Page 106 of Princess of Vengeance

“We’re going to put that bastard in the ground,” I promise her. “And then no one’s ever going to separate us again.”

She nods, leaning into my touch like she’s starved for it. “Where are Atlas and Killian?”

“Out checking on something. They’ll be back soon.” I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, frowning when she winces slightly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly.

I tilt her face, examining the spot. There’s a faint bruise there, roughly the size and shape of a finger. A man’s finger.

“Did he fucking do this to you?”

She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say simply. Not a threat—a promise. “I’m going to watch the life drain out of his eyes.”

Atlas and Killian walk in a few minutes later, both freezing in place when they see Quinn sitting at the kitchen table with me.

“Siren,” Killian breathes, crossing the room in three long strides to pull her into his arms.

Atlas is right behind him with a rare grin on his face. “Vicious.”

They take turns holding her, kissing her, touching her like they need to reassure themselves she’s real. I know exactly how they feel.

Once everyone settles down, Quinn fills them in on the plan. She goes over the details of Elliot’s votum, Malcolm’s upcoming meeting with Ronan Kane, and the Syndicate’s plot to ambush him there.

“The only problem,” she says, “is that I need to make sure Ronan doesn’t show up for the meeting. If he does, he’ll see it’s a trap, and then shit will really get dicey.”

“You know what this Kane looks like?” Atlas asks.

“I’ve never met him, but Elliot gave us some photos. I just know he’s from New York, and runs a crime family there. He’s supposedly very particular about how he does business.”

“We’ll find him,” I promise. “Between your people and ours, we’ll track him down.”

“But we need to be careful,” Quinn warns. “If Malcolm suspects anything…”

“He won’t,” Killian says firmly. “We’ll make sure this shit goes down without a hitch.”

We spend the next hour mapping out possibilities, discussing how we might track down someone like Kane and intercept him without raising suspicions. It feels good to be working together again, all four of us in sync like we used to be.

Like we were always meant to be.

My burner phone rings, interrupting our planning session with a shrill tone. I check the number—it’s Hayes, one of our newer recruits who’s been proving himself useful.

“Yeah?” I answer, stepping away from the table.

“Sorry to bother you at this number, Nico, but I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.” His voice is hesitant, uncomfortable. “I, uh… I got a call from Lakeside Care Center. They couldn’t reach you, so they called Blood and Ink asking for you.”

My stomach drops. There’s only one reason Lakeside would be calling. “What happened?”

“It’s your old man.” Hayes clears his throat. “He passed away this morning. Peacefully, they said. In his sleep.”

The world goes quiet around me. No sound but the blood rushing in my ears and Hayes’s voice, suddenly seeming far away.

“They need you to call or come in to… to make arrangements,” he continues. “I said I’d let you know.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say over the deafening roar of my own heartbeat in my head. “I’ll handle it.”

I hang up and stand there, staring at nothing. My father is dead. The man who raised me—or didn’t raise me, moreaccurately. The man who chose the bottle over his son every fucking time. The man whose gambling debts nearly got me killed. The man I’ve been paying to keep in a nice facility despite everything, because he was still my blood.

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