Page 7

Seven

Robin’s “Who the fuck was that?” collided with Mary’s “Where the fuck are we?” and all Atlas could do was hang back his head and exhale his exhaustion.

No thank you . No are you okay . Not even a second to get a drink or take a piss or to check if he was actually still in one piece. Just right into the interrogation.

“The ceiling didn’t ask you a question,” Robin mocked, and Atlas lowered his chin, ready to list the many reasons why he’d rather have a conversation with the pitched ceiling than either of them, but his words died a swift death, snuffed out by the man standing naked in the middle of his safe house.

Rays of afternoon sun streamed in through the structure’s A-frame windows, painting Robin’s freckled skin with warmth.

Burnished, all of him, from the golden hairs on his muscular limbs, to the coppery strands mixed with the blond atop his head, to the swirls of red-gold hair on his chest and the wiry curls around the root of his thick cock.

Fuck, even soft it was impressive. Hard, it would be big enough to choke Atlas, to split him in two, to fill him full and make him scream.

“Eyes up here, sugar.”

Atlas snapped his gaze to the heated gold one that was unmistakably smug. Fucker. “There are extra clothes upstairs,” he bit out, as he retrieved a bottle of much-needed vodka from the freezer under the stairs.

When he didn’t hear Robin move, he poured himself a double, tossed back the shot, poured a second, then turned back around, marginally more fortified to face the shifter who seemed hell-bent on driving him mad.

Robin sat propped on the arm of the leather couch, arms crossed, legs spread, semi-hard cock resting against his thigh. At least he wasn’t unaffected; unfortunately, he wasn’t distracted either. “Now, who or what was that nightmare that walked through the door before you snapped us out of there?”

Atlas leaned against the side of the stairs. “A hunter.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Because he only works in the South, which you usually stay out of. So why venture this way now? To La Purisima, of all places.” He shifted his attention to Mary, who stood leaned against the stone wall by the double front doors.

“You, especially, know better.” All the trouble Icarus had gone to to keep her out of these parts, and she was right back here. “Someone could have recognized you.”

“You killed a giant in LP,” she said, ignoring the parts of his logic she didn’t like and substituting her own. “Stood to reason Evan had been there too.”

“And witnesses reported seeing a man fitting Evan’s description on or about the time the giant died,” Robin added.

Atlas sipped from his glass, the only thing keeping him from throwing it. “And what description was that?”

“White, short, fit, clean-cut, blond hair, dressed in a suit.”

Atlas gestured at himself. “Yes, that was me, killing said giant.”

Robin cocked a bushy brow, then after an up-and-down sweep of him, finally registered the change in attire since the last time he’d seen him. “What happened to the kilt?”

“I put on a suit when I need someone to think I’m Evan.” The other brow rose to match, and Atlas hung back his head on another pained sigh. When he righted it, he set his sights on the biggest liar in the room. “You didn’t tell him?” he said to Mary.

Robin shot off the couch. “Tell me what?”

“Atlas, don’t?—”

Whatever argument she was going to make was moot at this point; Robin was so close to the truth that he’d put it together any second now.

No use wasting valuable time when Atlas needed answers and needed the stinky, attractive dog out of his presence.

He grabbed the single framed picture off the fireplace mantel and shoved it in Robin’s direction.

“That’s me and my brothers, including Evan. ”

“Brother?” He looked down at the picture, then back up at him. “He’s your twin?”

“Yes, my older brother.” He lowered the hammer.

“By seven minutes.” Robin’s eyes rounded into saucers, the connection made.

“Same as you and Deborah.” He and Evan weren’t accidentally in their lives; they never had been.

Balance and a hefty dose of fate had conspired to put the four of them in this hellscape together.

But that was a conversation for a different day.

He needed answers, and with Mary on her heels, she was the one to press.

“That couldn’t have been all there was for you to risk the South. ”

“Someone saw him in LP last month.”

Right around the time Evan would have met with Niall. “He used Cole’s death as a pretense.”

“Is that one of your other brothers?”

“The youngest,” he said, voice rough, words scraping over the knives in his throat as he set the frame back on the mantel.

“And the last one in the picture?”

“Canton.”

A low growl rumbled from deep in Robin’s chest, familiar betrayal made audible.

“Yes, it’s all a very tangled web.” Atlas tossed back the rest of his vodka, refilled the glass, and handed it to Robin. “Welcome to the party.” Unbeknownst to the coyote, he’d been a part of it his whole life, same as his late sister, same as Atlas and Evan.

Robin didn’t hesitate to gulp the shot down before turning for the stairs. “I’m gonna go change so I don’t rip her head off.”

“Now you’re catching on.” Though Atlas rather liked the view of Robin from behind, his backside as firm as the front.

“Eyes over here, sugar,” Mary parroted, and Atlas jutted a finger at her. “Don’t you start too.” He ducked into the compact kitchen under the loft and began pulling together something to eat for himself and his unexpected visitors.

Mary drifted his direction, then veered onto the couch, putting a knee to the cushions and leaning over the back to look out the window. “Where are we?”

“Safe house.”

“Who owns these vineyards?”

“Me. Or, more accurately, a shell company that owns a shell company that?—”

“I get it.” She pushed off the couch and took the plate of cheese, nuts, and grapes he held out to her. “Hacker, remember?”

“So, tell me, then...” He tossed a stale baguette on the coffee table next to the cheeseboard. “What did you hack that led you home, besides Evan’s maybe whereabouts?”

“Who works these vineyards?” came a question from the opposite direction, Robin loping down the stairs in a pair of sweats he’d ripped off at the knees, probably with his claws.

Atlas forced himself not to rise, in any fashion, to the bait. “The family of humans I rent it to,” he said, as he grabbed a knife to cut the baguette. “They live in the main house down by the road. I keep the cottage here.”

“Risky.” Robin flopped onto the couch beside Mary. “They know what you are?”

“They worship her,” he said with a jut of his chin toward the green-haired pixie popping grapes into her mouth. “Now, stop stalling, and tell me why you’re really here.”

Mary leaned forward, like she was about to answer, only to be cut off again by the fucking dog. “If we show you our cards, you show us yours.”

Atlas fetched three glasses, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and lowered into the chair on the other side of Mary.

“I’m not giving you everything we know,” Robin said, as Atlas filled their glasses, “so you can just run off and save your brother.”

“Who says that’s what I intend to do?” He slid the glass the length of the table, vodka sloshing over the rim when Robin saved it from toppling off the edge and onto the floor. Atlas lifted his gaze, meeting Robin’s intrigued gold one. “She promised you vengeance. You’ll get it.”

“On your terms.”

Atlas lifted his glass. “Does it matter?”