Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

44. Atlas

44

ATLAS

The world explodes into chaos. One moment, we’re standing in the shop, ready to go confront Ambrose. The next, a deafening bang rips through the air, and a blinding flash sears my vision.

I stumble backward, my equilibrium shot to hell. The ringing in my ears is so intense it drowns out everything else. Smoke billows from the canister on the floor, quickly filling the space.

Blinking rapidly, I try to clear my vision, but it’s like looking through a haze. Shadows move at the edge of my sight. It takes me a second to realize what I’m seeing.

Men. Armed men pouring through the shattered front door.

“Watch out!” I shout, or at least I think I do. I can barely hear my own voice over the persistent ringing in my ears. “They’re coming in!”

The smoke is getting thicker, making it hard to breathe. I cough, the action sending a spike of pain through my head. But I can’t focus on that now. We’re under attack, and we need to move.

“Get down!” I yell, diving behind a nearby counter.

The air fills with the sharp crack of gunfire. Wood splinters above my head as bullets tear into the shop’s fixtures. I hear someone cry out in pain, and my heart lurches.

“Quinn!” I shout, but there’s no response.

A meaty hand grabs my shoulder, yanking me from my cover. I spin, coming face to face with one of the attackers. His eyes are cold, emotionless behind his tactical gear.

I don’t hesitate. My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. He staggers but doesn’t go down. Instead, he charges, tackling me to the ground.

We grapple on the floor, rolling through broken glass and debris. His elbow catches me in the ribs, forcing the air from my lungs. I retaliate with a knee to his gut.

Around us, the fight rages on. I catch glimpses of my friends locked in their own battles. Nico darts between two attackers, his movements a blur. Somewhere to my left, I hear Killian roar in defiance.

My attacker pins me down, his hands closing around my throat. Spots dance at the edge of my vision as I struggle for air. In desperation, I thrust my palm up, catching him under the chin. His grip loosens just enough for me to twist free.

We both scramble to our feet, circling each other like caged animals. He swings first, a wild haymaker that I barely dodge. I counter with a jab to his solar plexus, following up with an uppercut that rocks him back on his heels.

But he’s tough. He shakes it off and comes at me again, this time landing a solid blow to my kidney. Pain explodes through my side, nearly buckling my knees.

Gritting my teeth, I surge forward, grabbing him by the vest. Using his own momentum against him, I pivot and shove him hard. He stumbles backward, arms windmilling, before crashing into one of the full-length mirrors lining the wall.

The mirror shatters with a thunderous crash, raining glass down on the stunned mercenary. He slumps to the floor, a thin line of blood trickling from his temple.

I step forward, ready to make sure he stays down, when movement catches my eye.

There’s a masked figure weaving through the chaos. He moves with purpose, dodging debris and skirting around the ongoing fights.

“Ambrose!” I shout, my voice hoarse from the smoke.

The masked man freezes for a split second, his head turning toward me. That moment of hesitation confirms everything. Vic was right. The Saint is Ambrose.

“Son of a bitch,” I growl, launching myself after him.

Before I can close the distance, the mercenary I’d just knocked down grabs my ankle. I stumble, nearly face-planting on the glass-strewn floor. Twisting, I aim a kick at his head, but he rolls away, pulling me off balance.

“Atlas, watch out!” Nico’s voice cuts through the din.

I look up in time to see another attacker bearing down on me, a wicked-looking knife in his hand. I throw myself to the side, feeling the blade whistle past my ear.

“Killian, on your left!” I shout, spotting a threat he can’t see.

Killian roars in response, spinning to meet the new challenger. “These bastards just keep coming!”

I scramble to my feet, desperately searching for Ambrose. He’s made it halfway across the room, heading straight for Quinn.

“No!” I yell, but my voice is drowned out by another explosion.

The floor beneath my feet trembles, and I stumble again. The mercenary with the knife takes advantage, lunging at me. I manage to deflect his strike, but his shoulder catches me in the chest, driving me back against the wall.

“Quinn, look out!” Nico screams.

I can see Ambrose closing in on Quinn, who’s struggling with her own attacker. She hasn’t noticed the masked man approaching from behind.

Gritting my teeth, I headbutt the mercenary pinning me. His grip loosens, and I shove him away, my eyes never leaving Ambrose’s advancing form.

“Quinn, behind you!” I yell, praying she hears me over the chaos.

I watch in horror as one of Ambrose’s men grabs Quinn from behind. She struggles, but Ambrose is there in an instant, pulling something from his pocket. My heart races as I see the glint of a needle.

“No!” I roar, but it’s too late. Ambrose plunges the syringe into Quinn’s neck, depressing the plunger.

Quinn’s eyes go wide, her body stiffening for a moment before she starts to sway. My heart stutters in my chest as the realization hits me like a freight train. Ambrose drugged her. He’s trying to take her.

Fury courses through my veins. I slam my elbow into my attacker’s face, feeling cartilage crunch beneath the blow. He drops like a stone, and I’m already moving, sprinting toward Quinn with everything I’ve got.

Just as I reach her, she summons a last burst of strength. She twists in her captor’s grip, slipping free and stumbling forward. I grab her before she can fall, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and holding her up.

“I’ve got you,” I grunt, trying to keep her on her feet while fending off Ambrose’s men.

But she’s barely conscious. Her head lolls against my shoulder, her feet dragging as I try to move us away from danger. It’s no good. She can hardly stand, let alone walk.

I look around frantically, assessing the situation. My friends are fighting hard, but we’re badly outnumbered. Nico is bleeding from a gash on his forehead, while Killian’s surrounded by three attackers. We can’t keep this up.

“We need to get out of here!” I shout, hoping my voice carries over the chaos.

Quinn stirs against me, her words slurred but urgent. “Back… there’s a way out in the back.”

I nod, tightening my grip on her. “Guys! Fall back! There’s an exit in the back!”

Nico and Killian acknowledge with quick nods, slowly retreating toward me while keeping the attackers at bay. I start moving us toward the rear of the shop, half-carrying, half-dragging Quinn with me.

Quinn’s legs suddenly give out, and she whimpers, the sound piercing straight through me. My anger at Ambrose surges, matched only by my determination to keep her safe. Without hesitation, I scoop her up into my arms.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles, her words slurring together.

I hold her tighter, my voice low and fierce. “What I’ll always do. Protecting you.”

I press a quick kiss to her temple, then shove her into Nico’s arms. “Get her out of here,” I shout, turning to face our attackers. “There’s an exit in the back room. Go!”

I throw myself back into the fight. My fists fly, connecting with jaws and noses and guts. I duck and weave, using every trick I’ve learned over the years to keep our attackers at bay.

A burly guy rushes me, but I sidestep at the last second, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to send him crashing into a display case. Glass shatters, and he goes down hard.

I risk a glance behind me. Nico is carrying Quinn toward the back room, Killian covering their retreat. Good. They’re making progress.

Two more mercenaries come at me simultaneously. I drop low, sweeping the legs out from under one while blocking a punch from the other. As I rise, I drive my elbow into the second man’s throat, leaving him gasping for air.

We’re almost to the doorway of the back room when Ambrose’s men surge forward en masse. They’re getting desperate, realizing we’re about to slip away.

“Go!” I yell to Nico and Killian. “Get out the back door. I’ll hold them off and be right behind you.”

Nico is looking at me, concern etched across his face. I know that look. He doesn’t want to leave me behind.

I glance at Quinn, still barely conscious in his arms, then back to Nico. “Get her out of here,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Understanding passes between us. Nico nods, his jaw set with determination. He knows what needs to be done.

As they retreat through the doorway, I turn to face Ambrose’s men. A growl rises from deep in my chest. “Alright, motherfuckers. Let’s dance.”

They come at me in waves, but I’m ready. My fists fly, connecting with jaws and ribs. I duck under a wild swing, coming up with an uppercut that sends one attacker sprawling. Another tries to grab me from behind, but I throw my head back, feeling the crunch of his nose against my skull.

I’m outnumbered, but I’m holding my own. Years of training and street fights have honed my skills to a razor’s edge. I weave and dodge, using their numbers against them. When one lunges, I sidestep, letting him crash into his comrade.

Through the chaos, I hear the back door slam shut. Good. They’re out.

I start inching my way toward the door, still fending off attacks. A knife flashes in the dim light, and I barely avoid its edge. I grab the attacker’s wrist, twisting until he drops the blade with a cry of pain.

Finally, I see my opening. I make a break for it, sprinting toward the door. Freedom is just steps away.

Suddenly, a shot rings out. White-hot pain explodes in my back, the force of the bullet sending me stumbling forward. I slam into the door hard, my vision blurring as agony radiates through my body.

Pain sears through my body as I struggle to stay on my feet. The bullet wound in my back throbs with each ragged breath. I’m so close to escape, my hand reaching for the doorknob, when strong arms wrap around me from behind.

“Not so fast, hero,” a gruff voice snarls in my ear.

I’m yanked backward, my feet leaving the ground. The world spins as I’m thrown to the floor. The impact sends a fresh wave of agony through me, and I can’t hold back a cry of pain.

Before I can even attempt to get up, bodies pile on top of me. Hands pin my arms and legs, pressing me into the cold, hard floor. I thrash against their hold, but it’s useless. The bullet wound has sapped my strength, and there are too many of them.

Through the forest of legs surrounding me, I see a pair of old work boots approach. They stop right in front of my face. I crane my neck, looking up to see the masked figure looming over me.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up and removes the mask. My breath catches in my throat as Ambrose’s face is revealed. His lips curl into a smug smile as he looks down at me.

He crouches beside me, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Well, well, well. Look at you now, Atlas. Not so tough without your little gang, are you?”

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You know, I have to admit, I made a miscalculation here.”

“What are you talking about?” I growl, still struggling against the hands holding me down.

Ambrose’s smile turns sardonic. “Pushing you Princes together with Quinn. I thought it was brilliant, you know? The perfect setup for some unwitting spies. But instead…” He trails off with a grunt.

“Instead what?” I demand, although a part of me dreads the answer.

He leans in close, his voice dripping with contempt. “Instead, you all got pussy-whipped by the same woman. It’s almost impressive, really. I never saw that one coming.”

I glare up at Ambrose, hatred burning in my eyes. My chest heaves with each painful breath, and I can taste copper in my mouth. Without warning, I gather what strength I have left and spit directly in his face. The glob of saliva is tinged red with blood, thanks to the damage that bullet did to my insides.

Ambrose blinks in surprise, then chuckles softly. He wipes the bloody spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand, his expression unnervingly calm.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. “If my long years in prison taught me anything, it’s how to be adaptable.” He pauses, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I can work with this.”

He stands up slowly, towering over me. My heart races as I watch him, wondering what he’s going to do next. Then, without warning, he lifts his foot and places it on my chest, right next to where the bullet entered my body.

“Let’s see how tough you really are,” he sneers.

Before I can brace myself, he presses down hard. The pressure sends waves of agony radiating through my entire body. It feels like my chest is being crushed, the pain so intense it steals my breath away.

I can’t hold back. A ragged yell tears from my throat, echoing off the walls of the ransacked shop. The sound is raw, primal, filled with all the pain and fury I can’t express in words.

Ambrose’s smile only grows wider at my outcry, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure.