Page 149 of Crown of Lies

“Go!” I yell to Nico and Killian. “Get out the back door. I’ll hold them off and be right behind you.”

Nico is looking at me, concern etched across his face. I know that look. He doesn’t want to leave me behind.

I glance at Quinn, still barely conscious in his arms, then back to Nico. “Get her out of here,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Understanding passes between us. Nico nods, his jaw set with determination. He knows what needs to be done.

As they retreat through the doorway, I turn to face Ambrose’s men. A growl rises from deep in my chest. “Alright, motherfuckers. Let’s dance.”

They come at me in waves, but I’m ready. My fists fly, connecting with jaws and ribs. I duck under a wild swing, coming up with an uppercut that sends one attacker sprawling. Another tries to grab me from behind, but I throw my head back, feeling the crunch of his nose against my skull.

I’m outnumbered, but I’m holding my own. Years of training and street fights have honed my skills to a razor’s edge. I weave and dodge, using their numbers against them. When one lunges, I sidestep, letting him crash into his comrade.

Through the chaos, I hear the back door slam shut. Good. They’re out.

I start inching my way toward the door, still fending off attacks. A knife flashes in the dim light, and I barely avoid itsedge. I grab the attacker’s wrist, twisting until he drops the blade with a cry of pain.

Finally, I see my opening. I make a break for it, sprinting toward the door. Freedom is just steps away.

Suddenly, a shot rings out. White-hot pain explodes in my back, the force of the bullet sending me stumbling forward. I slam into the door hard, my vision blurring as agony radiates through my body.

Pain sears through my body as I struggle to stay on my feet. The bullet wound in my back throbs with each ragged breath. I’m so close to escape, my hand reaching for the doorknob, when strong arms wrap around me from behind.

“Not so fast, hero,” a gruff voice snarls in my ear.

I’m yanked backward, my feet leaving the ground. The world spins as I’m thrown to the floor. The impact sends a fresh wave of agony through me, and I can’t hold back a cry of pain.

Before I can even attempt to get up, bodies pile on top of me. Hands pin my arms and legs, pressing me into the cold, hard floor. I thrash against their hold, but it’s useless. The bullet wound has sapped my strength, and there are too many of them.

Through the forest of legs surrounding me, I see a pair of old work boots approach. They stop right in front of my face. I crane my neck, looking up to see the masked figure looming over me.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up and removes the mask. My breath catches in my throat as Ambrose’s face is revealed. His lips curl into a smug smile as he looks down at me.

He crouches beside me, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Well, well, well. Look at you now, Atlas. Not so tough without your little gang, are you?”

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You know, I have to admit, I made a miscalculation here.”

“What are you talking about?” I growl, still struggling against the hands holding me down.

Ambrose’s smile turns sardonic. “Pushing you Princes together with Quinn. I thought it was brilliant, you know? The perfect setup for some unwitting spies. But instead…” He trails off with a grunt.

“Instead what?” I demand, although a part of me dreads the answer.

He leans in close, his voice dripping with contempt. “Instead, you all got pussy-whipped by the same woman. It’s almost impressive, really. I never saw that one coming.”

I glare up at Ambrose, hatred burning in my eyes. My chest heaves with each painful breath, and I can taste copper in my mouth. Without warning, I gather what strength I have left and spit directly in his face. The glob of saliva is tinged red with blood, thanks to the damage that bullet did to my insides.

Ambrose blinks in surprise, then chuckles softly. He wipes the bloody spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand, his expression unnervingly calm.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. “If my long years in prison taught me anything, it’s how to be adaptable.” He pauses, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I can work with this.”

He stands up slowly, towering over me. My heart races as I watch him, wondering what he’s going to do next. Then, without warning, he lifts his foot and places it on my chest, right next to where the bullet entered my body.

“Let’s see how tough you really are,” he sneers.

Before I can brace myself, he presses down hard. The pressure sends waves of agony radiating through my entire body. It feels like my chest is being crushed, the pain so intense it steals my breath away.

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