Page 123 of Princess of Vengeance

“You didn’t want to know,” Cassandra finishes for him. “None of us did. That’s how Malcolm kept us all in line. We each did our own thing and didn’t ask questions about what the others were doing.”

I think about the phone with the panic button Willow gave me. I hit it before they drugged me, I’m sure of it. But what good will it do? The ping would only have let Willow and her men know where we were at that moment, not where we’ve been taken.

If Willow and her men went to the hookah bar looking for us, they’d find nothing but bullet holes and blood stains by now. Malcolm’s men would have cleaned up everything else.

Even if they somehow figured out that we’d been moved to one of Elliot’s properties, how would they know which one? And what if we’re moved again before they can find us?

The sound of a heavy door opening somewhere above us cuts through our conversation. Multiple sets of footsteps echo on what must be metal stairs, getting closer.

“They’re coming,” Cassandra whispers.

I lock eyes with each of my men, trying to draw strength from their presence even though we’re all caged like fucking animals. Atlas gives me a small nod—steady and calm. Nico’s eyes burn with intensity, and Killian’s expression is pure, cold determination.

Malcolm appears first, with Elliot right on his heels like a good little lapdog. Both are still in the same clothes they wore at the hookah bar—a safe bet that not too much time has passed between then and now.

Malcolm stops at the entrance to the room and looks at us like he’s examining livestock. His eyes find mine last, and the hatred I see there is matched only by the fury churning in my gut.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “I do hope the accommodations are suitable. Some of you will probably be here for a little while.”

Some of us. The fact that he only hints at the threat makes it even more ominous.

“Fuck you,” Atlas growls, and Malcolm’s gaze shifts to him.

“Ah, yes. Quinn’s faithful attack dogs.” He walks slowly toward Atlas’s cage. “Growling and snapping, but ultimately powerless. Just like you always were.”

“What do you want, Malcolm?” I ask, not willing to let him focus all his attention on my men. “Why not just kill us at the hookah bar?”

He turns back to me, his smirk turning to a slow smile that spreads across his face. “Because, my dear, there are rules. The Dark Lotus Syndicate has a code, and that code must be upheld. Even in times of rebellion.”

“Rules?” Cassandra laughs bitterly. “Since when do you care about rules? You break them whenever it suits you.”

“I adapt them,” Malcolm corrects her. “But the core remains the same. And the core states very clearly that betrayal is punishable by death.” He looks around at all of us. “For betrayal to the Dark Lotus Syndicate, all of your lives are forfeit.”

My jaw clenches. I’ve never wanted to kill someone as badly as I want to kill him right now. “So you’re going to kill us all?” I ask, forcing the words out.

Malcolm’s smile widens, cruel and vicious in the dim light. “Yes.” He pauses. “But I’m not in any hurry.”

He turns to look at Elliot, who’s been standing silently at his side. “We’ll have a little fun first.”

40

QUINN

It’s beenhours since Malcolm asked who they should start with. Hours since they dragged Rafael from his cell, ignoring his struggles and pleas. Hours of listening to his screams until they eventually stopped.

They made us watch.

That was the worst part—not just hearing Rafael’s agony, but being forced to witness every second of it. Malcolm wanted us to see what happens to people who betray him. Wanted us to understand exactly what we were in for.

Rafael lasted longer than I expected. Even with all the things they did to him—the cuts, the burns, the methodical breaking of his fingers one by one—he held on, probably hoping that someone would come for us. That there would be some last-minute rescue.

But no one came. And eventually, Rafael stopped fighting. Not long after that, he stopped breathing.

They left his body on the concrete floor as a reminder, just a few feet away from our cages. His eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and there’s so much blood that it’s pooled beneath him and started to congeal at the edges.

The smell of death is heavy in the air, mingling with the damp concrete and the metallic tang of blood. It clings to the back of my throat, making me gag every time I breathe too deeply.

Malcolm and Elliot took a break after they were finished with Rafael, but now they’re coming back, and I can hear their footsteps on the concrete just before they come into view. My heart is pounding in my chest as they pause in front of our cages, sizing us up like they’re deciding which animal to slaughter next.

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