Page 117 of Princess of Vengeance

“Maybe he got held up in traffic,” Rafael suggests, but the tension in his voice betrays his own concern.

“Or maybe this whole thing was a mistake,” Elliot says. “We should?—”

The soft buzz of Imogen’s phone cuts him off. She checks it, keeping her expression carefully controlled. “He’s here. He just arrived at the front entrance.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, electrified with anticipation and fear. Hands move to weapons as bodies tense, ready for action.

“Remember,” I say quietly, making eye contact with each person in the room, “he can’t leave this room alive.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the group as we take our positions. My palms are sweating, but I know in my heart that we’re doing the right thing. Tonight, Malcolm pays for everything—for my mother’s death, for forcing me into marriage, for threatening the men I love. For all the lives he’s ruined with his manipulations and schemes.

I stand behind the door with Nico at my side, both of us with our guns drawn but held low. Killian and Atlas position themselves on either side of the room, ready to block any escape attempt. The others spread out, appearing casual but alert, with their weapons concealed but still easy to access.

“He’s coming up now,” Imogen whispers, checking her phone again. “Alone.”

Seconds later, the door opens and Malcolm steps into the room, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit with his dark hair slicked back. He takes two steps before registering that something is wrong, his eyes widening slightly as he scans theroom and finds it filled with familiar faces but no sign of Ronan Kane.

Imogen shuts the door behind him with a soft click.

“What is this?” Malcolm asks, his voice deceptively calm despite the multiple guns now pointed at him.

“The end,” I say, stepping forward, my weapon aimed at his chest. “Your end.”

His eyes finds mine, and a flicker of understanding passes between us before his face settles back into that cold, unfeeling expression I’m so accustomed to seeing. “I see.”

“You had to know this day would come,” Cassandra says from her position on the couch. “No one can manipulate people forever without consequences.”

Malcolm’s jaw clenches, but he remains surprisingly composed for a man staring down the barrels of several guns. His eyes move around the room, taking in each face, each betrayal.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. “Elliot,” he says softly. “You were right.”

A feeling of dread bubbles up inside me as I turn slightly and watch Elliot rise from his chair.

“Every single one of them,” Malcolm continues in that too-quiet, too-calm voice. “Traitors.”

It happens so fast I barely have time to process it. Elliot’s arm comes up, gun in hand, and before anyone can react, he fires a single shot.

The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, the flash blinds me for a moment. I blink hard and see Imogen’s body crumple to the floor with a bullet hole in her forehead and her eyes wide with shock and betrayal.

38

QUINN

Malcolm’s guardsflood through the doorway, weapons drawn, and the sound of gunfire erupts from every corner of the room. I dive behind an oversized ottoman as bullets tear into the upholstery, sending tufts of fabric and foam into the air.

“Kill them all!” Malcolm shouts, his voice rising above the gunfire and shouting.

I peek around the edge of my cover, seeing Nico and Killian fighting off two of Malcolm’s men. Atlas has one guard in a chokehold while another swings wildly at him with a knife. Cassandra has taken cover behind an overturned hookah table, firing methodically at the guards, while Rafael and Owen are back-to-back, fighting off attackers of their own.

Malcolm is retreating toward the door, using Elliot as a shield. Fucking coward.

I raise my gun, aiming directly at Malcolm’s chest, and squeeze the trigger. The shot goes wide as a something slams into me from behind. One of Malcolm’s guards has me pinned, and he’s grabbing my arm and twisting until pain shoots up to my shoulder.

“Got her!” he yells, driving his knee into my back. “I’ve got Quinn!”

I twist violently, managing to get my free arm underneath me. The guard is heavy, at least twice my weight, but he’s made the mistake of thinking I’ll go down easy. I’ve spent my life fighting men bigger and stronger than me, and I’ve learned that size isn’t everything.

I slam my elbow backward, aiming for his groin, but only catch his thigh. Still, it’s enough to make him loosen his grip for a split second. I use the moment to roll, bringing my knee up and catching him under the chin.

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