Page 29 of Princes of Carnage

It sounds fucking ridiculous to even say it, but Nico’s orders.

Quinn huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh. “That’s not necessary. I can just get married in something I already have.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. Nico said that if you’re going to do this, you’re doing it all the way. It has to be a ‘real wedding.’” I put a heavy emphasis of sarcasm on the last two words, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Dress, suits, the whole nine yards. That’ll let the other organizations in this little pocket of the city know that we’re aligning ourselves. The more real it looks, the more seriously others will take us.”

She drags in a deep breath and then lets it out messily, a frown still pinching her face.

“I hate it when he makes sense,” she mutters under her breath. Then she shakes her head, as if trying to banish the thought. “Fine. I’ll get a fucking dress. But I don’t need you to go with me.”

I smirk, enjoying the opportunity to piss her off even more. Nico might say she’s going to be our ally soon, and Killian might seem weirdly on board with this whole thing, but as far as I’m concerned, the only upside to this arranged marriage bullshit is that it gives me a chance to fuck with and annoy Enigma’s leader when she can’t do anything about it.

“Nico’s orders,” I say with a shrug. “As his muscle, it’s my job to go with you. Can’t have his soon-to-be bride in any danger.”

Quinn picks up a piece of ink-dotted cloth, wringing it between her hands like she’s imagining it’s Nico’s neck… or maybe mine. When she looks up this time, her eyes spark with anger. “I can take care of myself.”

“Guess not, or you wouldn’t have needed us to help bail you out of your current problems,” I shoot back, enjoying twisting the knife in her.

Her expression hardens. “You came to me first, remember?”

Yeah. I do.

That’s part of why I think this whole thing is a mistake. Because Quinn is a fucking wild card, and Nico is kidding himself if he thinks he’ll be able to tame her or some shit like that. I can still remember the way she threw herself into fighting against the two of us, the way she never let her guard down or slumped in defeat even once we had her outnumbered three to one and I had her pinned up against the wall.

But I just shrug again, ignoring her question. “Are you finished up here?”

“Jesus fucking…”

She grumbles the rest of that sentence under her breath as she pushes back from the tattoo chair. She strides over to a row of drawers along one wall and yanks out a roll of clear film. With her lips set into a thin line, she comes back over and places a long strip of the film over the fresh tattoo, then tapes it in place.

“You’re good,” she tells the guy. He glances between the two of us and then rises from the chair, hurrying to the front desk where another one of Quinn’s people deals with him.

I stand watching her as she methodically cleans up her station, ignoring me as if I’m not standing less than three feet away from her. Irritation prickles under my skin, and I stretch my fingers and curl them into tight fists. I don’t doubt that she takes her tattoo work seriously, which includes maintaining a clean station, but I know for a damn fact that it doesn’t need to be that clean.

She’s fucking with me, just like I was fucking with her earlier. Poking at me. Using the fact that we’ve suddenly been thrust onto the ‘same side’ to get under my skin when I can’t do shit about it.

Honestly, I might even respect her for playing the same game I’m playing if I wasn’t so fucking annoyed.

I hold out for as long as I can, refusing to let her get a rise out of me, but when she starts to wipe the same part of her equipment tray down for the third time, I finally snap.

“Are you fucking done yet?” I bite out, my voice harsh.

She glances over her shoulder at me, a smile tugging at one corner of her full lips. She’s distractingly gorgeous, the kind of viciously beautiful woman who would be completely my type if she weren’t my enemy… and engaged to one of my best friends.

And that only makes me hate her more.

“Oh. You’re still here.” She looks from me to her obscenely spotless work station and then lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, I guess I’m done.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

I jerk my chin toward the door, and she rolls her eyes, still taking her sweet-ass time. She grabs her things and then marches outside, leaving me to follow her. But when she skirts around my bike, heading toward her car, I clear my throat.

“Uh uh, vicious. Your ride is right here.”

She stops in her tracks, glancing from me to the bike.

“Fuck no.” She glares at me. “I’m not getting on that thing with you. I’ll take my car, and you can follow behind me.” She pauses, then smirks as she adds, “Or you can go back to Nico and tell him that you didn’t manage to get me that dress after all.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. I’m tempted as hell to throw her over my shoulder and haul her onto the bike, willing or not—but I know her well enough to know that if I try that, it would turn into a fight like the one at the warehouse immediately. And that wouldn’t be a great start to this so-called alliance between our gangs.

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