Page 121 of Princess of Vengeance

I know they wouldn’t have ever let me face Malcolm alone, but seeing them caged and bleeding is too much for me to handle, and the guilt is overwhelming.

“Quinn,” Atlas’s voice is rough but steady. His eyes find mine across the space between our cages. “Are you okay?”

I almost smile, because of course he’s worried about me first and foremost. Still, nothing about this situation is okay. We’re trapped in cages in some kind of warehouse or basement with Malcolm and Elliot planning god knows what for us, and he’s asking if I’m okay.

“I’m alive,” is all I manage to say. And then, because I need to know, “Are you?”

“Takes more than a few of Malcolm’s goons to put me down for good,” he says, but I can see the stiffness in his movements as he shifts position. He’s hurting worse than he’s letting on.

Nico’s eyes flutter open, and he slowly shakes his head as he looks over at me. “Quinn,” he says, and just my name on his lips makes my heart clench. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

Killian is the last to stir, but his eyes snap open with sudden alertness, immediately scanning the room with the kind of predatory focus that I’ve come to expect from him. When his eyes land on me, something in his expression shifts—relief, maybe, or the closest thing to it that Killian is capable of showing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, and I know he’s looking for injuries beyond the obvious bruising on my face from the fight.

“I’m okay,” I tell him. “Just drugged.”

“Same,” Nico nods, rubbing at his neck. “Whatever they gave us was strong.”

“Malcolm wouldn’t want to risk any of us being conscious while they brought us here,” Atlas says. “Not after what happened at the hookah bar.”

The memory of the ambush flashes through my mind—Elliot shooting Imogen in the head, Malcolm’s guards flooding in, and the brutal fight that followed. Then the fear that my men might be killed right in front of me.

“I thought they might just kill us there,” I admit, swallowing hard.

Nico shakes his head. “Malcolm is gonna make us fucking suffer after what we tried to do.”

The brutal honesty of his words sends a chill down my spine, because I know he’s right. This isn’t going to end quickly or painlessly.

A groan from the other side of the room draws my attention. Owen is awake now, pushing himself up to his knees and looking around with wild eyes.

“What the fuck?” he groans, shaking his head as if to clear it. He runs his hands along the bars of his cage, testing them. “Goddammit.”

One by one, the others start to wake as well. Cassandra shifts, wincing as she touches the dried blood on her forehead. Rafael’s eyes open slowly, his usual alertness dulled by the lingering drugs in his system.

“Everyone check in,” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. It feels important that we all know who made it here alive. “Cassandra?”

“I’m here,” she says. “But I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Rafael?”

He grunts an acknowledgment, probably not quite ready for full sentences yet.

Owen ignores my attempt at a roll call, instead pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the bars of his cage. He shakes them until the metal starts rattling, but it doesn’t give even a fraction of an inch.

“Let us the fuck out!” he shouts. “Malcolm, you fucking psychopath!”

“That’s not helping,” Cassandra snaps at him.

Owen ignores her, continuing to rattle the bars and yell. His panic is contagious, and I feel my own heart rate pick up. Where the hell are we? Does anyone know we’re here? Is there any chance someone might come to help us, or are we all just waiting to die?

But I can’t let them see me panic. Not when my men are watching and staying calm even though their whole world is falling apart right alongside mine. Not when we need clear heads if we’re going to have any chance of survival.

“Owen,” I hiss. “Enough. You’re wasting energy you’ll need to conserve.”

He stops shouting, but there’s no mistaking the rage in his glare when he turns to me.

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