Page 32 of Bonds of Obsession

We walk across the parking lot in tense silence. Nico’s eyes keep darting back to the building, like he expects someone to come charging out after us.

The familiar sight of our three bikes parked together helps to steady my nerves.

“Let’s go home.” I swing my leg over the seat and grab my helmet.

Killian and Nico mount their bikes in perfect sync, and their engines roar to life a few seconds later. The sound drowns out everything else—my racing thoughts, the lingering unease from what just happened inside those walls, the ever-present guilt and worry about Atlas. All of it falls away, if only for a few short minutes.

I gun the throttle and peel out of the parking lot first, my men falling into formation behind me.

Home.

Fuck, that word has never sounded so good to my ears.

11

NICO

My fingers twitchtoward my gun the moment Quinn steps out from the inner sanctum of this place. The relief at seeing her unharmed is immediately at odds with the urge to raise hell with these assholes for separating her from us in the first place. Beside me, Killian’s breath catches—he feels it too.

Quinn’s expression is cold as fucking ice as she walks right past us without even breaking her stride. “Let’s go.”

My muscles coil tightly as I fall into step beside her, scanning faces, memorizing details. The receptionist’s perfectly manicured nails tap against her keyboard. A man in an expensive suit lingers by the water dispenser. Two women whisper behind their hands near the entrance.

Any of them could be a threat. All of them are probably watching and reporting back to someone. The weight of my gun presses against my ribs, ready if needed.

“Are you—” I start to ask, but Quinn cuts me off with a sharp look that screams ‘not here.’

Fine. Message received. But I need to fucking know what happened in there, what Malcolm said or did.

The door feels miles away. Each step takes too long, leaves us exposed for too many seconds. Killian holds it open whenwe finally reach it, his knuckles white against the handle. The parking lot stretches before us, and I keep checking our six, waiting for someone to come charging out after us.

Only when we reach our bikes does some of the tension ease from my shoulders. But not much. Not until we’re home and I can make sure Quinn is really okay—and can find out what price we just paid to get Atlas back.

Back at the house, Quinn paces across the living room, her boots practically wearing a path in the carpet.

“Malcolm is exactly what you’d expect from someone running the Syndicate,” she says, rubbing her arms like she’s trying to scrub away something unpleasant. “All polished surface and sickly smiles, but definitely hiding something darker underneath.”

“What happened in there?” Killian leans forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Malcolm.

“The plan worked. There are cameras all over that fucking place, and it didn’t take long to get his attention once I left the marker symbol as a calling card.” She stops pacing, her fingers trailing over her collarbone. “Did you guys have to strip where you went? Everyone was naked on my side. Even when I met with Malcolm. Sleaziest fucking power play I’ve ever seen.”

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack, and my fingers curl into fists as Quinn continues. “Had to show him the tattoo with the marker. Fucking creep actually touched it.” She traces the spot on her shoulder where I know the marker is hidden beneath a tattoo. “Didn’t let him get to me though. Fuck that guy.”

The room temperature drops about twenty degrees. Killian’s expression darkens, and I fight the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. The image of that bastard’s hands anywhere near Quinn makes my blood boil.

“He kept walking circles around me while we talked. Like a shark.” Quinn drops onto the couch, running her hands through her hair. “But it worked. He agreed to honor the marker. It’s done. It’s set up.”

“At what cost?” The words come out rougher than intended.

“There’s an induction ceremony.” Quinn’s eyes meet mine. “That’s when I officially call in the marker for Ambrose to be allowed into the Syndicate.”

The tension in my shoulders hasn’t eased one bit. Killian still looks like he wants to murder someone. At least we have the pieces in place to get Atlas back though. I might not like any of this bullshit, but it’s our only realistic hope of ever seeing him alive again.

Quinn pushes herself up from the couch. “I need a shower. Need to get this whole experience off my skin.”

The exhaustion shows in her face now that the mask she wore at the spa is finally cracking. Her shoulders slump as she heads for the stairs.

Killian stands too, his jaw still unnaturally tight. All he says is, “I need some air,” before disappearing toward the back of the house.

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