Page 19 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

Anita

Anthony: You’re not home again?? Where are you???

My fingers curl tighter around the stem of my wine glass. I take a slow sip, just to busy my hands, then tap out a reply.

Me: Dinner with Tessa. She’s been nagging me to catch up.

Anthony: You work with her all day. Evenings should be for me, Anita. We discussed this.

Me: Sorry. I won’t be out long. I’ll call at yours after?

Three dots appear then disappear. Then, nothing.

A chill slides through me, settling low in my stomach. I tuck my phone face-down on the table and scan the bar again. Tom’s late. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I shouldn’t be here at all, if I’m honest. I should’ve met him in his office, kept it professional.

But I said yes because something in his voice made me believe he could do this. That maybe, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t completely screwed.

When the door swings open, I spot him instantly. He doesn’t walk in like he owns the place, but people notice him anyway. There’s something in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes take everything in. He’s not handsome in a polished way—he’s too blunt around the edges for that—but he’s magnetic.

And he looks like someone who doesn’t lose.

Tom spots me and gives a nod. No smile, just calm, unflinching focus as he strides towards me and shrugs off his coat.

“You alright?” he asks before he’s even fully sat down.

I nod too quickly. “Fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch. My usual mask, smoothed out and fixed tight, is slipping. Anthony’s message still echoes in the back of my head, the way it always does. Every compliment laced with suspicion. Every silence sharp enough to draw blood.

Tom watches me. Not the way other men do. Not like he’s weighing me up or peeling me apart. He just . . . waits.

I glance at the menu, just for something to do. “Thanks for meeting like this. I didn’t want to bring the notes to your office. It felt too formal.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You get spooked easily?”

I meet his eyes. “Not usually.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “But tonight, you are.”

The honesty hangs between us. Thick. Undeniable. I press my lips together and shake my head. “I don’t talk about my personal life.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Yes.”

He takes the folder from his bag and taps it. “Your ex, Damien, I’ve come up against him before. Smart, sure, but cruel. Petty. He wins because he knows how to tear people down before they even step foot in the courtroom.”

I nod once, trying to swallow past the lump rising in my throat. “I’m not scared of him,” I say, my voice too tight to be convincing.

Tom just watches me. “You should be. That’s what makes men like him dangerous.”

I look away. My chest aches, not from what he’s said, but from how true it all is.

“I can’t lose my son,” I whisper. It’s the smallest I’ve ever felt. “Leo deserves better than Damien. He’ll mess him up, make him a carbon copy. I can’t let that happen.”

Tom’s jaw ticks. “We’re not going to let it.”

I breathe in deeply, steadying myself. “Anthony—” I stop, biting back the name before I can explain.

“The judge you’re dating?” I glance at him sharply. “Rumours,” he says with a shrug. “The court clerks love to gossip.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

The silence that follows is heavier than before.

Then Tom leans back in his chair and says simply, “You don’t need him.

” I look up, startled. “You think you do because the system is stacked and you’re tired and you think he holds more power than Damien.

He doesn’t. He can’t help you. Don’t waste your time. ”

For a second, I just sit there, stunned. No one talks to me like that, not even Tessa. No one cuts through the bullshit. No one sees what I don’t say.

I clear my throat, blink hard, and reach for my wine again.

Tom offers me a small smile, real this time. “Let’s talk strategy.”

And for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel something I’d almost forgotten.

Hope.

The buzz from the wine has long faded, leaving only nerves humming low in my stomach.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as the sharp-edged glass and steel box Anthony calls home comes into view.

I’ve already practised the lie in my head a million times—Tessa needed cheering up, nothing serious, just girl talk and wine.

I pull into the underground car park, kill the engine, and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. I smooth my lipstick, finger-comb my hair, then pause.

Is that . . .

I lean closer.

A faint scent clings to my jacket. Something woody. Masculine. Tom.

I exhale sharply through my nose. It’s nothing. Just a brief hug goodbye, two professionals, one human moment. Still, I slip out of the jacket before I reach the lift.

When I knock on Anthony’s door, he opens it almost instantly. He’s still in work attire, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a drink already in hand.

“You’re late,” he says. Not playful. Not teasing. Just flat, cold.

“I got caught up,” I say, stepping inside. “Tessa was venting about her guy. You know how she gets.”

He closes the door behind me. It clicks with a sound that feels louder than it should.

“Didn’t realise venting involves cologne,” he mutters.

I stop mid-step. “What?”

Anthony takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing. “You smell like another man.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His voice is calm, but his jaw ticks. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not . . . Anthony, seriously. It must’ve rubbed off when I hugged someone goodbye. One of Tessa’s friends stopped by for a bit.” The lie slides off my tongue too easily. I’ve had practice.

He steps closer. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No,” I say softly, “but I think you’re being paranoid.”

His eyes darken. He steps even closer, too close. I try not to shift back, but something in me coils tight.

“You go swanning off dressed like that to meet Tessa,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and come here smelling like a man I don’t know, and I’m supposed to believe nothing happened?”

I shake my head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He slams his glass down on the sideboard, the sharp clink making me flinch.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing. Then, quieter, too quiet, he says, “Don’t make me feel like I can’t trust you.”

My throat is dry. “There’s nothing to feel that way about.”

He exhales, forces a smile, and reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture makes my skin crawl. “You know I hate when I feel like you’re hiding something.”

I nod, mute.

Because I am hiding something. A case file. A son. A war I’m quietly waging without his knowledge. And a man, Tom, who saw straight through me and didn’t flinch. And I . . . liked it.

Anthony brushes a hand down my arm, lingering for a second too long.

“You’re lucky I’m an understanding man.”

The words steal the breath from my lungs.

Because they sound like a threat.

Because I can feel the steel cage forming again, only now, it’s not Damien’s name on the lock.

Atlas

It’s just past noon when I hear the sound of heels on concrete. Not the kind that belong here. Not boots. Not the clunky stomp of club life.

She always walks like she knows where she’s going, even when she doesn’t.

I look up from the engine I’m elbow-deep in, grease on my forearms and sweat sticking to the back of my neck. And there she is.

Anita.

Black trousers, tucked white shirt, sunglasses perched high. Her hair’s scraped back, sleek as ever. But her shoulders look tight, like the weight she’s carrying today is heavier than usual.

She doesn’t see me right away. She’s talking to Nyx, who nods and gestures towards the office. Paperwork for Kade, no doubt. He’s coming out on licence next week after a brief stint inside for assault.

She steps into the office without a glance in my direction, and I tell myself to leave it. To stay in the garage, finish what I’m doing, let her handle the job and go.

But my feet don’t listen.

I wipe my hands and follow, pausing in the doorway like I’ve done a hundred times before.

She’s standing at the desk, flicking through a document, frowning down at it like the words are trying to escape her.

“You always did hate paperwork,” I say softly.

She startles, just a flicker, then looks up. There’s a pause. It’s long enough to be awkward. Long enough to feel like the past few months are thick between us, taking up all the air.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she says.

I shrug. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“I’m just sorting Kade’s release conditions,” she says, lifting the sheet in her hand. “Axel needs to sign. I won’t stay long.”

“You can.” I lean against the doorframe. “You used to.”

She looks at me, and her expression softens just a touch. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

She doesn’t answer.

I nod and glance down at my boots, then back up. “You look tired.”

She laughs under her breath, but it’s hollow. “It’s been a long year.”

“I noticed.” I step farther inside, giving her space to leave if she wants. “You alright?”

She hesitates. Her mask flickers for a second, just enough for me to see what’s behind it. Worn edges. Fragile corners. The way she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s trying not to cry.

“I’m fine,” she says, but it doesn’t land the way it used to.

“Anita—”

She cuts me off with a soft voice. “Don’t, Atlas.”

I nod slowly. “Right.”

She places the document on the desk, fingers brushing over the surface like she’s grounding herself. “I miss this,” she says, almost too quietly to hear.

“Miss what?”

“This.” Her gaze flits up to mine. “Us. The friendship. The . . . safety of it. You were the only person I didn’t have to fight around.”

My chest tightens. “You had to do what was right for you.”

She swallows. “I know.”

For a second, we just stand there, the silence thick with everything we never said. Everything we can’t say now.

“Well, isn’t this cosy?”