Page 86 of Princes of Carnage

My jaw aches from how hard I’ve been clenching it as I give a few more orders to my people, my shoulders tight with tension. It’s been a long fucking day—so long that the panic attack from earlier is starting to feel like it happened to someone else. I never thought melting down from PTSD would be the smallest crisis of the day, but here we fucking are.

I don’t let any of that show though. I keep my emotions bottled up as best as I can, telling my people to rendezvous with me at the tattoo parlor so that we can deal with the aftermath of all of this. They all nod somberly and start to head out, but Emmett lingers for a second to talk to me privately.

“Find out what jobs those three had lined up,” I tell him as he steps closer to me.. “And… reassign them. As shitty as it feels to say, we can’t let this slow us down. That’s what whoever this is probably wants. For this to start to break us. We can’t let it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He pauses, opening his mouth like he wants to speak before closing it and shaking his head, as if he’s thought better of it.

I give him a look. “You might as well say whatever you’re going to say.”

“It’s just that… I thought this alliance was supposed to help,” he mutters, glancing over to where the three Princes are still holding court with their people. “But if their people are getting killed too…”

I sigh, rubbing at my face. “I know. But we are stronger together. And we’re going to figure out who the fuck did this.”

He nods, not looking fully convinced—and I can’t really blame him for that, honestly. I feel like we’ve been two steps behind this entire time, playing defense instead of offense, and if there’s one thing that the events of tonight have done, it’s made me realize that we can’t play that game anymore.

We have to dig deeper into the intel we got from Tobias today, and then take the goddamn fight to whoever has been picking us off like flies.

The Princes of Carnage cart their fallen crew member away, and I share a look with Nico as I head toward the car my people arrived in, preparing to head back to Blood and Ink with my crew. His face bears the same grim, angry expression that I know is on mine, and I’m glad to see it. He looks as motivated as I am to end this fucking thing once and for all.

It takes several hours to deal with the logistics and aftermath of the three deaths, and by the time I finally leave the tattoo parlor, it’s late, and I’m stressed and exhausted. My head pounds as one of my crew members gives me a ride back to the house, and although my skin prickles at the thought that the unknown attacker is out there even now, I refuse to let fear be the emotion that wins out.

Instead, I focus on the fury simmering low in my belly, stoking that fire until it rises higher and higher.

The house is dark as I unlock the door and slip inside.

I assume the three Princes are either still at their clubhouse handling business or upstairs sleeping, but I don’t have any desire to go to sleep yet myself. I don’t think I could if I tried. There are too many thoughts crashing around inside my head, and my entire body feels like it’s buzzing.

I head to the kitchen, planning to grab a bottle of whiskey to take the edge off—but as I pass by the window that opens onto the backyard, I see a figure standing outside.

My heart lurches for a second, half expecting it to be the mysterious attacker with his gun drawn and pointed at my head.

But it’s not.

It’s Killian.

He must’ve stepped out for some air, maybe unable to sleep just like I am, and at the sight of his large, imposing frame, all of the anger that’s been building inside me suddenly has a target.

He lied to me. He stalked me. He made me feel things for him that I should never have felt.

I pivot, changing directions quickly as my heart pounds against my ribs. Grabbing the knife that I keep stashed by the back door, I ease out of the house, letting the door close silently behind me. The grass muffles my footsteps as I stride toward Killian, and when I’m just a few feet away from him, he turns, either hearing me or sensing my presence.

Before he can say or do anything, I lash out, swinging the knife in a wide arc.

27

QUINN

Killian blocks the blow, but that doesn’t stop me. I swing again, seeing red.

I’m full of raw, primal fury, driven purely by an overload of emotions that I can’t control. Everything has been so much for so long, and it’s all crashing around inside my head and my heart. There’s a part of me that wants to hurt him for what he did, and I lean into it, my fingers clenched tightly around the knife’s handle.

He shifts to one side, trying to move so he can grab me, but I’m faster than him. I duck under his arm and bring the knife up, stabbing him right in the side.

I feel it when the point of the blade breaks into his flesh, sinking into the meat of him, but Killian barely reacts. His forest green eyes flash, and he leans into the wound, almost like he’s embracing the pain of it.

I yank the knife free, the tip coated in his blood. This time, when I go to attack him again, he’s quicker, and he grabs my arm in a grip that feels like iron.

My stomach flips over at the feel of his skin against mine. Now that I know that Killian is the man from the club, the feeling of him grabbing me like this has a whole new meaning behind it.

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