Page 35 of Crown of Lies

Back at homewith the Princes, I can finally sink into one of the plush armchairs in the living room, if only for a few minutes’ rest away from prying eyes and ears. Nico, Killian, and Atlas seem to have the same idea, flopping down onto the comfortable furniture with expressions ranging from pensive to outright grim.

“Alright, so we’ve established that we still don’t know a fucking thing,” Nico begins, his frown deepening. “We have no idea how much The Saint might or might not know about what really happened with Silas and the fire at the clubhouse.”

A muscle ticks in Killian’s jaw as he gives a nod of agreement. “We need to figure out a way to keep Quinn safe while we find out who the fuck this asshole really is.”

From the couch, Atlas clears his throat and leans in a little. “What if we make it look like we’re still working for him? The longer he thinks everything is back to normal, the safer Quinn will be.”

The room falls silent as we all mull over his suggestion. It’s not a bad idea, really. For all we know, that creep in the mask could’ve been someone else hired by The Saint to watch me. If hethinks the men have backed out of their deal, he might just send another psycho after me.

“It could work,” I admit slowly. “At least until we can get to the bottom of who he really is and why I’m so damn valuable to him.”

Nico exchanges a weighted look with Killian before giving a decisive nod. “Alright, we’ll go with Atlas’s plan for now. But we need to be careful about how we go about tracking The Saint down.”

“His communications are all encrypted,” Killian grunts. “We have no way of tracing his identity from the messages alone.”

We’re essentially flying blind here, with zero leads on the twisted bastard who seems hell-bent on ruining my life. My fingers dig into the arm of the chair as a surge of anger rushes through me. I’m so sick of being caught in the middle of everyone else’s messed up power plays and revenge plots. For once, I want to be the one calling the shots, not just reacting to whatever fresh hell gets thrown my way.

“Well, we have to start somewhere,” I huff, straightening in my seat as an idea begins to take shape. “I have to go talk to someone. They might be able to help us find a lead on The Saint.”

Nico, Killian, and Atlas exchange a look before rising in unison, their expressions hardening—almost as if they’re preparing for an argument.

“We’re coming with you,” Nico states flatly.

I can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks within me. I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own, but I bite back the sharp reply that’s burning on the tip of my tongue. If we really are working as a team now, I have to let them do their part. And for better or worse, their part includes shadowing me—both to keep up appearances and for my own safety.

Without saying a word, I grab my jacket and head for the door, the Princes falling into step behind me. My mind is racing during the drive across town, with the desperate hope that Willow and her men might be able to shed some light on our current situation.

“What is this place?” Nico asks as we pull up in front of a large, plain warehouse.

“A friend—well, acquaintance—of mine should be here,” I mutter as I double-check the most recent address I have for Willow. She sent it to me after she and her men moved in, saying she wanted to make sure I had a way to contact her. “Hopefully.”

I take a deep breath as I approach the door, steeling myself for anything unexpected. Not that I think Willow or the three brothers she’s living with would try anything unprovoked, but there’s too much crazy shit going on in my life right now to take any chances.

Plus, I mean, look at us. Nobody is going to mistake us for vacuum cleaner salespeople.

Thankfully, Willow answers almost immediately. Her large brown eyes wide in surprise as she takes in the sight of me and the Princes.

She always struck me as a sweet woman—too sweet to be hanging out with the three tatted up brothers who came to my father asking for help, honestly—and true to form, a smile spreads across her face as she meets my gaze. I can see a tiny flicker of worry behind her eyes too, which means she’s probably already figured out that this isn’t a social visit.

“Quinn! I wasn’t expecting you. It’s—it’s good to see you again.” She gives me a quick, friendly nod, then glances behind me, taking in the Princes as she adds, “And I see you’ve brought company.”

I dip my chin in acknowledgement. “Yeah, these are some… associates of mine.” I’m not sure how much to divulge about thenature of our relationship just yet, so I keep my description as vague as possible as I gesture to each of them, introducing them in turn. “This is Nico, Killian, and Atlas. Guys, this is Willow.”

The men give tight smiles in greeting, their expressions completely unreadable. Willow’s eyes flit between them and me, a slight furrow appearing between her brows—like she’s trying to piece together how exactly we’re all connected.

Before she can ask any questions, she seems to realize we’re all still crowding her doorway and gestures for us to follow her inside the warehouse. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Um, come in. Sorry about the mess.”

As we trail behind her, the large open space comes into view—an eclectic mix of furniture and random objects scattered around. I’m guessing this place doubles as both a living space and a hub for whatever side hustles Willow and her men have going on.

The sound of a door slamming draws my attention to the back of the warehouse, where a familiar figure walks in with a scowl. The man striding toward us has thick dark hair, gray eyes, and hard features, and although I’ve only really met him once, his name is stamped in my memory so deeply that I know I’ll never forget it.

Malice.

“Hey, Solnyshka,” he rumbles, his eyes fixed on Willow as he closes the distance between them in a few long strides.

Before Willow can get a word out, Malice hauls her against him and kisses her deeply—so passionately that it nearly bends her backward.

I can’t help the spike of awkwardness that rushes through me as I watch them, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and averting my eyes. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but seeing such a blatantly shameless display of affection feels alittle weird, given how strained things are between me and the Princes right now.

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