Page 3 of Crown of Lies

Every part of me is on fire, burning with adrenaline or pain or both, and I try to ignore the fact that in another context—in another life—the chase I just led them all on might have ended with a very different outcome.

The Princes were always my weakness, and they exploited the fuck out of that fact.

“There is no easy way,” I tell him, and I swear I can feel the mark of his ring on my chest itching, even though the tattoo has long since healed. “Not anymore. Not between us.”

Something passes through his eyes, a thought or emotion that I can’t quite read. Then he nods.

“You’re right.” His gaze flicks between Atlas and Killian. “Get her tied up. We’re leaving.”

I don’t know what they plan to tie me up with, but that question is answered when Killian steps forward. He grabs the hem of my shirt, sending my pulse skittering as he rips it, pulling a length of cloth from the bottom. It leaves my stomach exposed, and I swear I catch a glint of heat in his dark green eyes as his gaze passes briefly over my toned, tattooed skin.

I grit my teeth, looking away. As Killian steps back, Atlas jerks me forward, gripping my wrists together. He holds them as Killian binds them with the scraps of my own clothes. They work methodically together as Nico watches, and it’s not lost on me that this scenario—Nico calling the shots, and his two best friends following his commands without hesitation—is something I’m so intimately familiar with.

No, not intimate. Not anymore.

Killian gets the cloth tied around my wrists, and I grimace. He obviously knows his way around a knot, and it’s so tight that I’m sure the circulation in my hands is going to be fucked. But I don’t complain, even when I’m lifted unceremoniously and slung over Atlas’s shoulder.

Because I refuse to make any of this easy for them, I knee him in the chest as he gets me situated, but before I can do more than that, Nico steps up behind us both, his gun drawn again.

“Don’t try anything else,” he warns, his voice so low and even that I know the threat is real. “Or you’ll regret it.”

I relent, going limp across Atlas’s shoulder as Killian steps up to walk alongside us and they all trudge through the forest.

When we get closer to the still-burning clubhouse, Nico climbs onto his bike, and Atlas deposits me on the back of it, right behind him.

“How am I supposed to hold on?” I demand, twisting my head to look at him.

He just shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. You’re smart enough.”

I grumble under my breath, gripping the back of Nico’s shirt as well as I can with my bound hands as Killian and Atlas mount up on their rides as well, leaving my bike where it is.

As we peel out and ride away from the clubhouse, I consider attempting to jerk Nico backward. Sending him flying onto the asphalt would surely put a damper on whatever plans he’s working up to use this secret about me to his advantage—whatever that secret may be.

The only thing that stops me from throwing my weight backward and trying to drag him off the bike is the fact that that would send me flying too, and I’m not exactly in the kind of condition someone should be in if they plan to do daredevil shit on the back of a motorcycle. I’m exhausted, and the bullet wound in my shoulder hurts like hell. Even if I managed to get off the bike, there’s no way I’d get far before the men dragged me back again.

So for now, I behave and bide my time. The roar of the motorcycle’s engine cuts through the night, and I try not to think about the other times I’ve been on the back of Nico’s bike, or how he and the others got me a bike of my own after our wedding.

I remember being surprised and strangely touched by the gesture at the time, but when I look back on it now, everything is colored in a different light. Every little moment that pushed me and the Princes closer together was carefully orchestrated, either by the Princes themselves or by The Saint—whoever the fuck that is—as a way to get me off my guard.

I hold on tightly to the anger and bitterness that burn in the back of my throat, because I know they’re the only things that are going to keep me alive going forward.

Eventually, we roll up to the front of my house, and my eyebrows furrow as Nico cuts the engine. I’m actually surprised the men are ballsy enough to bring me to this location while they’ve got me tied up like this. It’s late at night by now, but still, if anyone from Enigma decided to come by my house right now, what would the Princes do? How would they try to explain away the very obvious fact that I’m their prisoner?

Then again… maybe they think so little of my gang that they’re not really worried about sparking a war between Enigma and Carnage.

As that thought sours in my mind, I’m jerked off Nico’s bike by Atlas. Once more, I’m slung over his broad shoulders, and his arms lock around my legs, keeping them pinned in place.

Seems he’s learned his lesson.

Moving quickly and efficiently, they carry me inside under the cover of darkness. From my upside down vantage point, I can see the foyer of the large house I inherited from my father. Just days ago, before everything came to light, this house wasn’t just a building with four walls and four occupants—it was a home. A home where I was starting to think that maybe we could build something real.

What a load of shit that turned out to be.

As they haul me through the house, I can’t help but think about all the moments we’ve had in here. Atlas making me food in the kitchen. Nico and Atlas having their way with me in the living room. Killian dropping that bag of hands on the kitchen table?—

Lies.

All of it.

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