Page 82 of Crown of Lies

One of the Young Killers, a lanky bastard with a spider tattoo crawling up his neck, circles her like a shark. He lunges, trying to grab her, but Quinn is faster. She ducks under his arm, pivots, and drives her elbow into his ribs. The crack of bone is audible, and it makes me smile in spite of the anger I’m feeling.

“Fuck!” Spider-neck howls, stumbling back. “You little bitch!”

The others laugh, jeering and catcalling. It’s all a game to them, sick fucks that they are.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” another one taunts. “Why don’t you just give up? Make it easier on yourself.”

Quinn spits blood, her lips curling into a snarl. “Fuck you.”

She’s breathing hard, and her body is showing signs of exhaustion. But she’s still standing, still fighting. Fuck yeah, she is.

I’d expect nothing less.

Spider-neck recovers, charging at her again. This time, he manages to grab her arm, twisting it behind her back. Quinn lets out a pained grunt but doesn’t scream. Instead, she throws her head back, smashing it into his face. There’s a satisfying crunch as his nose breaks.

He releases her, howling in pain, and Quinn stumbles forward. She’s off-balance, vulnerable. Another Young Killer steps forward, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery.

“My turn,” he leers, reaching for her.

I can see Quinn’s strength flagging. She’s fought hard, but she can’t keep this up forever. And these bastards know it. They’re playing with her, wearing her down until she can’t fight anymore.

The thought of what they’re probably planning to do next makes my blood boil. I look at Atlas and Killian, seeing my own fury mirrored in their eyes. We need to move, now.

I hold up seven fingers, indicating the number of Young Killers I’ve counted. Atlas nods, then points to himself and Killian, then to the far side of the open area. I get it—they’ll flank while I create a distraction.

But we’re not in an ideal position. We’re outnumbered, and the layout of the containers doesn’t give us many options for cover. It’s going to be messy, but we don’t have a choice.

Below us, Quinn’s still fighting. One of the bastards gets cocky, steps in too close. She seizes the opportunity, driving her knee into his groin with brutal force. He doubles over, gasping, and stumbles back to join his buddies.

Quinn stands in the center, chest heaving, fists clenched. She’s a fucking vision—battered, bloody, but unbroken.

Harlan steps forward, slow-clapping. “Impressive, sweetheart. But let’s see how you do with different odds, shall we?”

He snaps his fingers, and three of his men step into the circle. Quinn’s eyes dart between them, calculating. She knows she’s in trouble.

The first guy lunges, and Quinn manages to dodge, but the second catches her arm. She twists, trying to break free, but the third grabs her other arm. They force her to her knees, and I can see the panic in her eyes as she realizes she can’t fight them all off.

One of them grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. “Not so tough now, are you?”

I feel the rage building inside me, threatening to explode. We need to move, now.

I raise my gun, my vision tunneling as I focus on the bastards holding Quinn down. There’s no time for finesse, no room for the clever plan we’ve just come up with. All I can think about is stopping them before they can hurt her any worse than they already have.

I squeeze the trigger, and the world explodes into chaos.

The first shot catches the guy holding Quinn’s hair right in the temple. He drops like a sack of bricks, his grip on her loosening as he falls. The second and third shots find theirmarks in rapid succession, taking out the other two holding her down.

Quinn doesn’t waste a second. As soon as she’s free, she’s moving, diving for cover behind a nearby crate.

“We’re under attack!” Harlan’s voice cuts through the chaos, and suddenly the air is filled with the sound of gunfire.

The Young Killers scatter, some diving for cover while others return fire in our direction. Bullets ping off the metal container we’re perched on, forcing us to duck down.

Atlas and Killian open fire from their position, providing cover as I leap down from the container. I need to get to Quinn.

I sprint between the containers, using them as cover as I make my way toward her last position. Bullets whiz past my head, so close I can feel the air displacement.

“Quinn!” I shout over the gunfire. “Quinn, where are you?”

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