Page 84 of Bonds of Obsession

“We will,” he promises. “But first we need to move. We’re all targets right now, and we can’t secure the whole area—not for very long, at least.”

He’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. But leaving Marcos here like this isn’t an option.

“Go,” I tell Damon and Jasper, who are hovering at the mouth of the alley. “Get our people here. Clean this up quietly. No cops.”

They nod and disappear, leaving me with my men and poor, sweet Marcos.

The rage hits like a tsunami, drowning everything else out. I tear down the alley, gun drawn, searching for any sign of that sadistic fuck. My boots splash through puddles tinged pink with Marcos’s blood, but I barely notice. All I can see is red. All I can hear is the thunder of my pulse and Ambrose’s mocking laugh echoing in my head.

Nothing. No trace. No fucking trail to follow.

He planned this. Planned exactly how long to stay, exactly when to make that noise. Played us like fucking puppets on strings.

“Fuck!” The scream rips from my throat as my fist connects with the brick wall. Pain explodes through my knuckles, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to match the fire burning in my chest. I pull back to hit it again just as strong arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.

“Stop,” Killian growls in my ear. I thrash against him, but he holds firm.

“Let me go!” The words come out raw, savage.

“Not until you calm down. Breaking your hand won’t bring him back.”

The truth of it hits like another punch. My legs give out, but Killian takes my weight easily. Nico appears in front of me, his face full of understanding as he takes my bloodied hand in his.

“Breathe, mia cara,” he says quietly. Calmly. “Breathe.”

Atlas stands guard at the mouth of the alley, every muscle in his body coiled and ready for more violence. I know he’ll protect me—protect all of us—with his life at the first hint of trouble.

I don’t deserve these men. None of them. How I’ve somehow ended up with all three, I’ll never know.

I force air into my lungs. Force the rage back down into that dark place where I keep all my ugliest emotions. My people will be arriving soon, looking to their leader for guidance. For strength.

I can’t give them vengeance. Not yet. But I can give them what they need to keep going.

Killian slowly releases me, and I straighten my spine. Wipe the blood from my knuckles. Put on the mask of authority that my father wore so well.

It’s time to be what they need me to be. It’s time to bury another soldier.

The rest of the day rushes by in a blur of maddening but necessary tasks. I gather my people in small groups, watching their faces harden as I deliver the news about Marcos. Some of them knew the kid, took him under their wing. I see the same fury in their eyes that burns in my gut, but I can’t let them act on it. Not now. Not when we’re all exposed.

“Shut it down,” I tell them, hating the words as they come out of my mouth. It has to happen though. “Everything goes dark until further notice. No one works alone. No regular routines.” I meet each gaze in turn, letting them see both the leader and the woman who has lost too many people already. “I’m not losing anyone else to this psychotic fuck.”

By the time we finish dealing with Marcos’s body, notifying what’s left of his family, and battening down the hatches of every Enigma operation in the city, the sun is already low on the horizon. Killian peels off to handle an errand he won’t elaborate on, leaving me, Atlas, and Nico to head home and prep for tonight’s other nightmare—the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s impossible demand.

Back in the quiet privacy of my bedroom, my black tactical gear feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I pull it on. My hands shake as I try to zip up the jacket, and suddenly everything crashes over me at once—Marcos’s mutilated face, the growing body count, the impossible choice waiting for us tonight.

A sob rips free before I can strangle it back. I slam my hands against my eyes, pressing until I can see sparks in the darkness. As if I can physically hold back the tide of grief threatening to fucking drown me.

“Quinn.” It’s Nico’s voice, quiet but firm. I didn’t even hear him come in.

I try to straighten up, to pull my shit together, but another sob escapes instead. “I can’t—” The words catch in my throat. “I’m not cut out for this. My father, he… there were barely any deaths when he was in charge. But me?” I laugh, and it sounds cracked. Broken. “Everyone keeps dying. I keep getting people killed.”

Nico moves closer. “Your father loved you,” he says, and the gentleness in his voice nearly breaks me. “He wasn’t like mine. Anyone can see that. But he still put you in an impossible position.”

My breath hitches. “What do you mean?”

“That marker.” Nico’s fingers brush my shoulder where the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s brand has scarred my skin. “He marked you without telling you what it meant. Left you to play a game you didn’t even know the rules to.” His voice hardens slightly. “Now you’re cleaning up the mess, trying to keep everyone alive while flying blind. And you’re doing a hell of a lot better than most people would.”

“But not good enough.” Marcos’s empty eyes flash through my mind. “Never fucking good enough.”

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