Page 1 of Princess of Vengeance

1

QUINN

The cold pressof a gun barrel against the back of my head makes me freeze instinctively.

My muscles coil tightly, and adrenaline floods my system as the words Malcolm just spoke echo in my ears.

“Your life is forfeit.”

A little while ago, my men and I were celebrating Ambrose’s death. The memory is so fresh that I don’t even have to close my eyes to picture that psychotic bastard finally lying dead in the street after months of terrorizing us. But then we got the call from Malcolm summoning us to a Syndicate meeting in the basement of Noctura, and now everything has somehow gone to shit.

Beside me, my men are also being held at gunpoint by Malcolm’s guards. The rage coming off my hotheaded Princes is almost palpable, and I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before one of them tries something. But there are too many guns and too many guards. The entire Dark Lotus Syndicate is surrounding us, and for once, violence won’t get us out of this.

It’ll only get us killed faster.

My heart pounds against my ribs, but I force myself to breathe steadily. The last thing I can afford to do right now is to show even a hint of weakness.

The dark, cavernous meeting room beneath the sleek, modern day spa suddenly feels like a tomb, and the gun pressed to my skull makes it clear that Malcolm has no intention of letting us out of here alive.

Which means it’s up to me to fix the problem I created.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily enough. I’ve had enough time to prepare for the possibility of something like this happening, even though I was also too fucking arrogant to give the scenario more than a few passing thoughts. “If Celine survived somehow, that’s news to me. You saw her severed hand in that bag I brought. You all did.”

“A severed hand from the morgue,” Malcolm takes a few steps closer until the only sound I can hear over my own breathing is the tapping of his shoes against the cement floor. “Quite resourceful of you, Quinn. But such a waste in the end.”

The guard behind me yanks me up from my chair without warning. My knees almost buckle—the fight with Ambrose’s men left me weaker than I’d like to admit—but I manage to stay upright.

Malcolm’s hand shoots out, gripping my chin without warning. His touch is almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse than if he’d grabbed me roughly. Those cold eyes of his rake over my face like he’s memorizing it. Or mourning it.

“You know what I’ve always appreciated about you?” His thumb brushes along my jaw, and it takes everything in me not to bite it off. “You’re an excellent liar. One of the best I’ve seen.” His grip tightens just enough to sting. “But that still makes you a liar.”

Beside me, I hear the subtle shift of movement—probably Killian, ready to tear Malcolm’s throat out. The sound of a gun being cocked stills him just as quickly.

And yeah, that’s a good reminder of our situation. We’re used to being the underdogs. My men and I wouldn’t even know what to do if the odds weren’t stacked against us. But this?

I’m honestly not sure how we get out of here alive.

“It’s really a shame,” Malcolm continues, sounding almost sincere, even with that distinctively patronizing tone. “I had such plans for your future here. I could’ve spent years showing you the ropes and watching you rise through our ranks…” His eyes get this faraway look, and I have to wonder if he actually believes his own bullshit, because I sure as hell don’t. “You could have been extraordinary.”

“The rules are clear.” Elliot’s eager voice cuts through whatever weird moment Malcolm and I are having. “She betrayed us. Her life is forfeit.”

Something flickers across Malcolm’s face—disappointment maybe, or anger at being interrupted. But he releases my chin with obvious reluctance and steps back, smoothing his expression into that controlled mask again.

“Of course,” he says, straightening his already perfect tie. “Rules must be followed. But we can at least allow her men the small courtesy of watching her die before they join her.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Fear for myself—that I can handle. I’ve been staring death in the fucking face since before I took over Enigma from my father. But hearing Malcolm so casually announce that my men have to die too? After he tortures them by executing me first?

That’s different. Those words send a jolt of pure fear shooting down my chest, closing my throat until I’m suddenly struggling to breathe.

I did this to them. My choice to spare Celine, my weakness in showing mercy, is about to get them all killed. The one fucking rule the Syndicate actually gives a shit about—honoring each other’s votums—and I broke it. Not just broke it, but lied about it while calling in favors from the very people I’d betrayed.

My body feels cold, detached, like I’m already dying. But my mind is racing, desperately searching for a way to save my men. Malcolm can kill me. I’ve earned that. But them? They don’t deserve to die for my choices.

A slight shift in Atlas’s weight catches my attention. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to strike soon. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nico’s fingers twitch, and I know he’s already calculating the distance to the nearest guard. Killian hasn’t moved at all, which usually means he’s already decided which throat to tear out first.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest. Fuck. I know these men. I know how they fight and how they think. And right now, I know that they’re about to try something stupid and heroic that’ll get them killed even faster.

I catch their eyes and shake my head. Just slightly, but they all see it. The muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps. Nico’s eyes narrow. Atlas’s hands clench into fists.

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