Page 23 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

Anita

I yank open the door the second I hear his boots on the stairs.

Atlas.

My chest caves with relief. I don’t think, I just throw myself into his arms.

His warmth, his solid presence, the familiar scent of leather and smoke and something distinctly him . . . it all hits me at once, and I break. My arms wrap tight around his neck, and I bury my face there like I’ve done a hundred times before.

Only this time, I’m shaking.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, low and steady. His arms lock around me, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. He carries me inside, kicking the door shut behind us with one heavy boot.

And then he sees it.

The mess.

My apartment is trashed. The coffee table smashed. The lamp on the floor. My bookshelf tipped, pages torn like confetti across the rug. My photo frame cracked. Kitchen drawers open, contents scattered like someone was looking for something, anything, to destroy.

Atlas stops walking, and his jaw tightens. I feel it under my cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he asks, his voice low, dangerous.

I pull back just enough to look at him. “I told him it was over.” He stares at me like he doesn’t quite understand. “Anthony,” I clarify. “I told him I was done, that I didn’t want to see him again. He lost it, started screaming. Threw a glass at the wall. I think he was trying to scare me.”

Atlas’s grip on me shifts, tighter. Protective. His nostrils flare, and his eyes scan the damage like it’s a crime scene.

“He hurt you?” he growls.

I shake my head quickly. “No. He didn’t touch me.

He just lost control. Said I’d ruined his life.

That no one else would put up with me. That I was lucky to have him.

” I don’t mean to tear up, but the adrenaline is crashing now, and they sting hot behind my eyes.

“Then he left. I locked the door and called you. You didn’t answer. ”

I feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, like he’s trying to stay calm. “I was—” He stops, jaw twitching. “I was busy.”

I pull back farther to look at him properly. His face is stormy, unreadable. “Yeah, you said,” I reply. “Club stuff, right?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m digging for more.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets me down gently, like I’m fragile now. Like I might break. “I didn’t think things were that serious between you and Anthony.”

“You didn’t ask,” I say quietly. “We don’t really talk about my life anymore.”

His eyes flick to mine, and something passes between us—old history, old hurt.

He runs a hand through his hair and turns away, pacing once before he kicks a broken chair leg aside and mutters under his breath. “I should’ve fucking known. Should’ve kept an eye on you.”

“I didn’t need you to watch me,” I say, softer now. “I just needed you to answer .”

His shoulders tense, his hands flex like he’s holding back from punching something. He leans against the wall, breathing hard. And then, softer: “I was with Rue.”

Ah.

Right.

Of course he was.

“I figured,” I say, keeping my voice steady, even though my stomach twists. “She makes you happy?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just rubs a hand across his jaw like he’s trying to scrub the guilt off his skin. “She does,” he finally says. But he doesn’t sound sure.

And maybe that’s the problem.

He crosses the room again and crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his. His thumbs brush across my knuckles, gentle like I’m something he still wants to protect. “You scared the shit out of me tonight,” he says.

“You took your time,” I whisper, not accusing, just honest.

“I told her I was on club business,” he admits, voice low. “I lied. I didn’t know why at the time . . . I just . . . didn’t want her to know I came running to you.”

I nod slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because if she knew, she’d wonder why.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t have the answer either. Like maybe he doesn’t want to admit that some part of him still belongs here. With me. Even if he’s already falling for her.

I should be stronger than this. I should push him away. But the second his eyes meet mine, I know he’s not here just out of duty. I know the truth buried under his silence.

I lean in slowly, brushing my lips over his.

Soft. Lingering. Familiar. Cautious, waiting for him to reject me again.

He doesn’t kiss me back immediately, but he doesn’t pull away either. He just stays frozen, his grip on my hands tightening, like he’s fighting a war inside himself.

When I finally pull back, I whisper against his lips, “You lied because you still love me.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes close. Still no words. But silence can be louder than the truth. And it’s all I need.

I reach for the front of my dress, fingers trembling slightly, and tug the zipper down. The fabric parts, slow and deliberate, exposing the top of my lace bra and the bare skin of my chest.

His eyes snap open, and he looks wrecked. Torn. I should stop, put an end to his misery. But a sick part of me needs to see if he’s still mine, even a little. And fuck knows I need to feel something other than the drowning I currently feel.

“Anita . . .” he breathes, like my name hurts.

I shrug one strap off my shoulder, then the other. “Tell me you don’t want this,” I murmur. “You came because you heard the fear in my voice and your heart knew it belonged here.”

His hands are on my waist before he even realises it, dragging me into him. His mouth crashes against mine, hot and desperate, the kiss anything but controlled. I moan into him, my arms wrapping around his neck, and I feel him groan into my mouth as I climb onto his lap.

“You make me crazy,” he mutters, kissing along my jaw, down my neck. “I can’t fucking think around you.”

I reach between us, palming him through his jeans, and he jerks beneath me, biting down on a curse. His hands slide under my dress, gripping my thighs like he needs to feel me to believe I’m still his.

“Please,” I whisper, kissing his jaw. “Just one last time.” His face twists, anguish, desire, guilt all tangled together. He’s shaking his head, but his hips are grinding up into mine like he can’t help himself. “No one has to know.”

“I can’t,” he says.

But he doesn’t stop me as I kiss him again, deeper this time, and I feel him starting to give in. He unhooks my bra, thumbs brushing over my nipples, his mouth claiming mine like he’s drowning.

We’re a breath away from crossing that line.

And then there’s a frantic knock at the door.

I freeze, and Atlas goes still beneath me, his breath ragged.

There’s another knock, louder this time. “Anita? It’s Tom. Open up.”

Shit.

I scramble off Atlas’s lap, pulling my dress up and dragging the zipper halfway closed. My heart is thundering.

“I called him,” I whisper, panic rising. “When you didn’t answer, I didn’t know if you’d come. He’s my solicitor.”

Atlas stands slowly, running both hands through his hair, stepping back like he’s just realised what almost happened.

The guilt crashes over him like a wave. It’s written all over his face, etched into every line, every shadow. I feel it too, the fact I talked him into going against everything he believes in. He’s not a cheat.

I step towards the door, but pause, turning back. He’s looking at the floor, jaw locked, hands clenched into fists.

“Atlas—”

“I shouldn’t have come,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “This was a mistake.”

Atlas

My jaw is tight, breath ragged, hands twitching at my sides like they don’t know what to do now that they’re not on her body. My skin still remembers the way she felt. The sound she made when I touched her. The way her mouth knew exactly how to get my attention.

Fuck.

Her cheeks are flushed, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s grief. For what we almost did. For what we still want and keep pretending we don’t.

I stare at the mess in the apartment. At the broken furniture. The chaos. It's safer to look at that than her.

The knocking comes again, and Anita jumps in fright, rushing to answer.

I turn to stare out the window. I’m a prick who almost fucked his ex on a pile of shattered glass while the girl I’m actually falling for waits at home, thinking I’m out doing club business. Fuck , I hate myself.

I close my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands to them.

Jesus.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Tom walks in like he owns the place, confident, collected, sharp suit and sharper stare. He clocks the mess immediately, then her, then me.

“Anita.” His voice is calm but concerned. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m fine now. Atlas got here.”

His gaze shifts to me, lingering. “Atlas Rowe?”

I nod once, wary. “That a problem?”

He lifts his brows. “Not for me. You’re with the Chaos Demons, right?”

I grunt a yes. It’s not unusual for anyone in the field to know the club, we’ve been through our fair share of court rooms. And I can almost read his mind, even though his expression remains neutral. I’m the kind of man Anita shouldn’t be involved with, especially not when she’s vulnerable.

He pulls his phone out and starts snapping photos of the damage, every broken chair leg, every cracked picture frame. I can feel Anita watching me, but I don’t look at her. I can’t. My skin feels too tight, like I’m crawling inside it.

She cheated death tonight.

And I cheated on Rue.

Anita doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s just instinct, old feelings flaring up, my protectiveness spilling over. But the way my body responded to her? That wasn’t just instinct, it was feelings and emotion. A need I can’t seem to gratify.

It’s something I’ve been trying to bury since Rue came into my life.

Now, all I feel is guilt.

Tom finishes his sweep and says something to Anita about uploading everything to his file, but I barely register it. I just keep staring at the spot on the couch where I had her in my lap. Where I would’ve taken her if the knock hadn’t come.

She moves towards me after Tom walks into the kitchen, dropping his voice as he calls someone.