Page 82 of Bonds of Obsession

Killian looks up from his phone. “I can get what we need. Give me two hours.”

I nod, knowing better than to ask what exactly he’s planning to acquire. Plausible deniability is the name of this game, but it won’t help us much with the Syndicate if we fuck this up.

“We’ll need a distraction,” Atlas adds, already typing something on his phone. “I know some people who can help. For a price.”

The plan starts taking shape. It’s fucking insane, and it might get us all killed, but it’s the only option we’ve got.

I look at each of my men in turn, these dangerous, beautiful men who are willing to risk everything to help me do the right thing. My chest aches with everything I can’t say.

“Tonight then,” I say instead, and they all nod. None of us mention the obvious—that if this goes wrong, the Dark Lotus Syndicate will make us wish we’d died trying.

My phone’s ring cuts through the comfortable silence like a fucking knife. My heart stutters when I see the unknown number, instinct screaming that this isn’t good news. No one calls from a burner with good fucking news.

“Yeah?” I keep my voice steady as I answer, but my fingers tighten around the phone until my knuckles go white.

“Hello, Quinn.” Ambrose’s smug fucking voice turns my stomach. “Miss me?”

My whole body goes cold. Around the table, my men’s heads snap up at whatever expression crosses my face. Their bodiestense in that predictable, all-too-familiar way that seems to come so easily for us. Especially when there’s violence on the way.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Now, is that any way to speak to an old friend? Especially after everything we’ve been through together?”

This motherfucker has a lot of damn nerve. My free hand curls into a fist, nails biting into my palm. The pain helps me focus, helps me push back the red haze of rage threatening to cloud my judgment. I need to be smart here. Need to be in control.

“We’re not friends,” I say, each word precise and cold. “We were never fucking friends.”

“Maybe you’re right. I guess we aren’t friends.” Ambrose’s dark chuckle crawls down my spine. “That’ll make this next part easier. I told you I wanted revenge, didn’t I?” He pauses for a split-second, but continues without waiting for me to answer. “See, the problem with someone like you, Quinn, is that you’ve got so many weak points. So many vulnerabilities.”

My jaw clenches as he pauses again. I don’t want to admit that I’m terrified of where this is going. I won’t be terrified when I see him again though. I’ll be ready to fight. Ready to get some goddamn revenge of my own.

“Atlas was just the beginning. Such a strong man, wasn’t he? So determined not to scream.” His voice drops lower. “Until he did.”

Atlas’s face hardens, but I can see the shadow that passes through his eyes at the memory. Nico’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to anchor me. Killian has gone completely still beside me, the kind of stillness that precedes violence.

“Do you know how easily I could have killed him?” Ambrose continues. “One quick slice. Or slowly, if I’d preferred. So manyoptions.” He sighs, almost dreamily. “The things I could have done with more time. The sounds I could have pulled from him.”

My vision blurs red at the edges. All I can think about is Atlas’s body when we got him back, the marks of torture etched into his skin. The way he still winces when he moves too quickly.

“But I was generous, wasn’t I?” Ambrose’s voice drips with false kindness. “I gave him back to you. Damaged, but alive. Remember that. Remember that I can be merciful when I choose to be.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, cutting through his twisted monologue. “If you called just to spew bullshit?—”

“Oh no, Quinn.” The amusement drops from his voice so suddenly that it takes me by surprise. “That’s not why I called at all.”

Killian moves closer, his body coiled with lethal tension. I hit the speaker button, holding the phone between us as Ambrose continues. “I called because I want you to know what’s coming. I want you to feel it building.”

“Feel what building?” But even as I ask, a feeling of dread is starting to pool in my belly.

“The loss,” he says simply. “The helplessness of watching someone you care about die, knowing you can’t stop it.”

The words hit me like physical blows. I think of my father. Of Atlas being dragged away at the tattoo parlor. Of all the people I couldn’t protect.

Nico is typing something on his phone, his movements sharp and controlled. Atlas has his keys in hand, ready to move. But Killian just watches me, no doubt reading something in my face that makes his eyes go darker than usual.

“You’re not taking anyone else from me,” I say, but even I can hear the thread of fear beneath the steel in my voice.

Ambrose just laughs. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Right now, I’m watching one of your people.” His voiceturns conversational, almost friendly. “They just finished their morning routine at a coffee shop. Black, two sugars. Now they’re heading east on 7th Street.”

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