Page 13 of Princess of Vengeance

I don’t care if I die. I just need to hurt him. I need to make him suffer for what he did to my men.

The lamp swings toward his face, but he’s faster. White-hot pain explodes in my stomach as his knife sinks in deep. I look down, watching my own blood seep around the blade that’s buried to the hilt.

When I raise my eyes again, Ambrose is gone and Malcolm is standing in his place. His cold eyes are glinting with satisfaction as his fingers tighten on the knife handle.

“No—” I start to say, but the word turns into a scream as he jerks the blade upward. Pain rips through me, and I taste copper in my mouth. Blood drips from my lips, spattering down my chin and onto my neck.

But Malcolm’s smile is almost worse than the agonizing pain. “When are you going to understand?” He sighs and shakes his head. “You were never in control. It was always going to end like this for you when you started to think you could outsmart me.”

He jerks his chin toward the bodies on the floor. “And because they loved you—” His smile turns condescending, as if he’s teaching an important lesson to a misbehaving child. “It was always going to end like that for them.”

A sound tears from my throat—half sob, half scream. He yanks the knife out, and for half a second, I almost feel relief.

Then he drives it straight into my heart.

I jerk awake with a strangled gasp, my heart pounding as I thrash against something holding me down. Strong arms wrap around me, and I fight harder as sheer panic floods my system.

“Quinn. Quinn, stop! Vicious, it’s me.” Atlas’s deep voice cuts through the fear and the noise of my own thumping heart. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The nightmare clears enough for me to recognize him, and I go from fighting to clinging. My fingers dig into his shirt as I try to breathe, but the air won’t come. Each gasp is shallow and fast, my chest heaving as I press my face against him.

“Breathe with me,” he murmurs, one of his hands moving to cup the back of my head. “Nice and slow. That’s it.”

I focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest, trying to match my breathing to his. Gradually, the panic that I felt from losing him—from losing all three of them—starts to subside.

And then I realize something else. For the first time in what feels like forever, my head is clear—the pain meds must be wearing off.

Atlas’s other hand runs slowly up and down my back, keeping time with each inhale and exhale until I’m breathing normally on my own again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” My voice is hoarse, and I shake my head against his chest. “I really fucking don’t.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then his arms tighten around me. When he speaks again, his voice is full of the kind of emotion that makes my own heart clench for him. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

Of course he does. We all have our demons, our nightmares that wake us up screaming. And right now, with his body curved protectively around mine, I can tell he knows exactly what kind of horrors just played out in my head. Maybe not the specifics, but he understands the general theme.

Loss. Death. Watching the people you love die while you’re powerless to stop it.

I shudder, and his arms tighten even more.

“I dream about that night at Blood and Ink,” he says in a low voice. “About being too slow and too fucking weak to stop Ambrose. In my dream, I can’t ever get there in time to save you. All I can do is struggle and watch my brothers die trying to protect you. The worst part is finding you later—” His voice catches. “Finding what’s left of you.”

I swallow hard as my fingers tighten in his shirt. “I dream about it too. About how they shot you, took you from me… tortured you.” I wasn’t actually there when Atlas got shot, but my imagination has had no problem painting a vivid picture of that moment in my head. The memory of my nightmare is still too fresh, but the words I’m saying out loud are even worse because those things actually happened. “That nightmare came true. If something like that happens again, I can’t?—”

“Hey.” His hand slides to my chin, tilting my face up. “We made it through. The nightmare passed and we’re still here. We found our way back to each other.”

I nod, but the words don’t comfort me as much as they should. Because yeah, we beat Ambrose. We made it through that hellish week and the weeks that came after. We somehow survived one monster, but there are plenty more out there waiting to tear us apart.

“What’s been happening since that night at Noctura?” I shift a little, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my side scream. “How long have we been here?”

“About three days.” Atlas keeps one arm around me, steadying me as I move. “We’ve been lying low and staying quiet. So far, there’s been no sign that Malcolm or the rest of the fuckers from the Dark Lotus Syndicate have any idea where we ended up.”

“But how do you know that? Who’s keeping an eye on Malcolm if we’re here?”

“Kendrick. He’s been doing recon for us and keeping his ear to the ground.” Atlas’s lip curls. “Apparently the Dark Lotus members have their people searching our old stomping grounds on the opposite side of the city. I don’t think it’s occurred to anyone that we would’ve gone in this direction.”

I try to process everything at once, but I get stuck on the very first bit of intel he gave me. “And we’re sure it’s okay to trust Kendrick now?”

“What?” Atlas tilts his head, frowning.

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