Page 139 of Princess of Vengeance

“Don’t go soft on me now,” she says with a smirk, but I can see she understands what I’m trying to say.

After they leave, I turn my attention to the members of Carnage and Enigma who came to our rescue. I recognize most of them, but I also see a few new faces who must have been recruited while I was stuck living with Malcolm. Each of them has the same exhausted, determined look, and I’m not even sure how to put my gratitude into words.

“Thank you,” I say simply, raising my voice enough to carry across the dock. “Every single one of you who came tonight. You didn’t have to, but you did. I won’t forget that. We won’t forget it.”

There are nods of acknowledgment, a few muttered “no problems” and “of course,” but no one makes a big deal of it. These aren’t people who need grand speeches or emotional declarations. They understand loyalty. They understand family.

Before we can leave, I need to have one more conversation. I make my way over to where Owen and Cassandra are standing, and I can see up close that their faces are drawn with exhaustion and grief.

“Hey,” I say, not sure how to start. When I first met these people, I didn’t trust them as far as I could throw them. Now we’ve been through hell together, and that changes things in ways I’m still trying to figure out.

Cassandra gives me a nod. “Glad to see you’re still standing.”

“Barely,” I admit, swaying slightly on my feet. “Look, I just wanted to say thanks. For fighting with us. For not selling us out like that asshole Elliot did.”

Owen’s face darkens at the mention of Elliot. “Fuck him for killing Imogen in cold blood. Right in front of all of us.”

I wince, remembering how it happened. No warning, no hesitation. He could’ve shot any of us in that moment just as easily.

“I’m sorry about Imogen,” I tell him, meaning it. “She was a good person. Better than she pretended to be.”

Owen glances at Cassandra, and something passes between them that I can’t quite read. “She was right,” he says finally. “Imogen wouldn’t have done any of this if she didn’t believe in it. She wouldn’t be dead now if she wasn’t convinced in her heart that it was worth dying for.”

“And now she’s free,” Cassandra adds softly. “Just like we are.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. In her own way, Imogen was the first to take a real risk by helping me, by believing that we could take Malcolm down. And she paid the price for that belief with her life.

By the time we finish our conversation, I’m barely staying upright. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me going is completely gone, and every injury, every bruise, every cut is screaming for attention.

My vision blurs around the edges as I take a step toward where my men are waiting. Nico is at my side in an instant, his arm sliding around my waist to support me.

“Whoa,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even as I lean heavily against him. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Atlas says, coming up on my other side. “You’re about to pass out.”

I want to argue, but the world is spinning too much for me to form a coherent thought. I feel myself being lifted, and suddenly I’m in Atlas’s arms, cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing.

“Don’t fight it,” he says, his voice rumbling through me. “Just rest.”

I let my head fall against his shoulder, too exhausted to protest. The last thing I see before my eyes close is the worried faces of my men looking down at me.

I drift in and out of consciousness as we make our way to the waiting vehicles. I vaguely register being placed in the back seat of an SUV, my head pillowed on someone’s lap. Gentle fingers stroke through my hair, and I hear Nico’s voice, low and soothing.

“We’re going home, mia cara. Just hold on a little longer.”

The vehicle moves with a rocking motion that sends me deeper into the haze of exhaustion and pain. I feel safe, surrounded by my men, by their warmth and their protection.

“Did we really win?” I ask, my voice sounding strangely distant to my own ears. “Is it really over?”

“We won,” Nico says as his hand finds mine and gives a gentle squeeze. “Malcolm is dead. Elliot is dead. The Syndicate has been disbanded. It’s over.”

I nod, letting his words sink in. We did it. We survived. We’re free.

45

QUINN

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