Page 65 of Princess of Vengeance

I can see that their hands are gentle as they undress her, but there’s nothing even remotely sexual about this moment. Right now, we’re just three men trying to help the woman we love through something terrible.

I reach into the shower and crank the hot water, adjusting it until it’s warm but not scalding. Steam begins to fill the small bathroom as I turn back to Quinn.

She’s standing between Nico and Atlas now, naked and vulnerable, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold her insides together. Her eyes are still distant, looking at something we can’t see.

“Give her to me,” I say, and they help guide her into my arms.

I lift her and step into the shower, positioning us so that the spray hits just below her shoulders. I want to keep her head and face dry for now, mainly so she can see everything clearly once she starts to come back to us. Her legs wrap around my waist almost instinctively, and her arms are around my neck. Fuck, she’s clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world.

I hold her tight against my chest, making sure she’s stable and supported as the water runs in rivulets down our bodies.

“Feel me breathing,” I tell her, making each breath deliberate and deep. “In… and out. Like this. Match me.”

She presses her face into the crook of my neck, and I can feel her wet lashes fluttering against my skin. Her chest slowly expands against mine as she pulls in a ragged breath, then releases it.

“That’s it,” I encourage her. “Again. In… and out.”

We stand there under the spray, breathing together. The tremors start to ease, until they’re replaced by smaller, less frequent shudders. Her death grip on me loosens slightly, but she doesn’t let go.

Nico and Atlas hover just outside the shower, watching every move.

“What happened, vicious?” Atlas asks, gentle but insistent. “How can we help?”

She shakes her head against my shoulder but doesn’t answer.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” I tell her, running a soothing hand down her back. “Just stay with us. Stay present.”

“He—” she starts, but her voice breaks. She’s still strung out from the panic attack, and her mind is obviously scattered in too many directions to form the words she needs.

“Later,” I say. “Tell us later.”

She’s starting to calm down now, and her breathing is becoming steadier even though her body still trembles against mine occasionally. I’m so focused on keeping her warm and calm while I watch for signs of another panic spiral, that I miss what Nico spots immediately.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” There’s enough of an edge in his voice to get her attention, but she just looks at him with exhausted eyes and doesn’t answer.

I follow his gaze and see what I should have noticed right away—dark bruises forming on her jaw, angry red marks shaped like fingerprints. Someone grabbed her face hard enough toleave their signature behind. My stomach clenches as I tilt her chin up gently to get a better look.

“That son of a bitch,” I growl, not needing confirmation. There’s only one person in her life right now who is capable of doing some shit like that, and the evidence is right there in purple and blue.

Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of the shower. I count my own breaths, forcing myself to stay calm for her sake, even as I imagine ripping Malcolm’s fingers off one by one.

“There’s more,” Atlas says quietly, pointing to her wrists where similar bruises are forming.

Fucking Christ. I’ve been so focused on getting her through the panic attack that I missed the signs written all over her body. Some protector I am. I silently catalog each mark, each bruise—my own private ledger of debts that will be paid in blood.

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” I ask.

Quinn shakes her head, then stops, and I can see the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. Whatever happened, she’s not ready to put it into words. The panic attack has left her drained, and her defenses have been stripped away. Pushing her for answers now will only make things worse.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” I tell her, brushing wet strands of hair away from her face. “Not until you’re ready.”

Relief flickers across her features, but I’m not letting this go entirely.

“But you will tell us,” I add. “When you’re back to yourself. We need to know exactly what that fucker did.”

She nods against my chest, and that’s enough for now.

Nico reaches past the shower curtain to hand me the soap. His knuckles are white, and his jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching. He’s already plotting Malcolm’s death—just like we all are—but right now Quinn needs us to be here with her, calm and present.

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