Page 28 of Princess of Vengeance

“Mia cara?” Nico’s voice is quiet but steady behind me. “Are you okay?”

I open my eyes and turn to face him. Just seeing him here, solid and real and worried about me when he has so many problems of his own, makes everything snap back into focus. The loss of my father’s house, my gang, my life in Detroit—none of it matters as much as keeping these three men safe. As long as I have Nico, Atlas, and Killian by my side, I have everything I truly need.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out stronger than I expected. “I’m fine.”

His mismatched eyes search my face, and I know he can see through the lie. He doesn’t call me on it though.

“I get it. Detroit…” He lets out a harsh breath. “This is my home too. Everything I’ve built is here. Where Atlas, Killian, and I started Carnage. Where we became brothers.”

His jaw works for a moment before he continues. “Hell, it’s where you and I got married.” A bitter smile plays at his lips, then fades to something that looks a lot like guilt. “And it’s where my father is.”

I stay quiet, giving him space to work through whatever is on his mind.

“Part of me feels like shit for leaving him behind. Which is fucking ridiculous, right?” He lets out a harsh laugh. “The bastard abandoned me when I needed him most. But now?” He shakes his head. “Now I can’t even risk saying goodbye, because Malcolm probably has people watching the facility. And somehow that makes me feel guilty.”

The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. I reach for his hand and thread my fingers through his. “That guilt just proves you’re nothing like him. You’re a better man than he ever was. Better than he could have ever hoped to be.”

I rise up on my toes and press my lips to his, trying to pour everything I’m feeling into the kiss. All my love for him, my faith in him, my certainty that he’s so much more than the demons of his past. He kisses me back just as deeply, his arms wrapping around me as he pulls me closer.

He holds me tight, burying his face in my hair as I cling to him. For a moment, we’re not gang leaders or fighters or survivors. We’re just two people who found each other in this crazy, scary, fucked up world, holding on to what matters most.

11

ATLAS

The muffledbuzzing in my ear is driving me fucking crazy. I shake my head as if that’ll somehow fix it, but all it does is remind me that this might be permanent. That guard’s gun going off right next to my head did more damage than I want to admit, even to myself. Killian keeps saying it might get better, but it’s been days, and the world still sounds like it’s underwater on one side.

The basement storage room is dark and musty, and it’s lit by a single bare bulb that casts more shadows than light. Dusk is creeping up fast outside, which means we need to move soon. I take a quick mental inventory of the weapons we’ve managed to collect—a couple of handguns, some extra clips, a few knives. Not nearly enough firepower if the Syndicate catches up to us, but it’ll have to do for now.

As I move deeper into the room, I spot what I came down here to get. There’s an old weapons cache in the corner that we stashed here back when this was still Carnage territory, back before everything went to shit. Most of it is probably useless now—corroded from the damp or just too old to trust. But I dig through it anyway because we can’t afford to be picky.

The silence in my bad ear makes me feel vulnerable, and I fucking hate it. Someone could sneak up on me and I wouldn’t know until it was way too late. Knowing that I’m not fully up to speed has me tense and jumpy. We’ll all need to punch above our weight if shit goes down on the way out of town, and it kills me to know that I might actually be slowing us down.

That’s not who I am. That’s not what I fucking do.

I find a box of shells that might still be good and shove them in my pocket. Every little bit helps when you’re running for your life. I stuff a few more clips into the duffel bag I brought down here with me, then do one last scan of the room to make sure I haven’t missed anything useful.

Nope. Time to get the fuck out of here. The sooner we load up and get out of Detroit, the better our chances of staying alive.

I start back up the stairs, then stop just as I reach the top step. I don’t know what I just heard, but something filtered through the constant buzz in my bad ear. I freeze, straining to hear past some muffled sounds that might just be in my head. Fuck, I hate this. I used to trust my instincts, but now? Now I second-guess every goddamn thing I think I hear on my left side.

After a few seconds of silence, I shake it off. Paranoia is going to be the death of me if I let it. I take another step forward and adjust my grip on the heavy bag.

The attack comes out of nowhere.

A shape in black launches itself at me from the shadows, and the bag hits the floor as I throw my arms up to block. The impact drives me back against the wall, sending my head cracking against the plaster. Pain explodes through my skull, but adrenaline is already flooding my system and drowning it out.

“Motherfucker!” I snarl as the guy tries to get his hands around my throat.

My fist connects with his ribs, but he’s wearing some kind of body armor. The hit that should’ve cracked bones barely makeshim flinch. He’s good—trained and experienced. This isn’t some random asshole looking to rob the place. This is a professional, which means the Syndicate found us.

We grapple in the narrow hallway, trading blows in the confined space. He’s strong, but I’ve got rage and desperation on my side. Plus a lifetime of fighting dirty. I drive my knee up into his groin, and even with whatever protection he’s wearing, that shit has to hurt.

He stumbles back half a step, just enough space for me to slam my forehead into his face. The crunch of cartilage is satisfying, but I don’t have time to enjoy it. If one of Malcolm’s men found us, there are probably more coming.

And just as the thought pops into my head, more shapes in black tactical gear pour through the doorway like fucking cockroaches, with their weapons raised.

“They’re here!” I roar the warning as loud as I can, praying the others will hear me in time to save themselves. “The Syndicate! Get out now!”

---