Page 10 of Princess of Vengeance

Quinn makes a small sound of protest as they help her over to the ratty couch, but she doesn’t fight them. That, more than anything, tells me how much pain she’s in—my girl never goes down without an argument unless she’s truly fucked up.

Killian is already pulling out the veterinary supplies he stole, his hands steady as he starts cutting away the makeshift bandages.

“We’re gonna get you fixed up,” he tells her quietly. “But it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

“What else is new?” Her voice is weak, but that familiar thread of steel is still there. Always.

My eyes are on Kendrick, and his gaze keeps flicking from me to Quinn and back again. I’m not sure if he’s trying to show some concern for her or if he’s just looking for an opening to exploit, but it doesn’t matter. One wrong move, and his brains will be decorating the wall behind him.

Then I hear Killian curse under his breath.

“Fuck. This is bad.” I look over to see his hands covered in Quinn’s blood as he peels back the gauze. “That asshole Elliot went deeper than I thought.”

“How bad?” I bark the question as I shift my attention back to Kendrick. As much as I want to be over there with Quinn right now, I know I’m more useful exactly where I am.

“The blade must’ve nicked something inside.” Killian’s voice has that edge to it, the one that means we’re about to have a serious problem. “I can try to stitch it, but…” He trails off, and my stomach drops. If Killian doesn’t want to say the rest out loud, it’s already really fucking bad.

Quinn lets out a small sound—more exhaustion than pain—and I hear Atlas murmur something that seems to calm her.

“I need more light,” Killian says. “And actual supplies. Not this veterinary bullshit. She needs?—”

“Let me help.” Kendrick interrupts. He nods in Quinn’s direction. “I’ve got experience with this shit.”

I know he’s not lying. He’s ex-military from back in the day, and I’ve seen him patch people up before. But it’s been a while since we’ve had someone hurt as badly as Quinn is right now, and even then we had a full stash of medical supplies on hand.

“You’re sure you can help her?” I search his face for even a hint of a lie. “Because if you suddenly forget how to stitch up a wound and try to make a break for it…”

“I spent two tours as a combat medic before I joined the club. You don’t forget that shit.” His jaw tightens. “You’ve seen me help our guys before. You know I can help her now if you’ll just fucking let me.”

I’m still not sure I can trust him, but honestly? I don’t have a choice.

“I owe you anyway,” he adds, clearing his throat. “I should’ve had your backs when Zoey started stirring up shit. But I didn’t know what to believe back then.” He swallows hard. “Now I do. And I want to make it right.”

Quinn makes another small sound—all pain this time—and Killian curses again. “Whatever we’re gonna do, we need to do it fast. This bleeding isn’t stopping.”

“Fuck.” I keep the gun steady, pointed right at Kendrick’s face. “One wrong move and I put you down. Got it?”

He nods once. “Got it.”

I jerk my head toward the couch. “Go. Help her.”

Kendrick moves slowly, keeping his hands visible as he approaches Quinn. I follow right behind him, close enough to blow his brains out if he tries anything stupid.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees the wound. “Who did this? Never mind—that doesn’t matter right now.” He glances at Killian. “You got any more gauze? And something to sterilize with?”

“Everything we have is in that bag over there. I stole it from a vet’s office.”

“It’ll work. Atlas, I need you to hold this.” He guides Atlas’s hands to the right spot, showing him how to apply pressure. “Perfect. Just like that. Killian, help me get a better look at what we’re dealing with.”

I watch them work together like they never stopped being brothers, as if the betrayal and bad blood never happened. But my gun stays trained on Kendrick’s head. He’s saying the rightthings and making the right moves, but he’s already stabbed us in the back once. I want a little more time to think about it before I decide whether I can fully trust him again.

If he can get Quinn patched up, that’ll be a big fucking mark in his favor.

Killian and Kendrick work in near-silence, their hands moving with the kind of precision that only comes from doing something a thousand times. I watch every movement, my trigger finger itching each time Kendrick reaches for a new tool or piece of gauze. But his movements are clean and efficient. There’s no wasted motion, and not even a moment of hesitation.

“Thread,” Kendrick murmurs, and Killian hands it over without missing a beat. The needle flashes in the dim light as Kendrick makes another perfect stitch.

“Damn,” Killian mutters, watching him work. “I thought my sutures were good, but that’s some of the cleanest work I’ve ever seen up close.”

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