Page 21

He’s struck her once, and he’s not afraid to do it again. This time, his open palm cracks against her face so hard that it sends her spinning. She hits the couch and slumps to the floor, moaning.

I try to race to her to help her, but Phil shoves the gun right in my face. From this angle, I can see that it’s not cocked, but that gives me no measure of comfort.

“Willa!” Atlas yells my name frantically. He strains against the ropes, leaping around in the chair so wildly that it nearly falls over. He gives up and picks the whole thing up, standing with it attached to him.

“Sit the fuck down or I put a bullet in her.” Now Phil cocks the gun. He aims it lower, pointing it at my thigh. Still not comforting, but at least I can live with a bullet there.

I hope.

I know there are major arteries in the legs. If he hits one, I could bleed out.

Atlas’ face crumples. There’s no hiding how seeing me in danger breaks him. I know that he would rather take that bullet any day than see that weapon trained on me.

Our eyes lock. I plead with him silently to just sit down and stay still and quiet and not draw attention to himself. I couldn’t bear it if Phil hurt him in any way, especially because all I’ve done is antagonize him.

Atlas lets the chair drop back to the floor. He pretty much collapses into it, but his eyes stay feral, glaring at Phil with all the black hate in the world. I hope that all he does is stare. Atlas can’t rush him. He can’t try and tackle him. He could get seriously hurt if he does that, or Phil might just straight up shoot him.

My life would be over if that happened.

I can’t live in this word if Atlas isn’t in it.

“Get the poker from the set of tools behind the stove,” Phil commands. “Open the door and stick it in. Heat it until it’s good and hot.”

I follow orders, moving as slowly as possible. I know he’s got the gun on me. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to take a chance that I’d use the poker on him. I can see myself doing it, even as I take it from the rack and plunge it deep in the fire. I can practically see myself pulling it out and bringing it crashing down on Phil’s arm, knocking the gun to the floor.

Could it go off and kill someone then?

What if I smashed him in the face?

The gun could still go off and shoot someone. And then I’d probably go to jail for murder, because taking a poker to the face is serious business.

The hand then.

It’s the only chance that we have right now. If Phil wants me to heat this damn thing, then he’s obviously got something sinister in mind.

Agatha moans from over by the couch again. Is she seriously hurt? If Phil’s not afraid to do that to his own mother, then what the fuck is he willing to do with us? I bite down on my lower lip, sawing my teeth in until I taste blood.

“Don’t think about doing something stupid, girl,” Phil cautions. “Although, you’ve already been plenty dumb. You thought you could lie to me and play me. If it’s going to take some encouragement to help you find your tongue, then so be it.”

My hand grasps the poker until my knuckles go white and I barely have any feeling in my fingers. I can’t stop seeing myself smashing it into Phil’s face. I wouldn’t have to do it hard. Just enough to stun him.

And then what?

Hit the gun out of his hand? Kick it across the room? Run for it? Hit him again, hard enough to knock him out, but not kill him? How hard should one exactly hit someone else with a blunt force object to maim and cause mayhem but not murder them?

“You’re going to pull that poker out of the fire and turn around real fucking slow, or you get a bullet straight between your shoulder blades. Maybe I’ll miss and hit you in the ass and you’ll get lucky. Then again, maybe I’ll fuck up and hit you higher, right in the back of your skull.”

I close my eyes, refusing to give in to the fear. I need adrenaline right now. I need to dig deep into that and let it give me a ferocious kind of strength that I wouldn’t normally have.

I get the poker out, shut the door, and pivot around. Phil does have the gun pointed right at me. A sinister smile spreads over his face like grease on water.

“Good. Walk over to your boyfriend there and put that hot end right onto his face.”

My heart lurches and slams into overdrive, beating painfully fast. It’s like that second where you realize that you narrowly avoided dying and you get those cold chills while your heart is hammering ten times faster than it should be. Everything is so much clearer. The distance between myself and Phil. Atlas’ pained expression. Agatha lying face down, her soft moans creeping up into the quiet.

“He can’t tell you anything because he doesn’t know anything, but even if he did, he’s bound by an oath to his club. He would never betray them.” I try one last time to appeal to Phil’s rational side.

“Never is a big word,” he shoots back, sneering. Right. He doesn’t have a rational side. “He might be bound by some misplaced sense of honor, but you aren’t. Let’s see how much he treasures your face.”

“Willa! No!” Atlas shakes his head so hard that the whole chair vibrates beneath him.

“You don’t think a man who looks like him would want a woman like you with a fucked up face, do you?”

“Stop it. Please,” I plead. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere. If it’s money you want, the club could get it for you. You don’t have to torture us. We’ve told you everything we know.”

His eyes cloud over. There’s something wrong with them, something black and evil swimming in their depths. “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Either way, someone gets their face fucked up because you owe me my money and it’s only through your colossal stupidity that I’m even here.”

I make the decision right there. I turn the poker in my hand, forcing the tip upward. It’s no longer glowing cherry red, but it’s still brutally hot. “Me then. I was the one who wanted the trunk. I didn’t know what was in it and we tried to do the right thing, but I’m the one who’s responsible for taking it.”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Atlas screams. He thrashes in his chair, but stills when Phil whips the gun over at him. “Willa!”

Phil throws back his head and laughs. “No. Not you.” He motions with the gun at Atlas. “Him. Because now I know that will hurt you far worse than if you took that scar for him.”

“Why?” I whimper, trying to appear helpless while all the while my brain is racing, calculating distance. I’d have to knock the gun down first. I can’t hit Phil when he’s pointing it right at Atlas. I could never take that chance.

“Because you both need to be punished for stealing my money. You were na?ve and blind and so incredibly stupid to come out here alone. Trust makes you ignorant. Love makes you weak. Pathetic.” I’m frozen and Phil waves his hand. “Go on then. His neck first. Then his ear. If he hasn’t decided to tell me where my money really is by then, or where my fucking wife has gone, then press it to his cheek. If that’s not enough encouragement, take his eyes.”

The tiniest flicker of movement behind Phil catches my attention. Agatha is slowly rising up, getting to her feet. Phil isn’t bothered about her in the least. He’s forgotten her. He’s so fucking jazzed about this torture session that’s about to go down that all his attention is dialed right in on us.

I tear my eyes away and focus on the poker while Agatha creeps past the couch, heading straight for the end table where a large, heavy-looking faux Roman bust stands proudly.

I sure as fuck hope that thing isn’t made of plastic.

“Now!” Phil yells, a cloud of spittle erupting in front of his face again.

I let out a shuddering breath and approach Atlas. His eyes stay on me the whole time, but I know that he must have seen Agatha going for that bust as well.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, raising the poker.

He tips his head back, giving me clear access to the side of his neck. “It’ll be okay. Just do it. It’s you , and I’ll proudly take any amount of pain for you. I’ll wear your brand with honor. I love you.”

Phil watches on, lips parted wetly, his breathing now something close to a frothing dog. This guy has something majorly wrong with him. He’s going to watch me cook someone’s skin off their body and the only thing I see on his face is anticipation and glee.

“Please forgive me,” I beg before pressing the hot poker to the side of Atlas’ neck.

Oh god, oh fucking god, I’m going to die. I’m going to be sick.

He yells, loudly . So loud that Phil doesn’t hear Agatha move behind him. He doesn’t sense her raise the heavy bust above her head, her arms trembling with the effort. As her arms start the downward motion, I rip the poker from Atlas’ neck. The smell of his burnt skin is thick in the air, churning my stomach dangerously. That doesn’t matter. I hold it together so that when the bust makes contact with the back of Phil’s skull, I swing the poker straight into his hand, knocking the gun away. It clatters to the floor, but doesn’t go off.

I’m prepared to hit him again to incapacitate him, but he crumples, falling to the side, eyes shut.

I lunge for the gun, put the safety back on, and train it on Phil while Agatha hurriedly checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

She just had to knock her own son unconscious. She loves him. She always will. She’s his mother. She sags into herself as soon as she has evidence that he’s alive.

“Lordy,” Agatha sighs, more herself now that she has been since the second she stepped out of the house. “Wasn’t that something? Thank the stars that every single time someone gets knocked out in a book or a movie it’s with a statue, a lamp, or a frying pan.”

I’m still holding the damn poker.

I toss it aside and run to Atlas. The need to touch him is overwhelming, but my eyes zero straight in on the raised red welt blistered on his neck.

I did that.

I hurt him.

I know I didn’t have a choice, but I’m never going to stop thinking about this. The guilt will thread through me and become one with my sinew and bones.

He sees. He knows. “Don’t worry about me. Go and find a knife to cut these ropes. We don’t know when that asshat is going to wake up.”

I was so worried about him that I didn’t even think about the danger we’re all still in.

“In the kitchen,” Agatha whispers as I rush past. She’s still kneeling right beside Phil. My heart truly goes out to her. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling right now. She has one kid, and this is what he turns into?

I find the knife block on the kitchen counter, pull out the largest knife, and test the edge with my finger. Satisfied that it’s sharp enough, I carefully carry it back. The ropes are so tight around Atlas’ arms that I don’t even try to cut there. I’d probably just hurt him, and I’ve already done enough of that. I attack the knots, sawing through them. When they give, the whole set of ropes falls away.

“Here.” Agatha tosses me a key. “I found that in his pocket.”

I slip it into the cuffs and pop them open. They’ve done a number on Atlas’ wrists already, chaffing the skin away, but he doesn’t even notice. He picks Phil off the floor like the guy weighs nothing, and positions him in the chair he was just sitting in. He cuffs his wrists and takes up the rope, wrapping it all around Phil’s chest, neck, and shoulders. If Phil so much as struggles, he’ll probably strangle himself, but I don’t blame Atlas. The extra caution is a must.

“This is inadequate, but I found a few things. Some antibacterial ointment and a bandage.” Agatha’s whisper thin, ultra soft fingers brush over my hand as she passes me the supplies, but Atlas shakes his head.

“Do you have a phone? I can get care later. I’ll even go to Archer’s clinic if I have to.” Archer’s a plastic surgeon by trade. He runs a secret clinic in the basement of his real business that’s reserved strictly for club members.

“It’s on the kitchen counter.”

I guide Agatha to the couch and sit down with her, trying not to think about how we were just held here by force. I don’t want to go back there in my mind. Not now, not ever. I might clutch Agatha tightly in my arms, smoothing her hair away from her face, but my eye stay fixed on Phil the whole time. He’s still unconscious, his head lolling to the side.

Atlas uses Agatha’s phone. It might be old, but it works perfectly.

When he walks back into the room, he stops right in front of Agatha. He kneels down, taking her hands and examining her face. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She sniffs. “Only my pride in every sense of the word. He came to me begging me to give him the money to pay off the others that he owes. Apparently, he was part of a massive crime ring. This was some big scam that cashed out early. He hid the money until he could figure out a way to get out of the country. Fake IDs take time. He thought he had it, but he didn’t. His wife was a major leader in whatever scam he was running. He didn’t even say, but given that he’s a lawyer, I’m sure he knew the ins and outs. When she went back for all the money, she double-crossed him and everyone else. The guys he’s in deep with are not the patient, forgiving kind of people.”

Atlas and I listen while she continues.

“He wanted me to save him from this mess of his own making and when I refused, he called me a monster and started saying that I’d never loved him. He said I’d only ever loved this place and if I wouldn’t sign it over or give him the money, then he was as good as dead and I cared nothing. I was going to offer him enough money to leave and start over, but that’s when he pulled out his gun. He wanted to know everything, so I told him about the club. I figured a bunch of bikers could take care of themselves and that there wasn’t any harm in it. He was unhinged and this wasn’t what I wanted for my son. I thought he might actually kill me, so I had to give him something. Not for me, but for him. After he found out about the club, he wanted me to make that call to lure someone here that he could hold for ransom. I made it, figuring that they’d sense something was off and would send a lot of someone’s and scare Phil off or tackle that gun away from him. I never thought that you two would show up alone.”

“It’s okay.” Atlas brings her hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “It’s going to be okay now, Agatha, but I need you to know that Phil is going to go to jail. Not for what he did here to us, but because he stole money from people. There are victims out there.” He pauses because Agatha has started sniffling. Huge tears roll down her cheeks, highlighting the livid bruise forming on the right side of her face. I stroke her hair again, searching Atlas’ face, begging him to make this better. “We know where the money is. Wizard put tracking devices in the bills. The club wants to hire this guy who is good at finding people. I mean, he’s good at tech stuff too, which is really what we need him for, but we can make sure that Phil’s wife is also caught and that the money is returned to the rightful owners.”

I follow Agatha’s eyes to Phil. Atlas tipped his head back when he tied him, so he wouldn’t fall forward on that rope and choke himself. There’s no mistaking the tenderness on her face.

“I know that he and his wife are going to have to face what they’ve done. I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe that he’d hold a gun on you, or that he’d hit me, or say those things, or make you hurt Atlas.”

My own tears are hot on my cheeks. I don’t even know how long I’ve been crying.

“It’s okay, Agatha. It all worked out. I’ve had worse sports injuries before. I meant what I said.” How Atlas can kneel down in front of me and cup my face with such reverence, I’ll never know. “I’ll wear any brand or mark Willa leaves on me with pride.”

My throat works violently but I can’t say anything. There’s too much there, all of it jumbled up and stuck in place. I thought I’d reached my capacity for feeling so much all at once, but I was wrong.

“Just let it go, Willa. You had no choice.” Atlas brushes his thumb over my lips, then strokes my chin and makes his way down to my pulse point. It’s throbbing so irregularly that I could black out. “We’re going to be okay. It’s almost all over. I love you.” This time, his arms encompass us both. pressing Agatha and I close together. He’s like an avenging angel blanketing us with his wings, watching over us like that angel on the back of his leather jacket.

“I love you too, Agatha,” he whispers, holding us just a little bit tighter.”

“Me too.” I turn my face and tell her hair, where her ear should be.

Lynette was my only family for most of my life. She found Bullet here and in loving him, she found a family in the club. I found friends, my best friend even, but I was so hesitant to claim anything more because I was afraid it would all crash and burn, wreck and ruin.

Nothing is ruined.

I lean harder into Agatha and let Atlas drape his broad body over us, soaking up his shelter and tender, furious, galvanizing love.

It’s not just Lynette who found a family. It’s me too. Agatha. The club. Atlas’ parents and his siblings. Hart.

Lynette and I spent years searching for home. We had no idea we were so lost until it came crashing right into us.

And now… I’m truly there. I’m truly home .