Page 132 of Crown of Lies

“Believe it,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “You’re worth it.”

His hand moves to the collar of my shirt, tugging it down to reveal the marks on my chest. The tattoos that bind me to them, to Carnage. To him.

“You’re one of our own,” he says, his fingers tracing the inked lines on my skin. “You’re ours.”

A shiver runs through me at his touch, at the possessiveness in his voice.

“And we protect what’s ours,” he continues, his gaze locking with mine. “No matter what.”

His words hit me hard, like a physical blow. I gaze up at him, trapped in the intensity of his eyes. I knew from that first night that this man would throw everything in my world off-kilter. That he and his friends would disrupt everything I thought I knew about myself and this life. But I had no idea how deeply intertwined with him I’d become.

I’m so entangled now that I don’t know if I could ever disentangle myself, even if I wanted to. And the crazy thing is, I’m not sure I’d ever want to.

My heart hammers in my chest as the reality of it all sinks in. Nico is right. I’m in this—in them—for good. Whatever happens from here on out, these men are a part of me, and I’m a part of them. It’s beyond tattoos and alliances now. It’s something deeper, something unbreakable.

Nico’s thumb brushes over his mark on my breast, sending a shiver down my spine. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry as the truth of it all hits me. These men have marked me, and I’ve let them. Hell, I’ve welcomed it. And now, instead of running from that truth, I’m owning it.

A part of me is still reeling from the revelation, but another part—a stronger part—feels a fierce sense of clarity and purpose.I’m committed to this, to them, whether it’s crazy or not. And maybe it is, but in this moment, I don’t care.

I lift my hand, placing it over his on my chest. “You’re right,” I whisper, my voice steady, surprising myself. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

“Damn straight,” he says. “And don’t you forget it.”

39

NICO

It’sin the darkness that the ghosts of my past come to haunt me. I knew that falling asleep would mean opening myself up to the memories, but tonight I’m helpless to stop it.

In my dream I’m a kid again, just a teenager. They’ve taken me, using me as leverage against my old man. I’m scared, alone, and angry. I know my old man’s not gonna give in easily, and I’m not sure how long I can hold out.

So, I fight. I bite, kick, and scratch my way to freedom. It’s not easy, and I take a few hits, but I manage to get away. I run through the night, my heart pounding, each sharp breath stabbing my lungs. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t stop. I have to keep moving.

As I run, the city streets blur around me, the buildings and alleys of my childhood streaking by. Then it hits me that something has changed. I’m older now, and fresh from another fight with my old man. Still angry and hurting, I don’t go home. Instead, my feet take me to the clubhouse, the one place I know I’ll be safe.

The door of the clubhouse swings open, and I step inside, the familiar sights and smells washing over me. I pause, taking in the empty room, the scattered chairs and tables, and the fadedgraffiti on the walls. A weight lifts from my shoulders as I realize I really am safe here.

I blink, and suddenly the clubhouse isn’t empty anymore. My heart races as I take in the scene in front of me. Quinn is here, but she’s not free. She’s tied to a chair, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. My people, the ones I trusted, are holding her captive.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice raw with anger and confusion.

Killian and Atlas burst through the door behind me, concern etched on their faces.

“Nico, we heard something was wrong,” Killian says, his hand on my shoulder.

Atlas nods, his eyes darting around the room. “We’re here to help, brother.”

I feel a surge of gratitude, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the urgency of the situation. We need to get Quinn out of here.

“Let her go!” I shout, taking a step forward.

But the Princes of Carnage—my people—don’t back down. Instead, they draw their weapons.

“Sorry, Nico. Can’t do that,” one of them says, his voice cold and unfamiliar.

Everything happens fast after that. Killian and Atlas spring into action, trying to clear a path to Quinn. I’m right behind them, my fists flying, desperate to reach her.

But we’re outnumbered. Outmatched. I watch in horror as Killian takes a hit and goes down. Atlas roars with rage, charging forward, but he’s overwhelmed too.

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