Page 122 of Crown of Lies

I nod to the men, and we peel out in a cloud of smoke, tires squealing as we speed back the way we came. In the distance, sirens blare, and I bet the driver’s made that call. Too bad for him, we’re already long gone on our way back to the shop.

Stepping into the shop, I immediately sense the buzz of energy. Everyone is on high alert, their eyes flitting to the door as we enter.

“We need to up the security,” I announce to the room, my voice steady. “I want eyes and ears on everything. Someone is watching us, and they’re relentless.”

Nods greet my words, and I see the determination in their eyes. We’ve been through a lot together, and they know I wouldn’t ask for more if it weren’t necessary.

“Got eyes on the street,” one of my oldest members, a guy named Chop, chimes in, his deep voice rumbling. “No strange activity so far, but we’ll keep a sharp lookout.”

I send him a grateful look. Chop is our muscle and our guardian angel, always keeping watch while we work.

“Good. Thanks,” I say with a small smile. “I want us all to stick together, no lone wolves. If anyone sees anything suspicious, report it immediately.”

“What about the client appointments?” a young recruit named Phoenix asks, brows knit together.

It’s a good question. We can’t afford to turn away business, but safety comes first.

“We’ll keep the clients flowing through as usual, but only familiar faces for now,” I suggest, pacing as I think aloud. “If we haven’t done work for them, they’d better have a referral from someone who knows us really fucking well.”

There are murmurs of agreement, and I can see the tension ease from their shoulders. This group has been like a family for years, and they know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect us.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” I say with a nod. “Stay vigilant, and keep your wits about you.”

My people disperse, returning to their stations and clients. I take a moment to breathe, rallying my thoughts before the Princes and I take off back home.

When we’re finally back at my place, I pace the living room, too wired to sit still. The events of the day play over and over in my mind like a bad action movie.

“This stalker situation is getting out of hand,” I mutter, raking my hands through my hair in frustration.

“We’ll figure it out,” Atlas assures me, his gaze steady. “We always do.”

I know he’s right, but that doesn’t shake the feeling of being hunted. I hate that we’re on the back foot, reacting to this mysterious player’s moves. It’s like a game of chess, and we’re always one step behind with half as many pieces on the board.

The tension in the air is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

I turn to Nico. “When is the last time you’ve heard from The Saint?”

“Bastard hasn’t contacted me in weeks. He’s onto us, I’m sure of it.”

Atlas runs a hand over his face, his usual calm demeanor cracking. “Our bluff didn’t work. He has to know we’re not spying on Quinn anymore.”

“Then we’re fucked,” Killian mutters, standing stone-still in the corner. “He’s probably the one stalking us now. We’ve lost our edge.”

I feel a surge of anger and frustration. We thought we were being clever, playing both sides, but now it’s all falling apart. The Saint is steps ahead of us, and we’re fumbling in the dark.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, barely keeping my growing anger and desperation in check. “We can’t just sit here waiting for him to make his next move.”

Nico shakes his head, his eyes dark with worry. “I don’t know. I’ve tried reaching out through our usual channels, but it’s radio silence. He’s cut us off completely.”

“He’s watching us some other way,” Atlas adds, his jaw clenched. “We need to figure out how, and fast.”

I pace the length of the living room, frustration mounting. I need answers, or at least some hint of good news. Actionable news.

Fucking something.

Reaching for my phone, I call Willow, hoping she has some news for me.

It rings a few times before she picks up, her voice weary. “Hey, Quinn. What’s up?”

---