Page 89 of Princes of Carnage

“If you understand me so well,” I bite out, hardening my voice, “then you’ll know how I feel about being lied to.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just keeps watching me with those too-perceptive eyes. And all at once, I’ve had enough of this.

I shove at him, one of my hands hitting his wounded side, smearing blood on my palm as I make space between us. I don’t have any illusions that if he didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t try to keep me there.

So I slip out from between him and the house and stalk back inside, feeling even more confused than I did when I came out.

28

QUINN

When I wake up the next morning, I feel almost hungover. Emotionally hungover, I guess.

My head pounds, and my body feels heavy with the weight of everything that’s pressing down on me. As I lie beneath my messy blankets in bed, it all catches up with me. The panic attack, Killian’s revelation, and—fuck, the deaths of my people.

I drag in a deep breath, feeling my ribs ache with it. My chest hurts as if the heaviness has all settled there, and I press the heels of my hands over my eyes, letting them dig in a bit until I see stars.

There’s just so fucking much going on. Too much. So much that it feels like I’m spiraling out of control. Like I can’t find solid footing.

It bothers me. This lack of control makes me feel… vulnerable. Like I’m just reacting to things as they happen instead of being able to actually handle them.

The problem is, I have no idea how these kinds of things should be handled. Betrayals and attacks from sources we can’t track down. Past traumas. It’s just all so big.

I think about what Killian said last night, about how we crave the darkness sometimes after experiencing the worst that the world has to offer, so that we can control it next time.

I never overtly thought about it like that, or at least, I never admitted it to myself, but it makes some amount of sense. After everything that’s happened to me, it did make me feel like I was taking control when I went to seek out Phantom at that club. Like I was making a choice for myself instead of just letting things happen to me.

Thinking about that makes something warm start to pool in my belly, and I shove the thought away before I can let it take root too much.

The last thing I want is to start admitting that Killian was right about anything. Being lied to by him still stings, and I’m still angry about all of it.

I take a few more deep breaths and then force myself to get out of bed. The entire house feels like it’s loaded with booby traps right now, like there’s nowhere safe for me to turn. And that especially pisses me off because it’s my goddamn house.

But things are still unresolved between me and Atlas, the argument we got into at the club and the things he said to me still hanging over our heads. We haven’t spoken much at all since then, both of us deliberately avoiding each other.

There’s Killian, and all that baggage that I have no idea how to even attempt to deal with.

And then there’s my husband.

Unconsciously, I touch the tattoo that Nico gave me, mostly done with the peeling phase and well on its way to being healed by now. I’m starting to get used to it, no longer startled by the sight of a new tattoo on my body when I see myself in the mirror, and I don’t know if I like that it’s beginning to feel like a part of me or hate it.

I get dressed and head downstairs, immediately a bit relieved when I realize that the only one down there so far is Nico. I never thought I’d be glad to see him, but out of all three Princes, things feel the least messy between the two of us right now.

They’re far from settled, considering we’ve been fucking when we really shouldn’t be. I have no idea if we’re enemies with benefits or something more, but right now I don’t have to think about that.

There are much more pressing matters, and it’s easier to shove all of my feelings to the back burner.

Nico is sitting at the kitchen table, his head slightly bowed as if he’s deep in thought. He looks up when I come into the kitchen, and he looks as tired as I feel.

A twinge of empathy tugs at my heart. One of his people died last night too, and despite how smug and irritating he can be, it’s clear he does care about making sure his crew is taken care of. He probably feels just as out of control as I do about this whole thing, as guilty, angry, and heartbroken about the losses last night as I am.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, bypassing a greeting and jumping right into business. But I’m fine with that. It’s better this way. “Trying to figure out what the fuck this mystery person’s angle is.”

I nod, rubbing at my face. “Yeah, me too. Last night, I had the thought that it feels like they’re just fucking with us now. They attacked us openly, unprovoked.”

“Exactly.” His blue and green eyes glitter in the morning sunlight as he rests his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “There’s no real strategy behind that. They didn’t gain anything. If this was only about moving in on our territory, they would have tried to make the attack worthwhile for them. This was just…”

“Senseless,” I finish. “It would be one thing if they moved on our business interests or sabotaged a deal. But this feels like declaring war.”

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