Page 37 of Princes of Carnage

I could suggest we find a different, more neutral place to live, but that opens up a whole host of new problems.

As much as I hate to admit it, one of us moving in with the other makes the most sense. And considering I don’t want to go to them, that just leaves them coming to me. Nico’s not going to budge on Atlas and Killian coming with him. That’s abundantly clear.

If they move in with me, I’ll still be outnumbered, but it will give me the upper hand of being on my own turf. That’s something. And living under the same roof will put me in a position to be able to study these three men better. I’ve had multiple run-ins with the three of them and their crew, of course, but most of that has been superficial shit. Nothing that tells me who they truly are and what their weaknesses might be.

Having them in my house will mean living in close enough quarters that hopefully they won’t be able to hide anything from me.

I can watch them, learn their patterns and their habits, and put together a plan for how to move forward in the future. Once this outside threat is dealt with and our groups inevitably go back to being enemies—because that’s clearly what’s going to happen, wedding vows be damned—I’ll have so much more information that I can use as leverage against them.

And besides that, this will take all three of them away from their own headquarters for a good chunk of the time. Although that won’t severely weaken their gang, it will give me a bit of an edge over them if I need it.

Maybe I can actually turn this thing that Nico is insisting on to my advantage.

“Fine,” I say, nodding grudgingly. “If you’re all on board with that, then so am I. I have enough guest rooms at my house to give all of you your own space.”

“Don’t you mean just Atlas and Killian?” Nico smirks, a hint of wry amusement returning to his face. “Because as husband and wife, you and I should be sharing a room.”

I bare my teeth at him. “Don’t push your fucking luck, or you’ll be sleeping in the yard.”

Atlas snorts under his breath. “You don’t want to share a room with her anyway, Nico. Unless you want to have to sleep with a gun under your pillow.”

I glare at Atlas over Nico’s shoulder. Killian, as usual, has nothing to add to the discussion. He stands with his hands folded behind his back like an intimidating brick wall, watching our exchange with glittering, perceptive green eyes.

“Are you going straight home after this?” Nico asks, bringing my attention back to him.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll have my people start moving our things over soon then. Expect us in a few hours.”

“Fine.”

This time, when I turn on my heel to leave, no one stops me.

I have enough time when I get back home to change out of the wedding dress, toss it into a crumbled ball at the back of my closet, and then take a shower.

I think about trying to clean the place up a little, but then I decide I don’t care. It’s not that messy, considering I don’t really spend much time here beyond eating and sleeping most days, and if Nico and his friends have an issue with dust, they can go fuck themselves.

It only takes a couple of hours before someone is banging on my front door, and I open it to see members of the motorcycle club carrying boxes up the driveway.

Killian, Nico, and Atlas bring up the rear, entering the house along with their men. I stand in the living room, watching as they form an assembly line to carry shit inside, stacking the boxes neatly against the walls.

It feels like a long time ago that I decided having them move in with me could be a tactical advantage. That decision feels far away now that I’m standing here, watching them invade my space. My sanctuary. This house has been the place I come to get away from it all, to clear my head as best I can, and to think about my dad where no one can rush in to pity me.

I didn’t quite realize until now, how few people have been here since my dad died.

When he was alive, there were always people coming and going. Members of Enigma who’d stop by to give reports and stay for dinner or to watch a game. Meetings where everyone would bring a dish and we’d all sit down to eat together. Friends of my dad’s who’d come by just to chat or play cards. This place was just as much a part of things as the tattoo parlor, and it made it seem like it was always full of life.

Since Dad died though, I’ve been doing pretty much all of the gang business out of Blood and Ink. The idea of having people come by the house just felt too… heavy. Like it was too much too soon, even though it’s been a year already.

Maybe it was part of the grieving process or something, but I didn’t want to disturb this place. It felt almost as if letting other people come over would shatter the memories of my father that still linger in almost every room of the house, and I just haven’t been ready for that yet.

It makes it feel even more wrong that the first people to be here are the Princes of Carnage.

Nico, Atlas, and Killian don’t waste a second in making themselves at home. Killian oversees most of the moving, watching their people come and go with boxes with that sharp-eyed precision he seems to have.

Atlas and Nico poke around the ground floor, opening drawers and cabinets, examining the books on the shelves in the living room, testing out the furniture. It’s like they’re animals in the fucking wild, marking the space with their scent or something, laying a claim to it. They might as well be pissing in the goddamn corners, honestly.

Nico turns away from the bookshelf with a small, leather-bound book in hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, I snatch the book away from him.

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