Page 34 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

The leader steps forward and punches him hard in the gut, and the sound Atlas makes rips through me like a blade.

“Take her,” the man orders.

“No! No, please . . .” My voice cracks as rough hands shove me towards the trees.

Atlas lifts his bloody face, staring right at me. “You have to go with them, Rue, but I’ll find you.”

I kick out, screaming angrily as I’m dragged away. It makes no difference, and as I try to turn back to see Atlas, a sack is placed over my head and everything goes dark.

Anita

I sit straighter, and Tom places his hand over my own on the table. “Relax,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know my parents,” I mutter, looking towards the entrance for the hundredth time.

“I’ve met my fare share of money driven arseholes, Nita. I’ll win them over.”

I half smile, loving how optimistic he is. “What is this, exactly?” I ask, because the question has been playing on my mind all day.

He grins now, relaxing back in his seat and snatching up the wine menu.

“A chance for you to see the life I can offer you.” I frown, surprised by his words.

“Nita, I’ve been crazy about you since .

. . probably the first day I ever set eyes on you.

But you’re not like other women,” he states, smiling fondly, “and I had to be the man you deserve before I put myself on your radar.” He looks past me. “We’ll talk later. They’re here.”

My head whips round as my heart slams harder. I’m unsure if it’s from his confession or the fact my parents are walking towards us.

I stand clumsily, almost pulling the tablecloth with me.

Tom stands too, reaching past me to shake my father’s hand.

“George, it’s great to see you again,” he says, his shake firm.

Then he moves past me, fixing his eyes on my mother.

“And you must be Carol,” he says fondly, kissing her cheek.

“I’ve seen you many times at various gatherings but never had the chance to meet you officially. ”

Mother looks startled, smiling as he kisses her other cheek. “You look amazing,” he continues, pulling out a chair for her.

My father eyes the Champagne. “Are we celebrating?” he mutters, sitting beside Mother.

I glance nervously at Tom because I have no idea why he ordered the four-hundred-pound bottle either. “I haven’t even told Anita yet,” says Tom, taking his seat as he waves the waiter over to open the bottle. “But I made partner today at Jackson and Holden.”

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth in shock. The firm is huge, one of the biggest around here, and I know my father is secretly jealous of the owner, Amber Jackson.

“That’s amazing,” I cry as the Champagne cork pops. I throw my arms around him, and he drags me closer, placing a lingering kiss to the side of my mouth. I feel my cheeks flush and bite my lower lip to control the smile. “Well done,” I whisper.

My father stands again, shaking Tom’s hand. “Great news. Congratulations.” My mother follows.

The waiter fills four flutes and passes them out before disappearing.

“Now, all I need is Anita to agree to marry me,” he says, his tone teasing as my head whips in his direction. “And, of course, to meet Leo, then my life will be complete.”

“Marriage?” Father repeats, his brows furrowed together. “She’s never even mentioned you.”

“He was kidding,” I mutter, forcing a tight smile.

“I’m not,” Tom says, looking my father dead in the eye, “but that conversation will take place over golf, yes?”

This gets my father’s attention. “You play? I’ve never seen you at Hadfield’s.”

“My loyalty lies with Marsdon’s,” says Tom, and my father’s eyes almost light up. “My friend owns the place, and I’m a platinum member. I can get you in there anytime.”

Father sits straighter, and I can tell by his face as he nods that he’s impressed. “Marsdon’s is always full,” he says. “I’ve been trying years to get in there.”

Tom smiles. “Consider it done,” he says, lifting his glass and holding it in the middle of the table. We all clink and take a sip.

I stare after my parents as they head to their waiting car, still in disbelief. They didn’t throw a fit, didn’t question my life choices.

And they appeared to love Tom.

His hand grazes the small of my back, his touch warm and possessive, and I turn to him, my lips curving with surprise. “That went surprisingly well.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” His voice is a low murmur against my ear, and then he takes my hand, slotting his fingers through mine with a casual intimacy that makes my stomach flutter.

He begins to lead me towards his car, and I glance down at our joined hands, half confused, half delighted.

It feels right.

Even if I don’t know what ‘it’ is.

“And I managed to get us on the golf course first thing tomorrow,” he adds as we reach the car. “Which means I can distract your dad if Damien tries to call. And, hopefully, by the time they speak, I’ll have convinced him how solid we are.”

My smile falters as I climb in. “But when he finds out the truth . . .”

Tom leans in, close enough that I feel the warmth of his body wrap around me. He reaches across to gently tug the seatbelt around my chest, his hand brushing the swell of my breast, not accidentally. His face hovers inches from mine, his mouth a breath from my own.

“The truth?” he asks, his voice low, coaxing.

My pulse spikes. “That we’re not . . .” I murmur, eyes flicking to his lips, to the way they part slightly like he’s already halfway to kissing me.

He doesn’t let me finish. “I already told you the truth, Nita,” he whispers.

Then his lips are on mine. Soft at first, a little unsure. But when I don’t pull away, he takes what he wants. What we both want.

His hand cups my cheek, angling my face to deepen the kiss, and his tongue slides against mine with slow, hungry precision. My fingers clutch the front of his shirt, my body leaning into his, desperate for more.

By the time he pulls back, my breathing’s a mess and my mind’s not far behind.

He grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me then shuts the door and rounds the car. I blink after him, stunned.

When he slides into the driver’s side, he throws one hand on my bare knee, squeezing slightly, and starts the engine with the other.

“We’ll take it slow,” he says, eyes still on the road. “I know this is a surprise to you. But make no mistake, Anita, I wasn’t putting on an act back there. I’m all in if you’ll have me.”

His tone is even, but the weight behind his words lands in my chest like a thud. He’s dominant, yes. Bold. A little cocky. But there’s something else simmering underneath.

Conviction. He’s not playing. And, despite everything, that turns me on more than I care to admit.

The sudden shrill of my phone breaks the heat between us, jolting me.

I yank it from my bag. “Axel?” I murmur, glancing at Tom.

“Take it,” he says, his fingers flexing on my knee. “It might be about Damien.”

I nod and answer the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hi, Axel.”

“Have you heard from Atlas tonight?” His voice is tight, tense.

My spine straightens. “No . . . should I have?”

“He was supposed to be here for church. He didn’t show.”

I frown. That’s not like Atlas. Not at all. “Is that a huge problem?”

“I tried to call. His phone rang out, several times.”

My frown deepens. Atlas would never ignore a call from his President. None of them would.

“You think he’s been arrested or something?”

“That was my first thought. But if he hasn’t reached out to you, he can’t have been.” He’s right, my number’s his emergency contact for legal representation. If something had happened, I’d know.

“Where was he last?” Tom asks, sharp now. His fingers are no longer casual on my skin.

“He took Rue out on the bike,” Axel replies. The name still stings a little, but not like it used to. Not with Tom sitting beside me. “And Kasey tracked Rue’s phone,” Axel adds, “but it was off.”

A flicker of unease crawls up my spine. “Oh,” I say, more to myself than anyone, thumbing through my phone. “I have a tracker too. Atlas put it on both our phones months ago.”

I’ve never used it. I’d forgotten it existed until now.

I load the app and tap his name, and a location pings.

“He’s nearby,” I murmur, glancing at the woods ahead. “A wooded area. That turn-off . . .there.” I point it out to Tom, who doesn’t hesitate. He veers the car down the lane, his jaw clenched.

“I’ll send you the location,” I say quickly, flicking it over to Axel.

Tom follows the tracker down a narrow, tree-lined track, the car bumping gently over the uneven road. The sun has dipped low enough that the woods feel darker than they should, shadowy and still.

“There,” I say, spotting the gleam of chrome tucked behind some overgrowth. Atlas’s bike.

Tom pulls in fast, cutting the engine. The silence that follows is deafening.

My phone rings again. It’s Axel. I answer before the first ring finishes. “We found his bike. It’s here.”

“Don’t go in,” Axel snaps. “Wait there. I’m sending a crew. It could be a setup.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “A setup?”

“Just wait for backup,” he insists. “Ten minutes, Anita. Don’t do anything stupid.”

But I’m already out the car, sprinting, because ten minutes is too long.

“Anita!” Tom calls after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

The trees close in fast as I break into the woods, leaves crunching underfoot, branches clawing at my jacket. My breathing turns ragged, but I don’t care. I keep pushing through the underbrush, drawn by something deeper than instinct.

Fear. Love. Guilt.

I stumble into a small clearing and freeze.

Atlas lies on the ground. Unmoving.

A brutal gash bleeds down his temple, his leather cut torn at the shoulder. His arms are spread wide, like he fell mid-fight and stayed down.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible as I rush to him.

I drop to my knees beside him, hands trembling as I press my fingers to his throat. Come on, come on, come on. There, a pulse. Weak, but it’s there.

“Atlas,” I breathe, leaning over him. “Hey . . . hey, open your eyes.” My fingers cup his jaw, trying to steady him, to wake him, to do something. But he doesn’t move. “Shit.” My eyes sting. “What the hell happened to you?”

Tom crashes through the clearing seconds later, cursing when he sees him. “Christ,” he mutters, crouching beside me. “We need to get him out of here. Now.”

“I don’t want to move him, what if he has a neck injury?”

Tom exhales, scanning the trees. “Then we hold tight and keep him stable.”

I nod, brushing the blood from Atlas’s temple with my sleeve. My chest aches just looking at him. So strong, so proud, now broken and unconscious in the dirt.

I reach for my phone with a shaking hand, hitting redial. “Axel,” I say the second he answers, “he’s down. He’s unconscious but breathing. We’re in the clearing behind the ridge, about fifty metres from the bike.”

“We’re almost there,” he says. “Hold tight, and keep your eyes open.”

I end the call and stare down at Atlas, biting hard on my bottom lip.

Tom puts a hand on my back again, grounding me. But I can’t look away from Atlas.

“Just hang on,” I whisper, pressing my forehead gently to his for a second. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this.”