Page 13 of Crown of Lies

“Nico.”

The way he says my name tells me he’s none too happy to see me—not that I’m surprised by that. I’ve always gotten the vibe that he doesn’t like me or my two seconds, above and beyond the usual animosity between Enigma and Carnage.

Keeping my feet planted on the walkway and my body blocking his path toward the house, I cock a brow at him. “What’s up?”

He frowns, running a hand through his dark blond hair. I’ve always thought his pretty boy good looks didn’t quite fit with someone who’s pretty high up in a gang, but I suppose he’s got to have some kind of spine under that all-American looking exterior for Quinn to trust him as much as she does.

Although I no longer trusther, so I guess it’s a moot fucking point.

“I’m here to see Quinn,” Emmett tells me, glancing behind me toward the house.

“Sorry. You can’t.”

His attention snaps back to me, a frown curving his lips. “What? Why not?”

Because she’s currently chained up in the basement.

“Silas attacked Carnage’s clubhouse,” I answer, the lie falling smoothly from my lips. “Quinn got hurt in the crossfire. Nothing major,” I add quickly, seeing his eyes widen. “But she took a bullet in the arm, and she’s recovering from that right now.”

“What the fuck?” Concern twists Emmett’s features “Jesus. And I’m just hearing about this now? Is she?—”

“She’s fine,” I repeat, my voice a little harder. “She’s resting up. I’m sure she’ll be back at Blood and Ink in a day or two, so whatever you need to talk to her about can wait until then.”

He shakes his head, making a move to step around me. “I want to see her now.”

My hand darts out as I sidestep to meet him, my palm meeting his chest. “And I’m telling you, you can’t.”

Anger flashes in his eyes. I’m fairly certain that if Enigma and Carnage weren’t still supposedly allies, he’d take a swing at me—or maybe the reason he doesn’t do it is because he knows he’d lose that fight. I’ve got my gun tucked into the waistband of my pants like I often do, but I wouldn’t even need it. I think I’d enjoy taking him down with my bare hands, actually.

“Why the fuck not?” he demands, his voice tight. “You just told me the wound wasn’t all that bad. So if she’s doing alright, then she can stand to have a visitor. The Quinn I know wouldn’t be sidelined by a gunshot, no matter how bad it was.”

I narrow my eyes, moving closer so that the difference in our heights is even more pronounced.

“The Quinn you used to know didn’t have anyone to look out for her the way she does now,” I growl. “She’s mywife. It’s my job to make sure she’s taken care of while she heals, and that means getting rest. So I don’t give a fuck if you think she needs to bounce back faster, I’m going to make sure she takes care of herself until she’s back on her feet. And that includes not being distracted by whatever bullshit you came here to talk to her about. If it’s something truly important to Enigma, tell me and I’ll deal with it. But you’re not fucking talking to Quinn today. Got it?”

Emmett blinks, settling back on his heels a bit as if he’s surprised by the forcefulness of my tone.

Honestly, I’m a little surprised myself. I only said all of that because I need him to back the hell off and stop trying to get inside the house, but a flicker of guilt curls in my stomach at the knowledge that Quinn isn’t actually upstairs resting, but down below in the bowels of her home, tied up and tortured.

She asked for it when she burned down the clubhouse,I remind myself, steeling my resolve.Focus.

Emmett hesitates for another moment, glancing up at the house again like he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of Quinn standing by a window like some sort of Victorian invalid. Then he blows out a breath, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Just… tell her I dropped by, alright? And if she needs anything, she’s got me and the rest of Enigma ready to have her back.” Something like jealousy flashes across his face as he adds, “You’re not the only one who cares about her.”

His words make the knot in my gut twist even tighter, but I make sure not to let it show on my face. Instead, I give him a curt nod.

“I’ll tell her. You can let the rest of your gang know what happened, and that she’ll be back on her feet soon.”

“I will.”

He stays rooted in place for a moment, looking like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. After a few more heartbeats, he finally turns and heads back to his car, sliding inside and starting the engine.

I stay right where I am as I watch him pull away, not moving until his car has disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. Then I blow out a breath, an unaccountable feeling of irritation roiling beneath my skin. I don’t know what exactly pissed me off so much about that interaction—whether it was the fact that Emmett was so obviously concerned for Quinn, or the fact that every lie I spoke about taking care of her felt like acid on my tongue—but I’m in an even worse mood now than I was when I got home.

Spinning on my heel, I head toward the house and shove open the front door. Once inside, I head straight for the basement.

As soon as I open the door that leads to the basement stairs, I clap my hands over my ears. The most god-awful, bone-piercing noise invades my skull, like thousands of nails on a chalkboard.

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