Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

36. Atlas

36

ATLAS

Quinn’s bike is still banged up from her crash, so I talked her into riding with me over to the new clubhouse. As she settles in behind me, her arms wrap around my waist, and her body fits flush against mine. I feel her breath on my back and her chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.

Jesus, am I really supposed to concentrate on driving like this? When all I want to do is pull her right back off this bike and fuck her until the sun comes up?

I start the engine, and the deep rumble vibrates between us. As we pull away, I feel her relax, her body molding to mine as we weave through the city streets. I take a route that lets me open up the throttle, feeling her press closer with each surge of speed.

“You okay back there?” I shout over the wind, already knowing the answer.

“Better than okay!” her voice is eager, excited even. “This is a perfect night!”

I can’t help but smile. I squeeze the throttle a little harder, pushing the bike faster. The wind whips at us, but she holds on tight, her body moving with mine as I lean into the turns.

We fly down the road, and it hits me—this is what I want. Not the bike, not the speed, but her. Quinn. This feeling of having her with me, a part of me. I’m done fighting it.

Too soon, we pull up in front of the clubhouse. I kill the engine, and for a moment, we just sit there. I don’t want this ride to end, but more than that, I don’t want to let her go.

Slowly, she slides her arms from my waist and climbs off the bike. Her eyes are sparkling, and she bites her lip as she meets my gaze.

I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her close. Our bodies press together, and I can feel her heart racing. “Thanks for the ride,” she says.

There’s no reluctance. No hesitation. No smart-ass commentary.

“Anytime,” I answer, never meaning it more than in this moment.

I swing my leg off the bike, keeping my eyes locked on Quinn. The world around us fades away, and for a moment, it’s just us. The chaos, the danger, the unanswered questions—they’re all still there, but they feel distant, less pressing.

As we walk toward the clubhouse, we fall in step between Nico and Killian. Quinn is right here between us, safe and protected. It feels right. Natural. Like this is how it was meant to be.

The moment we step through the doors of the new clubhouse, the noise hits me. It’s not as big or as nice as our old place, but it’s alive with energy. There’s been a good turnout, and the buzz of conversation and laughter surrounds us.

“There they are!”

One of our guys, Jaden, rushes over, a wide grin splitting his face. He slaps me on the back, then turns to Killian and Nico, nodding in respect. Even Quinn gets a respectful tip of the head. Seems like some of our crew are coming around to the idea of an alliance with Enigma.

The room is a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Our core group is here, but I also spot new recruits, with their eager, untested faces. It’s still a far cry from the old days, but at least we’re rebuilding.

“Hey, glad you guys made it,” Jaden says.

Nico nods. “We have a lot to celebrate tonight. This place might not be as fancy as our last clubhouse, but it’s ours.”

He’s right. The new clubhouse is definitely a step down. It’s smaller, the walls are dingy, and the furniture is worn. But it’s a base, a place to call our own. And it sends a message to any other gangs thinking of muscling in on our territory. We’re not backing down. We’re still here, and we’re not going anywhere.

As we move farther into the room, I feel a sense of belonging. This is my family, my crew. They look to me, to Killian, and Nico for leadership, for protection. Even with our reduced numbers, we stand strong.

Someone puts a drink in my hand, and I take a long swig, feeling the burn of whiskey slide down my throat. The music blasts, and I spot a few of our girls dancing, their faces lit up without a care in the world.

Scanning the room, I spot her.

Zoey.

She’s standing near the back and laughing at something Stefan has said. He’s one of our prospects, a real brown-noser, always trying to impress. I never paid him much mind, but right now, I’m grateful to him. She’s smiling and seems to be having a good time. And for once, it seems like she’s not looking at me.

I’ve been trying to put space between us, and now it seems like she’s finally moving on. With this thought, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Seeing her with someone else—it’s almost a relief.

The night wears on, and I find myself relaxing for the first time in days. Quinn sticks close to us, her presence a constant reminder of why we’re fighting so hard. She fits in almost seamlessly, laughing at Nico’s jokes and matching Killian drink for drink.

I catch myself glancing at Zoey once or twice, but there’s no jealousy, no regret. Just a sense of closure. She seems happy, and I’m glad for her.

After a while, I excuse myself to grab another drink. The makeshift bar is crowded, so I have to elbow my way through. I’m just about to order when I feel a hand on my arm.

“Atlas.”

I turn to find Zoey standing there, her eyes glassy from the alcohol. She sways slightly, steadying herself against me.

“Hey, Zoey. You good?”

“You’ve been watching me all night,” she says, her voice low and husky. “I can tell you’re jealous of Stefan.”

I blink, caught off guard by her words. “What? No, I?—”

She presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. “It’s okay, Atlas. I still want you, not Stefan. We can make this work.”

I gently remove her hand, shaking my head. “Zoey, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink. I’m not?—”

“Don’t deny it,” she interrupts, leaning in closer. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You can’t hide it.”

I try to step back, to put some distance between us, but she follows, her eyes narrowing.

“I know you still want me,” she slurs, and I can smell the liquor on her breath. “I see the way you look at me, Atlas. You can’t hide it.”

I shake my head, a wave of frustration washing over me. “You’re wrong. I’m not?—”

“Don’t lie to me!” She grabs my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin. “I know it’s because of her.” She jerks her head in Quinn’s direction. “You think I don’t see the way you two look at each other?”

“It’s not like that,” I start, lowering my voice, hoping to keep this between us. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Zoey repeats, her eyes flashing with anger. “Doesn’t seem very fucking complicated to me. You’re saying you don’t want me because of Quinn. You’d rather have Nico’s sloppy seconds.”

I flinch at her choice of words. “That’s not what I said. And it’s not just about Quinn. You and I—we’re not good for each other, Zoey. It’s time we both moved on.”

She glares at me, her face a mask of hurt and anger. “So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away? After everything we had?”

I open my mouth to respond, to deny it, but before I can, Quinn is here, sliding between us.

“Zoey,” she says, her voice calm and steady. “Atlas is spoken for.”

Zoey’s eyes narrow, and she turns to Quinn, her brow furrowed. “By who?”

Quinn’s smile is almost predatory as she tugs down her shirt slightly, revealing three tattooed marks just above the full swell of her breast. One made by me, one by Killian, and one by Nico. Marks that brand her as ours.

“By me,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Just like I’m spoken for by him… and by Killian and Nico too. I guess I’ll need to get some extra rings for my finger, won’t I? Or maybe,” she muses, reaching up to unhook her small hoop earrings, “I’ll make do with these for now.” With a grin, she slides the earrings onto her finger.

I can’t help but smile. Possessive pride surges through me as I realize what she’s done—publicly claimed us as hers. And she handled Zoey with practiced ease.

Zoey’s eyes go wide as she takes in the marks, and her face twists with jealousy and anger. The reality of the situation has to be hitting her now. Things between us are more serious than she thought.

Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Finally, she just shakes her head, a sour look on her face, and turns on her heel, stalking off into the crowd.

I step closer to Quinn, backing her against the wall, my eyes locked on hers. I lean in, my voice a low murmur. “Seems like someone’s feeling possessive.”

Her eyes dart to my lips and then back up to meet my gaze. “Seems like it.”

I smirk, my body pressing against hers as I crowd her in. “You know I like that, right? You staking your claim.”

She bites her lip, her pupils blown wide as I nudge her knees apart with my leg, moving closer. The wall is now the only thing keeping her upright.

“Do you?” she breathes.

“Yeah, I do,” I growl, my hand sliding into her hair, fisting the locks and tilting her head back. “Makes me want to pin you down and show you exactly what you mean to me.”

Her eyes glitter with challenge. “Is that so?”

There’s a hungry spark in her eyes that matches the one in my chest. She wants this, needs this, as much as I do.

“You think you can handle it, vicious? What if I decide to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here in front of everyone—right up against this wall?”

She doesn’t flinch, her eyes steady on mine. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

It’s a dare, a provocation, and my body reacts instantly. I slam her back against the wall, one hand gripping her throat as my lips crush down on hers. She moans, her hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer as my tongue tangles with hers.

This kiss is pure fire, fueled by the pent-up desire and the tension of the night. I taste the sweetness of the alcohol on her lips, feel the heat of her skin beneath my palms.

Pulling back, I nip at her bottom lip, relishing the small noise of longing she makes. “You’re mine, vicious. Ours. Don’t ever forget that.”

She shakes her head, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “How could I?”

I’m tempted to do more—if not here against the wall, then at least in a darkened corner somewhere.

But not tonight.

Tonight is for all of Carnage, and I owe it to my brothers and sisters to be here with them.

Quinn and I rejoin the party, and for a while, we get swept up in the chaos of the celebration. Music blares, and drinks flow freely as our crew lets loose, celebrating our new home base.

The night wears on, and the whiskey seems to fuel the anger and resentment that have been simmering just under the surface since our old clubhouse burned down. The target of everyone’s pent-up rage?

Silas.

Yeah, he’s long dead, but that hasn’t seemed to stop anyone from dreaming up some pretty brutal punishments for him.

“I’d chain him up,” Jaden says, his eyes gleaming with a cruel light. “Make him watch while we tear apart everything he loves.”

The circle of riders nods, some pounding their drinks back and shouting their agreement.

“Fuck that,” Tyler, one of our newer prospects, chimes in. “He’s already dead. That’s too fucking easy.”

I sense the shift in mood, the energy turning darker. I shoot Nico and Killian a look, but they seem content to let this play out.

“So, what?” Tyler continues. “You’d bring him back from the dead, just to make him watch you tear some shit up? Dumb as shit.”

Jaden bristles, taking a threatening step forward. “What would you do, then, newbie?”

Tyler holds his ground, perhaps feeling the support of the other riders around him. “I’d drag his body through the streets. Let the whole fucking world see what happens when you mess with us.”

There’s a collective cheer, and someone slaps Tyler on the back. Jaden seems to relax a little, joining in the chorus of agreement. The riders feed off each other’s anger, each trying to outdo the last. It’s like a twisted game, a way to vent their frustrations without consequences.

Then Zoey stands, her voice cutting over everyone else’s in the crowd. “Hey! Don’t you all realize you’re blaming the wrong person?”

The room goes quiet, all eyes fixed on her.

“What?” Jaden looks incredulous. “Silas is the fucker who was attacking us from the shadows. This is on him, and he’s dead because of it.”

Zoey shakes her head. “No, he’s not the one who did this to us. The person who burned down our clubhouse isn’t dead.”

The silence is oppressive. I can feel the weight of everyone’s stares. Slowly, I turn to look at Zoey, my eyes narrowing.

Her gaze locks on Quinn, and I feel a tightening in my chest. “It’s her,” Zoey says, pointing an accusatory finger. “She’s the one who burned it all down.”

There’s a collective intake of breath, and Quinn stiffens beside me.

Zoey’s eyes flash with triumph. “She’s been fucking all three of them. Seducing them, one by one. Playing them against each other.” She looks around at Nico, Killian, and me, her lip curled in disdain. “And you three are fighting over her like she’s some kind of princess? Fuck that.”

For a few seconds, everyone stays silent—so quiet you could literally hear a pin drop.

Then chaos erupts.