Page 3 of Princess of Vengeance

She raises the knife, and I brace myself for more searing pain. But when the blade slides into my upper chest, just below my collarbone, something is different. The pain is there, sharp and immediate, but it’s not the bone-deep, grinding agony that Elliot inflicted. She’s barely pushed the blade in at all.

I meet her eyes, searching for some kind of meaning through the haze of pain that’s radiating through my chest. Her expression doesn’t give anything away, but there’s something in the way she’s staring back at me—something I might be able to catch if my head wasn’t starting to swim from the steady loss of blood.

A fresh burst of pain shoots through me as she withdraws the blade, and I can’t help the grunt that escapes my throat. My legs try to give out, and I sag against the chains holding me up. The manacles bite into my wrists as they take my full weight, but that sting is hardly noticeable compared to everything else I’m feeling.

Through the fog, I hear one of my men make a sound like he’s being gutted by having to watch me suffer like this. Probably Atlas—he’s always been the one who feels everything the deepest, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Malcolm passes the knife to Owen with a pleased smile, like he’s hosting a particularly entertaining dinner party. Or maybe that’s just how I’m imagining him, with my vision swimming in and out of focus. Even Owen’s heavy footsteps are starting to echo strangely in my head.

A groan slips past my lips as my head lolls forward. The blood loss is really starting to hit me now, making everything feel distant and hazy. The chains are the only thing holding me upright now that my legs have completely given out.

Owen comes to a stop in front of me, his gray eyes shadowed and impossible to read.

He leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my face as he raises the knife, and my pulse spikes. I don’t know if he’s searching for something in my expression, or if he just wants to watch the pain in my eyes when he drives the blade in—but either way, it’s a bad fucking move.

I gather every ounce of strength I have left, everything that makes me my father’s daughter, that makes me tough enough to lead a gang in my own right. Everything that makes me the woman that three dangerous men choose to love. Moving like lightning, I slam my forehead into Owen’s face with everything I’ve got.

2

ATLAS

Blood explodesfrom Owen’s nose as Quinn’s forehead connects with devastating precision.

The crack of bone is so sharp I can almost feel it in my own skull. He staggers back, his eyes wide with shock as blood streams down his face and drips onto his shirt. That’s my vicious, strong-as-hell, smart-as-fuck woman—living up to her nickname even when she’s half-dead and chained to a fucking wall.

The room freezes for half a second that seems to stretch out into minutes. Everyone is so damned surprised to see this bleeding woman they thought was already beaten still fighting back.

Hell,I’msurprised—and I know what she’s capable of doing when she’s backed into a corner. I’ve been on the receiving end of that particular brand of viciousness more than once.

Malcolm’s smug expression slips for just a second, his cold eyes widening a fraction before narrowing dangerously. Elliot’s mouth hangs open like the fucking idiot he is, while Imogen takes a sharp step back. Rafael actually lets out an appreciative whistle through his teeth. Even Cassandra’s perfectly manicuredhand flies to her throat in a flash of unscripted, unguarded surprise.

The guards are just as stunned, their strict training momentarily forgotten in the face of this unexpected show of pure, badass defiance. The one holding me shifts his weight, distracted by the spectacle of Owen stumbling backward, cursing through the blood pouring down his chin.

One heartbeat. That’s all I need.

My body moves on pure instinct, the same way it always does when Quinn is in danger. None of us has the luxury of weighing the odds or considering how many guns are trained on us.

It doesn’t take a fucking genius to know we’re fucked five ways from Sunday with one wrong move. But if I’m being completely honest?

Those are my kind of odds.

And now it’s time for me to do the same damn thing I’ve done since I started falling for her—putting myself between her and whatever is trying to hurt her. Even if it gets me killed.

I throw myself sideways, ducking my head away from the barrel pressed against my temple. The guard squeezes the trigger, and the gunshot explodes next to my ear, leaving behind a high-pitched whine that drowns out everything else. But I’m already moving, my muscles remembering countless fights as I pivot sharply on my knees. My hands find the guard’s weapon—still in his grip—and I wrench it toward the guard holding Killian.

The poor bastard never sees it coming. He’s too focused on controlling the restless beast in front of him. I don’t hesitate. One quick squeeze of the trigger, and Killian’s guard buckles, his gun clattering to the floor as his body follows.

Killian moves like we’ve been rehearsing this exact moment for days, snatching up the dead guard’s weapon before the body even hits the ground. He turns with the kind of grace and agilitythat’s fucking jaw-dropping for someone his size, and puts a bullet through the skull of the guard holding Nico.

My brother might be a crazy motherfucker, but that shot was a thing of beauty—the cleanest, most precise kill I’ve ever seen—and I would expect nothing less from our resident psychopath.

The guard I’m wrestling with tries to wrestle his gun back, but he’s just a half-second behind all the action. Nico is already moving, already taking advantage of his unexpected freedom. One clean shot, and the pressure on the weapon suddenly releases as my guard’s body goes slack.

Three guards down in the span of a few heartbeats. The three of us moving like we’ve rehearsed this a thousand times, which I guess we have. Brothers in arms, watching each other’s backs just like we always do.

“Kill them now!” Malcolm’s commanding voice cuts through the chaos. He’s a slick son of a bitch, but his composure is finally cracking. “Every last one of them!”

The room erupts in gunfire as more guards pour in. Nico takes cover behind the conference table, returning fire with lethal precision while Killian does what he does best and becomes pure fucking violence, each shot finding its mark with terrifying accuracy.

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