Page 44 of Bonds of Obsession

Damn, am I that easy to read? I guess I am when it comes to the people I care about. When it comes to Quinn.

“Some of my associates seem concerned about your rather creative interpretation of our traditions.” He gestures to the other Syndicate members. “But I see no rules broken here. Like you said, the marker was yours to use as you saw fit. The votum was yours to call when you chose.”

His words hang in the air like smoke. Around us, the Syndicate members shift slightly, but none speak up to challenge him.

“After all,” he continues, elaborating on his earlier statement, “our organization lives and dies by its adherence to rules. And you, my dear, played entirely within them. Surprising us all, perhaps, but breaking no laws of our brotherhood.”

“Good.” Quinn’s eyes haven’t left his. “Then we understand each other.”

“Yes, I think we do.”

The way he looks at Quinn makes my hackles go up. Like she’s a new toy he can’t wait to break. But there’s nothing I can do except stand here, useless and hurting, while this snake circles closer to her.

The man—who must be a leader of sorts in the Syndicate—takes another step toward Quinn, closing the distance between them like a snake moving in for the kill. My muscles lock up so tight it sends fresh waves of pain through my ribs, but I force myself to stay still. To watch and wait until we can finally get the fuck out of here.

Or until it’s time to die trying.

“I confess,” he says, circling her slowly, “when you first presented yourself to me—Jonah Kent’s daughter and her inherited marker—I had rather modest expectations.” His voice drips with the kind of cultured accent that usually comes from private schools and old money. The kind of money that places people above the law and any repercussions for their actions. “But you’ve proven far more interesting than I anticipated.”

The other Syndicate members watch in silence, and I get the feeling this is some kind of show he’s putting on. Some kind of message he’s sending.

“Intelligence. Ruthlessness. Creativity.” He ticks off the words, cataloging her qualities. “And that delightful ability to surprise. You’ll make quite the addition to our little organization.”

Quinn still holds his gaze without flinching, but I can see the slight tension in her jaw. The barely perceptible shift in her stance that means she’s ready to move if she has to. She knows what I know—this fucker’s interest in her isn’t just professional. There’s something darker there, something hungry.

I’ve seen that look before. Usually right before someone decides to see how much pain a person can take before they break. My hands curl into fists, and I have to fight down the urge to put myself between them. Not that I could do much good in my current state, but fuck if I’m going to stand here and watch this snake play his games with her.

“If we’re done here, Malcolm,” Quinn says, her voice steady and cold, “my men and I will be leaving.”

She doesn’t phrase it as a question. Doesn’t give an inch or show any weakness.

That’s my girl. Badass right to the end.

Malcolm studies her for another long moment. The cemetery has gone dead quiet, nothing but the distant wail of sirens and the soft rustle of expensive suits as the other Syndicate members wait to see how this plays out.

“Yes,” he says finally, sighing in a way that a cat might when it’s forced to give up hunting a mouse. “I suppose we are done. For now.” The pause before those last two words makes my stomach twist.

He gestures to the bodies scattered among the headstones. “Consider it a welcome gift—we’ll handle the cleanup. No sensein leaving evidence that might lead back to our newest member, is there?”

The way he says it makes it clear it’s not really a favor. It’s a reminder that they know what Quinn’s done tonight. That they have proof of it. That they own a piece of her now, whether she likes it or not.

Quinn just nods, her face set in a mask that gives nothing away. But I can read the tension in her shoulders, the slight shift in her stance that says she wants to get the hell out of here as bad as I do. She might be acting tough, but she knows exactly how deep in the shit we are.

The sirens are getting closer. Time to move. But something in the way this snake keeps watching Quinn tells me this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. We might be walking out of here tonight, but we’re walking straight into something more dangerous than Ambrose ever was.

Quinn glances at me, and Nico and Killian get the message. They shift their grip, taking more of my weight as we start the slow process of getting me mobile. Every movement sends fresh jolts of pain through my ribs and my fucked-up knee, but I grit my teeth and manage not to make a sound.

“Oh, and Quinn? One more moment.” The leader’s voice makes my jaw clench and my stomach tighten all over again as he reaches into his expensive jacket and pulls out a small phone. From here, it looks like a basic burner, the kind you can buy with cash and throw away when you’re done. “Just one other small piece of business.”

He holds it out to Quinn, and everything in me screams to tell her not to take it. But we both know she doesn’t have a choice. Not anymore.

“The Syndicate will use this to contact you. When we call, you answer. Immediately. No exceptions, no excuses.”

Quinn takes the phone like she’s being handed a live grenade. For just a fraction of a second, I catch something flicker through her eyes—worry, fear, maybe both. But she buries it fast, her face going blank and controlled again. Still, I saw it. I know exactly what she’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too.

That phone is not a gift. It’s a leash. A way for these psychos to yank her chain whenever they want, wherever she is, whatever she’s doing. They own a piece of her now, and that little black phone is how they’re going to collect.

She nods, tucking the phone away, and I watch the Syndicate members around us. They’re eating this shit up—the way their boss is marking his territory, making sure Quinn knows exactly where she stands in their fucked-up hierarchy. Making sure we all know.

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