Page 33 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

Atlas

The sun’s barely up when I knock on Rue’s door.

She blinks up at me from the doorway, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Time for me to take you somewhere,” I say, holding up the spare helmet. “You said you like mornings. Quiet ones.”

She eyes the helmet like it might bite her. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

She makes me wait while she gets changed, which, honestly, I’d wait all day for, and then she finally steps out, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands, hesitant but curious.

The ride is short, maybe twenty minutes, just outside town.

The road winds into a wooded trail I scouted a few days ago, the kind of place where you don’t hear cars, just wind and birdsong.

I park the bike near a grassy clearing where I set everything up this morning.

A picnic blanket, takeaway coffees, and a couple fresh pastries I know she likes, and most importantly, a worn copy of Persuasion .

Rue stops in her tracks when she sees it.

“You did all this?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

I shrug, trying not to grin like an idiot. “You like quiet, and books, and coffee done right.”

She walks slowly to the blanket and kneels, fingers brushing the cover of the book. “This is my favourite Austen.”

“I know,” I say, sitting beside her. “Thought maybe you’d read some to me.”

She looks at me, and then she does something I wasn’t ready for. She crawls over and curls up in my lap like she used to. Head under my chin, knees drawn in, the softest sigh escaping her lips as her body relaxes against mine.

It’s the first time she’s touched me since everything went to hell. I don’t move, don’t speak. Just hold her, heart pounding like a war drum.

Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Can you read it to me instead?”

I swallow hard and nod. My fingers shake a little as I open the book, but I find the page and start.

“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope,” I read, my voice rougher than I want it to be.

Rue doesn’t move, so I keep going, my thumb gently stroking the edge of the page where her hand rests.

“Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever.”

My throat tightens, the line hitting a nerve. She shifts a little in my lap, her fingers curling lightly into my shirt. “I hate that I still feel things when you’re near.” Her voice startles me. It’s barely a whisper but it echoes around me.

I stop breathing for a second, her honesty slicing through me like a knife. Her cheek is against my chest, and I can feel her heart pounding. Or maybe that’s mine.

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me.

“I’m glad you do,” I say, low and rough, “because I feel everything, Rue. Every second I’m near you. Every second I’m not. I ache for you.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

“I hate myself for every moment I made you doubt how fucking much you matter to me. And if it takes the rest of my life to prove that, I will.”

I shift beneath her, the book balanced in one hand and the other wrapped around her protectively. I scan the words and begin to read the next line.

“I have waited for this opportunity to tell you that—”

Rue kisses me. There’s no warning, no words, just her lips pressed to mine in a slow, unsure kiss.

I feel my whole body tense, scared she’ll realise any second that this is a mistake and pull away.

But her fingers pull my shirt tighter into her fists as her body turns slightly more towards me.

The book slips from my hand with a thud, and my fingers tangle in her hair, tilting her head back and taking control of her mouth.

She pulls back, her eyes staring wide and unsure. “I don’t . . . I don’t know why I did that,” she stammers.

My heart slams faster in my chest while I stare back at her silently, praying she doesn’t pull away with regret. “I’ll take whatever crumbs you’ll give me,” I murmur. “But make no mistake, I’m starving for all of you.”

She inhales sharply as her eyes soften slightly. I feel her pulse pick up where my fingers brush her wrist. But I make no move to kiss her, not wanting to rush her and scare her away.

“What are we doing here?” she eventually asks.

“I told you, enjoying the quiet.”

She smiles. “No, I mean us, what’s happening here?”

I pause, thinking over her words. “I’m hoping I’m showing you how things could be.”

“Atlas, you’re a biker,” she says, as if that’s news to me. “Reading Austin in the woods, dates on rooftops . . . that’s not you.”

“It’s who I want to be for you.”

“But that’s just it,” she says, gently placing a hand against my cheek. “I need you to be yourself, Atlas. How can I decide if we’ll ever work, when you’re not being true to yourself?”

I lean into her touch without thinking, eyes locked on hers. There’s something raw in her voice, something that cuts through all the noise I’ve been carrying around.

“I am being myself,” I say quietly. “This,” I gesture around us, to the blanket, the book, the quiet space I carved out just for her, “this isn’t some performance, Rue. It’s not pretend.”

She looks down, fingers sliding away from my cheek.

“I know I don’t fit your idea of me. Hell, I probably don’t fit anyone’s idea of how a biker’s supposed to act. But you think I haven’t always craved this too? Something soft. Something quiet. Someone who sees past the leather and noise.”

She meets my gaze again, slower this time, and I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together.

“Don’t mistake what I do for who I am. I can be rough.

I can be violent when I have to be. But I can also sit in silence with a woman who makes me feel like I’ve finally come home.

” I squeeze her hand. “This is me. You’re not changing me, Rue.

You’re just giving me the space to be the parts of myself I never thought I was allowed to be. ”

Her eyes shimmer like she’s trying to blink back whatever she’s feeling.

Then, softer, almost like she’s testing the weight of it: “So, this isn’t about trying to win me back?”

I smirk, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “Of course, it is. I’d tear down the damn world if it meant earning a second chance with you. But I’m not pretending to be someone else to do it. I’m showing you all of me, even the parts I keep buried.”

Rue

His words do something to my insides, and I’m hit with that nervous excitement I always get when I think of Atlas and the way he gets under my skin.

I shift, placing my hands on his shoulders before throwing my leg over him so we’re facing one another.

“So, if I agreed to give this a second shot . . .” I pause, enjoying the glimmer of hope I see in his eyes.

“What do you envision our future will look like?”

His hands cup my backside, tugging me farther up his lap. “Peaceful,” he says, brushing his nose against mine. “Real,” he adds, his eyes staring deeply into my own. “Ours.”

I want to believe him, everything in me wants exactly what he’s offering, but there’s a small part of me that still can’t bring myself to trust him.

I lower my forehead to his, closing my eyes like it might steady the thud of my heart.

“You say all the right things,” I whisper, “and I want to fall into them, into you. But what if you break me again?”

His hands still on my hips, the only movement between us now is the slow, shared rhythm of our breath. I hate that he doesn’t rush to answer. Hate it and love it. Because it means he’s thinking, not just saying what I want to hear.

“I can’t promise I won’t mess up,” he says eventually, his voice gravel soft. “But I’ll never lie to you. Never betray you. I’ll spend every day showing you you’re it for me. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want this . . . us .”

My throat tightens. The version of me that used to be so cautious wants to back away, wants to protect herself. But the other version, the one he’s coaxing out of hiding with every soft look and small gesture, leans in, brushing my lips against his.

His breath hitches, and then he tilts his chin just enough for our mouths to slot together in the softest way—not desperate, not rushed, just . . . sure.

And for a second, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

When we finally pull apart, I rest my hand over his heart, steady and strong beneath my palm.

“I need to go slow,” I murmur.

“You set the pace,” he says. “I’ll be right here.”

I lay my cheek to his chest, enjoying his warmth, when the sound of boots scuffing gravel jolts me upright.

Atlas goes still beneath me.

We both turn at the same time.

Eight men stand at the edge of the clearing.

Uninvited. Unsmiling. Unfamiliar. My pulse spikes instantly, instincts screaming.

Atlas shifts me off his lap and rises slowly, placing himself between me and them. His whole-body changes. The soft, steady man from a second ago replaced by the one I’ve imagined. Broad. Coiled. Lethal.

“Can I help you?” His voice is calm, but there's a warning beneath it.

The man at the front stands tall, broad, and he’s dressed like he belongs on a battlefield, not in the woods. He takes a step forward. His lip curls as he glances past Atlas and straight at me.

“We’re here for the girl.”

My breath catches. Me. They’re here for me.

Atlas doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. “No,” he says. “She’s not going anywhere.”

The man smirks like he expected that. “You don’t want this to get ugly.”

Atlas steps forward. “Then walk away.”

The man nods. It’s an unspoken order and suddenly, the other seven are moving towards us.

Atlas swings, hitting the first one hard enough to drop him. But it’s eight against one, and he gets two more good hits in before they drag him down. I scream his name, fighting to get to him, but someone grabs my arm and hauls me back.

“No!” I shout, thrashing as the man yanks me away from Atlas, who’s now on his knees, blood dripping from his lip, arms held by two men while others lay into him.

“Rue!” he shouts, struggling against them. “Let her go, you f—”