Page 21 of Princess of Vengeance

My men try to help, of course. Atlas keeps watch by the windows. Killian checks my wounds and makes sure I’m healing properly. Nico brings me water, food, anything I need. But they can’t give me the one thing I really want—a way for the four of us to get the fuck out of this mess.

At night, when I can’t sleep, the memories start creeping in. Being held down, being trapped, being helpless. My breath catches in my throat as rough hands pin me down, as voices from my past mix with Malcolm’s, then Ambrose’s. The gang rape from years ago bleeds into being chained to that wall at Noctura, and suddenly I’m completely helpless again, unable to fight back or to protect myself.

I sit up in bed and force myself to breathe. This safe house doesn’t feel very fucking safe right now. It feels like a tomb, like we’re just waiting here to die. And that waiting,that helplessness, is worse than any physical pain. At least pain means you’re still fighting. This is just surrender in slow motion.

So when the disquieting stillness of the safe house is broken a day later by a knock on the door, I’m almost relieved, even as my muscles tense in preparation for a fight.

The men and I all freeze, sharing a quick glance as if to be certain that we all heard it. Atlas and Nico pull their weapons while Killian moves to stand between me and the entrance. But then we hear Kendrick’s low whistle—our agreed-upon signal—and some of the tension bleeds out of the room.

Atlas lets him in, checking the hall before securing the door again. Kendrick’s big frame fills the doorway as he steps inside, and his eyes find mine first.

“You’re looking better than last time I saw you,” he says gruffly.

“Kinda hard not to,” I reply with a hint of a smile. “Last time I was bleeding out.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, then turns to Nico. “I’ve got some news. I managed to get a couple other guys I trust on board with us. Trevor and Marcus. They were both feeling pretty fucking done with Zoey’s bullshit.”

“Not surprising, considering the kind of leader she is.” Nico’s voice is sharp. “But are you sure we can trust them?”

“As much as you can trust me.” Kendrick shrugs. “They’re doing recon in different parts of the city, helping keep eyes out for any Syndicate movement.”

Something in Nico’s stance relaxes slightly. If Trevor and Marcus were interested in selling us out, it probably would’ve already happened.

“Speaking of movement,” Kendrick continues. “That woman you described—tall, auburn hair, green eyes? She’s been to her penthouse building three times in the past two days.”

“Imogen.” My stomach clenches. “She must be trying to track us.”

“Fuck,” Atlas mutters. “That means it’s only a matter of time before they start poking around closer to this place.”

I feel the walls start to close in again as that trapped feeling comes back with full force. But I push it back down, focusing on the tactical implications instead of my fear. “If Imogen is still looking for us downtown, that means they don’t know about this place yet.”

“Yet being the operative word,” Nico grumbles.

I notice the way Killian’s jaw tightens at the mention of Imogen. It’s a subtle shift, one that most people wouldn’t catch. But I know him well enough now to see the tension rippling just below that carefully controlled surface.

Kendrick keeps talking, updating us on other areas of the city he’s checked, but my attention stays mostly on Killian. When he suddenly stands and leaves the room without a word, my chest tightens.

I catch Nico’s eye, and he gives me a slight nod. I’m sure he knows as well as I do that something isn’t right.

I follow Killian out as Atlas asks Kendrick about the other Syndicate members, but I let their voices fade behind me. The safe house isn’t big, so there aren’t many places he could have gone. But my heart still pounds a little faster as I move from room to room looking for him. Not from fear, but from something that feels a lot like worry for this dangerous man who rarely shows what he’s actually feeling.

And that’s exactly why I need to find him. Because when Killian does show emotion, it usually means something is already very, very wrong.

8

KILLIAN

I stompto the back room of the safe house, my hands clenching and unclenching as I try to contain the fury building inside me. The walls feel too fucking close, and there’s not enough air in here. But even if this house was twice as big, there wouldn’t be enough space to let this rage out.

Ever since we got to this place, I’ve been laser-focused on keeping Quinn alive. On making sure her wounds heal properly, that infection doesn’t set in, and that she doesn’t tear her stitches when she and Atlas can’t keep their hands off each other. But beneath all of that, eating away at me, is the thought of that little cat, Princess, alone in Imogen’s penthouse.

We left enough food and water out. The cat should be fine. But knowing that Imogen has been there, looking around and doing god-knows-what else makes my jaw clench so hard it hurts.

Imogen was right there, ready and willing to do her part when it was time for them to kill Quinn. She stabbed her with a fucking knife right in front of us. And now she’s been back to that penthouse, where Princess is completely defenseless. What if she found her? What if she decided to hurt her, just out of spite?

The image of Princess’s lifeless body hits me like a punch to the gut, and I have to stop pacing. I have to breathe through the red haze of murderous rage that threatens to overtake me.

Most people think I don’t feel things—that I’m just cold and empty inside. And maybe they’re right. Mostly right, at least. I’ve never felt emotions the way other people seem to. But that’s with otherpeople. This little fucking cat has brought out a protective instinct that makes me want to tear apart anyone who would hurt it.

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