Page 143 of Bonds of Obsession

The raw honesty in her voice hits me like a physical blow. Around us, gunfire continues to rain down. Killian curses as he takes cover, and Atlas shouts something about more hostiles approaching. But for just a moment, time seems to stop.

This is Quinn Kent—the woman who fought us, fucked us, married me, and somehow managed to claim every piece of my soul along the way. And now she’s ready to sacrifice everything to keep us alive.

“I love you,” she repeats, softer now but just as fierce. “All of you. And I’m not letting this end here.”

Quinn’s fingers don’t shake as she hits Malcolm’s number. Her voice is pure steel when he answers, even with bullets still flying around us.

“I’m calling in my last votum,” she says without fucking around. “Right now.”

I can’t hear Malcolm’s response, but from the way Quinn’s jaw tightens, I know he’s not happy about being woken up for this shit. Too fucking bad.

“There’s no time for a meeting,” she cuts him off. “No, and I don’t have time for any of your bureaucratic bullshit. I need the Syndicate’s help now.” Another burst of gunfire punctuates her words as Ambrose’s men try to push forward. Atlas takes out one of them with his last bullet, but there are too many more waiting to take his place.

Quinn’s eyes narrow at whatever Malcolm says next. “You know the rules,” she reminds him. “No questions asked. No hesitation. That’s what I agreed to when I joined.” She pauses, listening. “Either honor the votum now, or admit the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s word means jack shit.”

Oh, fuck. She’s not just asking for help. She’s challenging them and making it impossible for Malcolm to refuse without undermining the Syndicate’s entire power structure.

“We’re on the roof of the old Maxwell building,” she says after a moment. “Surrounded by heavily armed mercenaries. I need them eliminated.” She rattles off more details about our location and Ambrose’s forces.

The roof access door splinters a little more. Killian positions himself to take the first wave, but we all know we can’t hold them off much longer.

Quinn’s expression hardens at Malcolm’s response. “I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done.” She hangs up, meeting my eyes. “Help is coming.”

“How long?” Atlas asks, reloading with his final magazine.

“Soon,” she says. But we can all hear what she’s not saying. The question isn’t whether the Dark Lotus Syndicate will save us—it’s what price they’ll demand for this favor once the dust settles.

44

QUINN

My hands are startingto shake as I fire another shot, taking out one of Ambrose’s men who was getting too fucking close to the edge of the roof. The bastard falls back with a satisfying scream, but the victory is short-lived. I check my clip and see three bullets left. Fuck.

“Running low,” I call out to my men, my voice hoarse from shouting over gunfire.

“Same here,” Atlas grunts, ducking behind the air conditioning unit as bullets ping off the metal. The sound makes my teeth rattle.

Blood is dripping down the side of Killian’s face, a steady trickle from the gash on his temple where he hit the ground when his bike went down. Road rash covers his arms, the raw skin gleaming wet and angry in the dim light. But the crazy fucker acts like he doesn’t even feel it, methodically picking off targets with that insanely intense focus of his.

Another volley of gunfire forces me to press myself flat against the roof’s edge. Concrete chips spray my face as bullets strike too damn close. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else.

“Two clips left between us,” Nico says, the tension clear in his voice. I can tell he’s running calculations in his head, trying to figure out how long we can hold them off and how many bullets per mercenary we’ll need.

I can save him the trouble. The answer is that we don’t have nearly fucking enough.

I peek over the edge again, counting at least eight men still advancing on our position. They’re getting bolder, pressing closer now that our return fire has slowed. They know we’re running out of ammo.

“Fuck,” I mutter, squeezing off another precious round to force back a merc who was setting up with a better angle on Atlas. Two bullets left. “We need to figure something out fast.”

But as I look at my men—at Killian bleeding but unbroken, at Atlas favoring his left side, at Nico’s grim expression—I know we’re running out of options.

The sound of boots on metal draws my attention. They’re coming up the fire escape now, and getting ready to rush us.

My finger tightens on the trigger. If we’re going down, we’re taking as many of these fuckers with us as we can.

But Christ, I hope Malcolm comes through. Because if he doesn’t, this roof might be where it all ends.

“On your left!” Killian shouts. I dive to the side as bullets tear through the space where I was just standing.

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