Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

45. Quinn

I’m drifting. Floating in a sea of darkness. Something’s wrong, but I can’t… I can’t remember what.

A shout pierces the fog. Urgent. Angry. I try to open my eyes, but my lids are too heavy.

Cool air hits my face. I’m moving. How? Why?

Strong arms cradle me. The scent of leather and gunpowder. Nico. He’s running, each step jostling me.

Panic rises in my chest. There’s something important. Something I need to remember. I claw at the edges of consciousness, trying to break through.

“…have to hurry…” A voice filters through. Killian?

I try to speak, to ask what’s happening, but my mouth won’t cooperate. My tongue feels thick, useless.

Darkness swallows me again. When I surface, there’s a roar of an engine. Wind whips my hair. We’re in a car?

The urgency is still there, pulsing beneath my skin. What am I forgetting? What’s so important?

I force my eyes open a crack. Blurry shapes. Lights streaking past. My head lolls against something solid. Nico’s chest.

“…almost there…” His voice rumbles through me.

I try again to speak. To warn them. About what? The thought slips away like smoke.

The car screeches to a halt. More shouting. Hands grabbing me, lifting me.

“Quinn? Can you hear me?” Killian’s face swims into focus for a moment.

I manage a groan. It’s not enough. There’s something they need to know. Something…

And the darkness claims me.

I’m drifting again, fighting against the darkness that threatens to consume me. Flashes of consciousness come and go, each one a struggle to hold on to.

“Quinn, stay with us!” Killian’s voice cuts through the fog.

I try to respond, to open my eyes, but my body won’t cooperate. The world tilts and spins around me, a kaleidoscope of blurred colors and muffled sounds.

“Gonna be okay,” Nico’s voice rumbles close to my ear. “Try to open your eyes.”

I want to tell them about the danger, about Ambrose and his men, but the words stick in my throat. My tongue feels like lead, useless and heavy in my mouth.

The darkness pulls at me, dragging me under. I fight against it, clawing my way back to consciousness. But it’s like swimming through molasses, each effort leaving me more exhausted than the last.

Voices fade in and out, urgent and panicked. I catch snippets of conversation, but they slip away before I can make sense of them.

“…need to hurry…”

“…if they come for her…”

“…can’t fucking lose her too…”

The words swirl around me, meaningless and confusing. I try to focus, to understand, but it’s too much. The darkness wins, swallowing me whole.

I float in a void, weightless and untethered. Time loses all meaning. I could have been here for minutes or days, I can’t tell.

Slowly, awareness begins to seep back in. My body feels heavy, my limbs unresponsive. I struggle to piece together what’s happening, where I am.

Ambrose. The fight. It all comes rushing back in a flood of fragmented memories.

Panic surges through me. I have to move, have to fight. They’re coming for us.

I try to lift my arms, to push myself up, but my muscles won’t obey. My eyes refuse to open, leaving me trapped in darkness.

A hand touches my arm. Enemy. Threat.

I lash out, or at least I try to. My arm barely twitches, but in my mind, I’m throwing punches, kicking, fighting for my life.

“Easy, mia cara. You’re safe.” A familiar voice, but I can’t place it.

No, not safe. Never safe. Ambrose is coming. I have to warn them, have to protect my team.

I struggle harder, trying to break free from whatever’s holding me down. In my drug-addled mind, I’m still in the middle of the fight, surrounded by Ambrose’s men.

My breath comes in short, panicked gasps. I have to move, have to fight. Why won’t my body listen?

“You’re alright, siren. You’re alright now.”

I’m not okay.

I’m thrashing, fighting against unseen enemies. My body feels heavy, unresponsive, but in my mind, I’m battling for my life. Hands catch my flailing limbs, holding me still. The touch only fuels my panic. I struggle harder, desperate to break free.

“Quinn, stop. You’re safe.” A voice cuts through the chaos in my head. Firmer this time. But familiar too. Comforting.

Nico.

I pause, confusion replacing fear. His words don’t make sense. How can I be safe?

“That’s it, mia cara. Easy now. You don’t have to fight anymore. It’s just us here.”

His voice is low, soothing. I feel my muscles start to relax, the tension slowly ebbing away. But doubt still lingers. What if this is a trick?

“Listen to him, siren.” Another deep voice joins in. Killian. “You’re alright. We’ve got you.”

Their voices anchor me, pulling me back from the brink of panic. I stop struggling, letting my body go limp. The hands holding me loosen their grip but don’t let go entirely.

“That’s it,” Nico murmurs. “Just breathe. You’re safe. We’re gonna keep you safe. I promise.”

I try to open my eyes, but they feel glued shut. A soft groan escapes my lips.

“Take your time,” Killian says. “No rush. We’re right here.”

I feel my body start to relax, something deep inside me unclenching at the sound of their familiar voices. The panic recedes, replaced by a growing awareness of my surroundings. Sensations flood back, overwhelming in their intensity.

My skin prickles, hypersensitive. The soft fabric beneath me feels like sandpaper. Every breath sends a wave of nausea through me. My head throbs, a dull ache that pulses behind my eyes.

I try to open my eyes, but the light stabs at me, sharp and painful. I squeeze them shut again, groaning.

“Take it slow,” Nico murmurs. His hand rests on my arm, warm and grounding.

I try again, forcing my eyelids open a crack. The world swims into focus, blurry and too bright. Nico’s face hovers above me, worry etched into his features.

The room spins, and my stomach lurches. “I’m gonna?—”

Before I can finish, Killian’s there, shoving a trash can under my chin. I heave, my body convulsing as I empty my stomach. Nico’s hand rubs circles on my back, murmuring soft words of comfort I can’t quite make out.

When the retching finally stops, I slump back, exhausted. My throat burns, and my mouth tastes foul. I want to ask what happened, where we are, but I can’t find the energy to form the words.

“Here,” Killian says, pressing a cool glass to my lips. “Small sips.”

The water soothes my raw throat. I manage a few swallows before turning my head away.

“Better?” Nico asks, his voice gentle.

I nod weakly, not trusting myself to speak yet. My eyes drift closed again, the effort of keeping them open too much.

I’m not sure how much time has passed. Minutes? Hours? Days?

My eyes open on their own this time and I blink slowly, my vision gradually adjusting to the dim light of the room. The nausea has subsided, leaving behind a dull ache that throbs through my entire body. I feel weak, wrung out, but the panic from earlier has faded.

Nico’s face swims into focus above me. Has he really been right here next to me this whole time? His brow is furrowed with concern, but he manages a small smile when our eyes meet. “Hey there, mia cara,” he murmurs. He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face. His touch is cool against my feverish skin.

“How’re you feeling?” Killian asks from somewhere to my left. I turn my head slightly, wincing at the movement. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, a damp cloth in his hand.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I croak, my voice raw and unfamiliar to my own ears.

Killian nods sympathetically. “That tracks.” He leans forward, pressing the cool cloth to my forehead. The relief is immediate, and I can’t help but let out a small sigh. “The drugs are wearing off,” he explains, “but you’re gonna feel like shit for a while until they’re all the way out of your system.”

I try to nod, but even that small movement sends a wave of dizziness through me. “What happened?” I manage to ask, the words coming out slurred and thick.

Nico’s hand finds mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll explain everything later. Right now, you need to rest.”

I’m tired of resting. I blink again, trying to focus on Nico and Killian’s faces. The room is still spinning a little, but the fog in my mind is starting to clear. With clarity comes memory, and my heart races as flashes of what happened before I was drugged start to return.

The tattoo parlor. Smoke and gunfire. Screams and chaos.

My stomach pitches as the images flood back. Ambrose. The Saint. One and the same. The realization hits me hard, just like it did the first time. He’s been stalking me, orchestrating everything from the shadows.

I remember the attack on the parlor, the shattering glass and acrid smell of smoke. Then… Atlas. My breath catches in my throat as I remember his face, twisted with confusion, anger, and pain. He grabbed me right after I was drugged, his grip too tight, too desperate.

The memory makes me jerk upright, ignoring the wave of nausea that follows. Nico’s hand steadies me, but I barely notice. My eyes dart around the room, searching for a face that isn’t there.

“Where’s Atlas?” I ask, not caring that my voice is trembling.

Nico and Killian exchange a look that makes my stomach twist even tighter. There’s something in their eyes—guilt? Pain? Regret?—that sends a chill down my spine.

“Where is he?” I demand again, stronger this time. The silence that follows is deafening.

I watch Nico’s jaw clench, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, until I can’t take it anymore.

“Where is he, Nico?” I repeat, my voice cracking. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

Nico takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine. “He was supposed to be right behind us, but… he didn’t make it.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I feel the color drain from my face as I struggle to process what he’s saying.

“What do you mean, he didn’t make it?”

Killian leans forward, his face a little too pale, his expression even more serious than normal. “We went back to the tattoo parlor as soon as we had you somewhere safe, but Atlas was gone.”

“Gone?” I’m starting to feel like a parrot, repeating everything I’m being told—but it’s only because none of these words are making sense.

Atlas didn’t make it? Atlas is gone?

No. Fuck, no. I refuse to believe it. Still, a sick feeling twists in my stomach, and a distinct sense of dread starts creeping up my spine.

They both nod, the weight of their silence crushing me.

“There was a pool of blood on the floor in the back,” Nico continues. “Broken glass, several dead bodies—bodies of the mercenaries, mostly, from what I could tell. But no sign of Atlas.”

I shake my head, still unwilling to accept what they’re telling me. “No,” I whisper, “that can’t be right. He has to be somewhere. Maybe he got away, maybe?—”

Nico’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “He would’ve made contact by now. With his last breath, he would’ve called or sent word or… something.”

As much as I hate to hear it, I know he’s telling the truth. There’s a haunted look in his eyes—in Killian’s too—and it’s a pain I’ve never seen before. It’s raw and visceral, like they’ve lost a piece of themselves.

Because they have.

The realization hits me so hard that I feel myself starting to crumble. Memories flash through my mind, hazy and disjointed. Atlas’s face, worried and determined, swimming into focus as I struggled against the drugs in my system. His strong arms holding me up, his voice urgent in my ear.

“ Stay with me, vicious. Come on, stay awake .”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold on to that memory, to make sense of it. But it slips away, leaving me with nothing but an aching emptiness.

When I open my eyes again, I look from Killian to Nico, then back again.

“You’ve been looking for him,” I whisper.

It’s not a question. I know it’s a fact.

Killian nods, his jaw clenched tight. “Every minute since it happened. We’ve called in every favor, turned over every stone.”

“But… nothing,” Nico finishes, his voice rough with emotion.

I’ve seen a lot of death in my life. Caused a lot. But this loss is too big, too overwhelming. Atlas, gone? It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real.

But they wouldn’t lie about this, wouldn’t give up hope if there was any chance…

A sob builds in my chest, threatening to tear me apart.

I open my mouth to say something, to ask another question, but the words die in my throat as my phone starts to ring. The sound cuts through the heavy silence of the room, making us all jump.

For a moment, I just stare at it, my heart racing. Who could be calling? We’re supposed to be laying low. No contact.

With shaking hands, I reach for the phone. The number on the screen is unfamiliar, but something tells me I need to answer it. I hit the speaker button, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “Hello?”

“Ah, Quinn. So good to hear your voice again.” The rough, familiar tone sends a chill down my spine. Ambrose . “I trust the drugs are wearing off by now? I really hope you’re feeling better.”

My blood runs cold. I look up at Nico and Killian, their faces mirroring the shock and anger I feel.

“I waited to call, you see,” Ambrose continues, his voice dripping with false concern. “I wanted to make sure you’d be awake and… coherent for our little chat.”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “What do you want?” I manage to croak out.

Ambrose chuckles, the sound sending another wave of nausea through me. “Oh, dear girl. We have so much to talk about.”

“Where’s Atlas?” I demand, thankful that the trembling and the desperation is finally gone from my voice. All that’s left now is steely, hard anger. “What have you done with him?”

Ambrose’s laughter crackles through the phone, cold and cruel. “Oh, he’s right here.”

My heart leaps into my throat, a surge of hope coursing through me. I grip the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. “Let me talk to him.”

“Now, now,” Ambrose tuts, his smugness palpable even through the speaker. “All in good time, my dear. First, I think we should have a little chat.”

I grit my teeth, barely containing the rage building inside me. “I’m not interested in chatting. I want to know Atlas is okay.”

“You know, Quinn,” Ambrose continues, ignoring my demand, “you’re quite the lucky girl. Ever since I got out of prison, I’ve had to buy all the help I’ve needed. Recruiting mercenaries, paying for loyalty… it’s been expensive. Damned expensive.”

My stomach churns at his casual tone, as if he’s discussing a business transaction rather than a life and death matter.

“But you,” he says, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice, “you’ve got three men willing to throw themselves into danger and do your dirty work for you. All thanks to that magic pussy of yours, I suppose.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

Ambrose chuckles. “Such fire. I can see why they’re so devoted to you. This one, for example,” there’s a rustling sound, as if he’s moving, “was even willing to die for you.”

My blood runs cold. “Atlas?—”

Before I can finish, a blood-curdling scream tears through the phone. Atlas’s voice, raw and agonized, fills the room.

“No!” I shout, panic clawing at my chest. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

Ambrose’s voice returns, calm and collected over Atlas’s pained groans. “Oh, Quinn. We’re just getting started.”

My stomach clenches so tightly I can barely breathe, acid burning in the back of my throat. I want to vomit, to scream, to break something—anything to make this stop.

“Please,” I choke out. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

Ambrose’s chuckle sends another wave of nausea through me. “Sorry, I can’t make that promise. Now it’s time to find out if you care about these men as much as they seem to care about you. What are you willing to do for them, I wonder?”

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain helps me focus, helps me push past the momentary panic. “What do you want?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“It’s simple, really.” Ambrose’s tone is casual, as if we’re discussing the weather. “I’ll kill Atlas unless you use that little marker of yours to get me into the Dark Lotus Syndicate.”

My blood runs cold. The marker. Of course he knows about that. Is there anything this bastard doesn’t know?

“You can’t be serious,” I say, even though I know he is. Dead serious.

“Oh, but I am,” Ambrose replies. “You have connections. Valuable ones. And I want in.”

I look up at Nico and Killian, their faces tight with anger and fear. They both shake their heads, silently urging me not to agree. But how can I not? How can I let Atlas die?

“Tick tock, Quinn,” Ambrose drawls, cruel satisfaction in his voice. “What’s it going to be? Your precious marker, or Atlas’s life?”

Looking for a complete series to binge? Try my dark and spicy enemies-to-lovers reverse harem romance, Dirty Broken Savages . If you enjoy Quinn and her Princes, you’ll love River and her Kings of Chaos!