Page 60 of Crown of Lies

But he’s fast, lunging at me before I can fully draw the weapon. We crash into the dresser, sending the gun and half a dozen framed photos clattering to the floor. Glass shatters around us as we grapple for control.

I knee him in the groin, and he doubles over. Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, I slam my forehead into his. The impact sends shockwaves through my skull, but it’s worth it to hear him cry out in pain again.

He staggers backward, blood seeping through his mask.

“Who sent you?” I snarl, my voice raw with fury as I raise my fists.

He doesn’t answer, just charges at me again. But this time, I’m ready. I sidestep his attack, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to slam him into the wall.

My fingers find the edge of his mask, and I yank hard, determined to see this bastard’s face. But he twists away at the last second, slipping from my hands.

Before I can react, he’s out the door, his footsteps thundering down the stairs. I start to chase after him, but he’s already gone by the time I reach the front door.

I stand in the doorway, staring after him as the adrenaline slowly drains away. The reality of what just happened begins to sink in, and I feel my knees buckle as my whole body starts to shake.

My mind is reeling, but I have enough sense to close the door and lock it before bracing myself against the sturdy frame. I’m still shaking and I know I need to calm down. I need to gather my thoughts and think rationally for a minute before?—

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway jolts me back to reality. For a split-second, I panic, thinking the intruder has come back to finish the job he started.

But then I listen closer, and my shoulders relax just slightly. I know the sound of that engine. Killian and Atlas are home.

“Shit,” I say out loud as I look at the glass and debris scattered all the way down the stairs from my bedroom.

Yeah, no way to cover that shit up.

Not that I want to keep the attack a secret, at least not from them. But because I’m just not ready to relive it. Or talk about it. Or deal with all the crazy fucking chaos that seems to swirl around me non-stop these days.

I dash to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, wild-eyed and disheveled.

If that reflection was a friend, I’d tell her she was looking pretty fucking rough around the edges.

“Quinn? You home? Killian’s voice echoes through the foyer.

I force myself to step out of the bathroom, plastering what I hope is a casual smile on my face. “Hey, guys, how was?—”

My voice catches as I see their expressions change. Killian’s eyes narrow, scanning the stairs behind me. Atlas takes a step forward, concern etched on his face.

“What the fuck happened here?” Atlas asks, his gaze fixed on the second-floor landing where it’s easy to see the overturned dresser and shattered glass littering the floor.

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. My hands start to tremble, and I clench them into fists, willing them to stop.

I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Someone broke in. Tried to attack me upstairs.” I gesture vaguely toward the mess behind me, trying to keep my tone matter-of-fact. “I fought him off. He ran.”

Killian’s eyes darken, and Atlas takes another step forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch me. I flinch involuntarily, and he stops, his arm dropping to his side.

“Are you hurt?” Killian asks, his voice tight as his eyes move up and down my body, no doubt taking a mental inventory of every cut and scrape.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Really.”

I’m not, but I need to be. I can’t afford to fall apart now.

“Did you see his face?” Atlas presses.

“No,” I admit, meeting Atlas’s eyes. “He wore a mask. But he was skilled, trained. This didn’t feel like some random break-in.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “The Saint?”

I nod slowly. “That’s my first thought. But why? If he still believed you all were spying on me, he wouldn’t need to send someone else.”

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