Page 43 of Princess of Vengeance

The bar won't open for hours yet, but I know the back entrance code hasn't changed in over ten years.

Sure enough, it still works.

The familiar smell of stale beer and old cigarettes is almost comforting as I climb the stairs into the main bar. I grab a pieceof paper and a pen from behind the register, then write two simple notes.

One to Mickey and one to my men.

If anyone can get word to them, it’s him. I just hope it’s enough to bring them here, if they're even still in Detroit. If they haven't already written me off as the backstabbing bitch I pretended to be.

But that's a big fucking if.

For all I know, they believed every word I said in that safe house. Maybe they think I really did choose Malcolm's power over their love. Maybe they've already left the city, wanting nothing more to do with me or the batshit crazy drama that seems to follow me everywhere I go.

The thought makes my chest ache, but I push it down. I can't afford to spiral right now. Not when Malcolm's guards are probably wondering what's taking me so long.

I slide the notes into the register’s cash drop, sending up a silent prayer that Mickey sees them. Then I retrace my steps through the tunnel and back up to the main floor of my dad's old building.

I spend a few more minutes walking the space, picturing where everything will go. The front desk here, the tattoo stations along that wall. But my mind keeps drifting to the possibility of seeing my men again.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. But first, it’s time to play the good little wife again.

The next night,I tell Malcolm I need to check on some things at the building. He allows it, probably thinking I'm actually starting to embrace this new life he's forced me into.

I slip into Mickey's, hoping at least one of my men will be there waiting for me.

But there are only a handful of old regulars sitting at the bar, and Mickey confirms he’s relayed the message—not to Nico, Atlas, or Killian directly, unfortunately, but to an intermediary he trusts.

It’s hard as hell not to be frustrated, and I do appreciate the favor. I just know I’m on borrowed time, and I fucking need this to work. More importantly, I need to see my men again.

The next night, I try again. Another excuse to Malcolm. Another bitter disappointment when they don't show up.

The following night, I have to seriously start to consider the possibility that they’ve moved on. That they don’t want to see me again.

The night after that, I’m almost ready to give up.

17

NICO

I watchas Kendrick and the others file out of the makeshift meeting room, their heavy footsteps echoing through this abandoned warehouse we’re using as a temporary base. The roof leaks in at least a dozen places and everything is covered in a layer of dust and grime. It’s a far fucking cry from the clubhouse we used to have back in the day, but considering how many times we’ve cheated death over the past few months?

Yeah, it’s a goddamn miracle that we’re here at all. But we are still here.

The Princes of Carnage are rebuilding, slowly but surely, and this dirty, run down warehouse looks like a fucking palace when we put it into perspective.

Atlas lingers by the door, his protective instincts probably screaming at him not to leave me alone, but I wave him off.

“I’m good,” I tell him, even though we both know it’s bullshit.

Nothing has been good since she walked away from us. Since she cut through our marks like they meant fucking nothing and went off to be Malcolm’s wife.

A week. It’s been a goddamn week, and I still can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t even begin to process how quickly everything went to shit.

At least we’re making progress rebuilding Carnage. Kendrick came through for us, bringing in a few other guys who realized what a mistake it was to follow Zoey and never fully bought into her bullshit. It’s not much—still barely over half a dozen reliable, trustworthy brothers in total now—but it’s a foundation we can build on, and that counts for a hell of a lot.

Assuming Malcolm doesn’t change his mind and decide to wipe us off the map just for existing.

Atlas slumps down into a chair but doesn’t say anything, and I’m pretty sure this mind-numbing quiet is the thing that’s going to drive us all fucking insane.

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