We’ve already shown what we can do,” Atlas adds, his voice steady. “We took down the Young Killers, and we can keep taking their territory, bit by bit. We can use this to send a message.”

I nod, feeling a surge of determination.

Killian speaks up, a similar sort of determined edge to his voice. “Exactly. We don’t need some marker or shady connections to the Syndicate. Our strength is in our numbers, and together, we can make sure no one fucks with us again.”

The weight of his words settles on me, and I realize they’re right. This thing between us is real. It’s not just about survival and revenge anymore. it’s a partnership.

“Okay,” I nod, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “Let’s do it. Together.”

“Damn right,” Nico agrees, a grin spreading across his face.

Atlas pumps his fist. “No more bullshit, no more territory disputes. Just us, running the show.”

Nico’s face softens, and he nods. “Exactly. We take out the competition one by one while we get stronger and stronger. We’ll show this city what we’re made of.”

We fall into an easy discussion of what the future could hold, talking about the territory we could claim and the influence we could wield. It feels good to dream, to imagine a future where we’re not constantly looking over our shoulders.

After a while, Nico checks his watch and interrupts our daydreaming. “We should head out. The guys are expecting us at the new clubhouse.”

“You coming, vicious?” Atlas asks, eyes shining with excitement. It’s obvious this is a big deal to them, this new clubhouse represents a fresh start even if it’s just a temporary location.

I nod, feeling more a part of this team than ever. “Yeah, let’s go.”