Page 35 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

Rue

The world blurs past in shadow and steel.

I don’t know how long we’ve been driving. My wrists ache from the cable ties cutting into my skin. There’s a sack over my head, thick and scratchy, muffling every sound but the growl of the engine and the low, clipped voices of the men who took me.

My heart pounds hard enough I can feel it in my ears. I tried to scream once, back on the trail, but one of them slammed a fist into my ribs and told me if I did it again, they’d hurt Atlas more.

More . That shut me up.

Atlas. Please let him be alive.

The van slows. Gravel crunches beneath the tyres. A heavy gate groans open, then slams shut behind us. My lungs tighten.

A door slides open, and someone grabs me roughly by the arm, yanking me out. My feet scramble for the ground as they drag me forward, disoriented, shaking.

The sack is ripped from my head.

I blink hard against the sudden glare of fluorescent light. We’re inside some kind of warehouse. Concrete floors, high ceilings, and the air smells like oil and stale sweat.

I don’t recognise any of the men.

But then, standing at the far end of the room, beside a battered leather chair and a small table holding a crystal glass, is a man I’ve only ever seen in a picture.

Damien.

His shirt is crisp white, sleeves rolled, cufflinks glinting as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip of something amber. He looks exactly the same as I imagined—tailored, cold, smug.

Only his eyes are different. Colder, sharper.

They assess me as one of the men from behind me, shoves me forward a few steps. “You look nothing how I imagined,” he says thoughtfully.

“Funny,” I mutter, “You look exactly how I imagined.”

He laughs, it’s cruel, matching his expression. “You are just like your sister, only plainer. Almost innocent looking.”

My mouth goes dry. My chest tightens, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

“What do you want?” I manage, forcing my voice to stay calm. “If this is about the money—”

“Oh, Rue,” he says softly, almost pitying. “This isn’t about the money anymore, it would be so much simpler if it was.” He gestures and one of the men cuts the ties on my wrists. My skin throbs, red and raw. I almost collapse, but I force myself to stay upright.

“It’s about unfinished business.”

I glare at him. “With Atlas?”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face.

He steps closer, slowly circling me like I’m some exhibit on display.

“You made yourself important to people I’m trying to break.

That makes you . . . useful.” He takes a sip of his drink.

“I took a step back and thought about all the people I want to fuck up, and I realised the one person that they all have a connection with, is you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.

“Good,” he says smoothly. “Because fear would make this boring. And I want to enjoy what’s coming.”

He turns to the others. “Put her somewhere safe. And make sure she knows the rules.”

One of them grabs my arm, dragging me backwards again. I struggle, kicking once, twice, but it’s no use. Damien doesn’t flinch. He just watches, smiling faintly.

“He’ll come for me,” I scream. “He’ll find me.”

“Hold on to that,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “It’s so much more fun when you have hope and I get to see it leave those pretty little eyes.”

And then the door slams behind me and I’m met with darkness. But even in the pitch black, one thought roars in my chest.

Atlas will come.

He has to.

Anita

The machines beep steadily, cruel in their calm. I’ve been listening to that same rhythm for hours now, memorising every rise and fall of the numbers on the monitor as if willing them to stay steady could somehow bring him back.

Atlas hasn’t stirred. Not once.

I’m curled into the visitor chair beside his bed; my coat draped around my shoulders like a blanket. The harsh fluorescent lights have long since given me a headache, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Not while he’s like this.

Tom hasn’t left either.

He’s still here, sat in the corner with his legs stretched out and arms folded across his chest, watching me in quiet silence like he’s guarding us both. Every now and then, he brings me coffee or puts a gentle hand on my back. He hasn’t asked for anything in return.

I glance at him now, my eyes sore from crying, my voice hoarse when I speak. “Do you mind?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Mind what?”

“That I’m here,” I say softly, nodding towards Atlas. “That I’m sitting at the bedside of a man I once thought I loved.”

Tom doesn’t answer straight away. He just stands, walks over to me, and crouches beside the chair until we’re eye-level. “Do you still love him?”

The question lands like a stone in my chest. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I thought maybe I’d been avoiding it.

I turn my gaze to Atlas. His face is still, a bandage on his temple, bruises blossoming along his jaw.

I thought we had shared love, just a dysfunctional kind where I couldn’t commit because of Leo and Damien, but now I see it was all excuses.

Because now when I look at him now, I don’t get that excited butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach, I just feel . . . sad.

Sad for what we were. For what we could never be.

“I care about him,” I murmur, tracing the line of Atlas’s hand with my eyes. “I always will. He was important to me once, in a way that felt permanent.” I pause, and then I shake my head. “But, no, I don’t love him.”

Tom exhales slowly, and when I glance back at him, there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That’s good enough for me,” he says simply, standing and pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ll go grab us something hot to drink. Maybe something sweet. You look like you need both. And I need to call your father and rearrange golf.”

My throat tightens, but not from grief this time. It’s something warmer. Softer. A love with possibilities, a love that doesn’t hurt.

“Tom?”

He turns in the doorway.

“Thank you. For staying.”

He nods. “Always.”

Atlas

The world returns in fragments. A beeping noise. Too loud. Too steady. The hum of fluorescent lights. Voices, low and muffled, like they’re underwater.

Pain finds me next. A dull throb behind my eyes, sharp pressure at my ribs. I try to move and immediately regret it.

“Don’t push him. Let him come to slowly.”

That voice. Female. Familiar.

I blink against the harsh ceiling light and turn my head a fraction towards the sound.

Anita.

She’s here.

I groan softly, and the motion draws her eyes to mine.

“Atlas?” she says gently, her voice thick with relief. She’s beside the bed in a second, her hand gripping mine. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. That word doesn’t sit right.

I force my throat to work. “Rue.” My voice is cracked, barely a whisper, but it’s enough to shift the mood in the room. A shadow crosses her face.

Tom is there too, standing back, arms folded, watching with a furrowed brow like he’s ready to step in if I try to rip out my IV and go hunting.

“We found you unconscious in the woods. No sign of Rue.”

I try to sit up but a bolt of pain lances through my side and I grunt, falling back with a curse. “They took her.”

“We know.” Anita squeezes my hand. “Axel’s already got everyone looking. We’ll find her, Atlas.”

“No.” I shake my head, fury bleeding through the fog. “She was terrified. I have to get to her.”

At that, Tom moves closer, his jaw tight. “Relax, you took a good knock to the head.”

My eyes flick between them. “Get me out of this fucking bed.”

“You’re not strong enough,” Anita says, panic creeping into her tone.

“I don’t care.” My voice hardens, breath catching on every word. “I’m not lying here while Rue is fuck knows where, alone. Scared.”

“About time you woke up,” comes Kasey’s sarcastic tone. I shift my eyes in her direction as she approaches the bed holding a coffee. “Enjoy nap time?”

“I have to find her,” I repeat.

“Yeah, you do,” she says firmly. “I’ll let Axel know you’re heading home.” And she takes out her mobile and steps out the room.

“Atlas, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Anita begins.

“I didn’t ask,” I snap, shifting onto the edge of the bed and pushing to sit.

I groan as pain rips through me. “Fuck,” I hiss, and Anita steadies me, her hands on my arm.

Everything around me spins and I briefly close my eyes.

When the dizziness subsides, I take a breath and pull the tape off the drip in my hand.

I carefully slide the needle out and throw it on the bed.

“Get me back to the club,” I order. “Now.”