Page 7 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

Atlas

I watch her rear lights vanish down the road, the sound of her engine still echoing in my chest like the words she just threw at me.

Go fuck the new girl.

I exhale hard and rake a hand through my hair.

“She’s got her tits out especially for you,” I mutter, mimicking. Like I asked Kasey to show up braless and mouthy. Like I haven’t spent days aching for a woman who won’t let herself be wanted.

Behind me, I hear the door creak.

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Kasey says, stepping into the open air and stretching like she hasn’t just poured petrol on a fire.

“Don’t,” I warn, still facing the road.

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

I turn to her slowly. “You called me daddy . . . again.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, and judging by her face, that word hits different in her world.”

I stare at her, jaw tight. “You wanna keep stirring shit, or you wanna stay under protection?”

Kasey doesn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t care who she is, but she came in here like she owned you. Didn’t like what she saw, so she stormed out and tried to make you feel small.”

“She didn’t make me feel anything,” I lie, heading back inside.

She trails behind. “That’s not what your face says.”

I stop short, turning just as she crosses the threshold. “You want to keep pushing, go for it. But don’t mistake whatever that was for something it’s not.”

She lifts a brow. “Which part? The way she looked at me like I was dogshit, or the way you looked at her like your heart just fell out your ribcage?”

I stare at her a long second. “Go do something useful. Find the broom. Sweep the bay. Stay out of my business.”

Kasey rolls her eyes and backs away slowly, hands in the air. “Whatever you say, boss man.”

When she disappears inside, I lean against the shutter frame and drag a hand over my face. I can still smell Anita’s perfume. Feel the heat in her voice when she told me she had plans. The sting in her eyes when she saw Kasey.

She thinks I want someone else?

No. She wants me to want someone else. It’d be easier. Cleaner.

I shouldn’t be here. She made her feelings pretty fucking clear when she peeled off like I’d slapped her.

The concierge tries to stop me at the front desk. I stare once, say her name, and he folds like paper.

She lives on the eighth floor. Clean, glassy, sterile. The kind of building that doesn’t have room for men like me. The hallway smells like lemons and expensive silence.

I knock once. Then twice, harder.

Nothing.

I’m about to turn away when the door swings open and there she is.

Barefoot. In joggers and a vest top. No makeup. Her hair scraped into a messy bun like she’s halfway through a breakdown or a Netflix binge.

She freezes.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I lean against the doorframe. “Checking if your starter motor’s acting up again.”

“Piss off.”

“You gonna slam the door in my face?”

She hesitates. That’s all I need. I shoulder my way past her into the flat.

“Make yourself at home,” she snaps, slamming the door behind me.

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”

The place looks like a magazine spread. Designer couch. Art she probably doesn’t even like. It’s her and not her, all at once. Too polished. Too cold.

She crosses her arms and glares. “Did you come here to gloat?”

“No.”

“To throw the word jealous in my face? Cos I’m not.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, turning to face her fully. “Because you nearly took my fucking head off over a girl who wears crop tops and lives to piss me off.”

“She called you daddy ,” she spits. “What was I supposed to think?”

“That she’s a kid I was told to protect, not fuck.” She flinches. “Or,” I continue, stepping closer, “you could’ve trusted me. But that’s never been your style, has it, Nita?”

Her chin lifts. Defensive. Proud. God, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.

“I do trust you,” she lies. “I just . . . I saw her there and it caught me off guard.”

“You think I’m screwing someone else. You think I moved on. Hell, you want me to move on. You keep pushing me away like I’m some bad habit you’re trying to quit.”

“I’m trying to protect my life!” she shouts suddenly. “You don’t get it, Atlas. You never did. I can’t have people like you in it and expect everything to be okay.”

I step in, closing the gap between us. “You mean people who make you feel something.” She doesn’t speak. “You’d rather marry a man who makes your parents smile at dinner than admit you love someone who’d burn the world down for you.”

Her eyes flash. “You don’t know what I feel.”

“I know,” I say quietly, “because I feel it too.”

We’re nose to nose now. Her breath’s shaky. Mine’s a wildfire.

“You were supposed to be gone longer,” she says, voice cracking. “I thought I had more time.”

“To do what? Replace me?”

“No. To forget.”

I nod slowly, jaw clenched. “Then you’re fucked. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t stop me.

“Nita,” I murmur, “just let yourself want this.”

“I already do,” she breathes.

I close the distance and kiss her, slow at first, then deeper. All heat and heartbreak and every unsaid thing that’s been building between us for months.

She grabs my shirt. I lift her onto the counter without breaking contact. Her legs wrap around my waist like they remember every second we ever spent in the dark.

She tugs at my shirt, and I make quick work of ripping it over my head and discarding it to the floor. “I should shower,” I murmur between desperate kisses.

She shakes her head, tugging her own shirt off as her kisses work along my jaw. She lifts slightly, allowing me to remove her joggers, and then I loosen my belt before she takes over, fisting my cock. “Shit, I’ve missed this,” she breathes, pumping her hand slow.

She lines me up to her entrance, bracing her hands back on the counter as I thrust into her, savouring the feel of her tightening around me. I pause, gathering myself. “I need this all the time,” I mutter, gently tilting her head back so we’re eye to eye. “All. The. Time.”

“Just fuck me,” she pants, wriggling against me.

I hiss, unable to control myself as I grip her hips and fuck her. Hard and fast. Exactly how she likes it.

She comes, crying against my chest as her body shudders involuntarily. It’s seconds before I follow her over the edge, filling her. I thrust one last time and still, resting my forehead against her shoulder whilst we both catch our breath.

She’s still trembling, arms around my neck, breath hot against my throat. Her skin smells like sweat and something sweeter, something that’s hers . I brush her hair back, press a kiss to her temple, and let myself believe for one stupid second that this is what normal could feel like.

“I should clean up,” she murmurs after a moment, voice hoarse.

I nod, slipping out of her. “You want me to run you a bath?”

Her eyes flick to mine, surprised, like the idea of someone looking after her short-circuits something in her brain. “No. I’ll just jump in the shower.”

She slides off the counter, legs shaky, grabbing her shirt from the floor and disappearing into the bathroom.

I breathe in, out. Heart still thudding. I rest my hands on the counter where her body just was, trying to ground myself. Trying not to think about what the hell this means, or if she’ll even let it mean something tomorrow.

The door buzzer sounds, and I frown, wondering who would be calling after seven.

I pace to the intercom screen. The guy looking around, waiting, looks damn near picture perfect, like a preppy dream straight out of a romance novel.

Smart suit. Hair that probably hasn’t moved all day.

And in his hand is a bouquet of pale pink roses, the kind florists charge triple for just because they’re imported .

I stare at the screen. My pulse kicks up for a whole different reason now.

Another buzz.

I glance back towards the bathroom. The shower is still running, meaning she hasn’t heard.

He buzzes again, insistent now.

I hit the button.

“Yeah?”

He straightens, clearly not expecting me to answer. “Um, sorry, I must have the wrong apartment. I’m looking for Anita?”

“She’s busy,” I say, my voice low and flat.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

I grin, even though he can’t see it. “The guy she was underneath five minutes ago.”

Silence.

Then, a clipped, “Tell her I dropped by.”

“Will do.”

I end the call.

The bathroom door opens behind me, steam rolling out, and Anita steps into the hall, towel wrapped tight, her hair damp and curling at the edges.

She freezes when she sees my face.

“What?”

“Your little boyfriend just came by. Brought you flowers.”

Her eyes widen, panic flickering. “ What? ”

“Roses. Expensive ones. Pale pink. He buzzed the door like he’s done it a hundred times.”

“Oh my god.” She scrambles to the intercom. “What did you say?”

“I told him the truth.”

She turns slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “You didn’t.”

“I said you were busy. And then I might’ve added that you were under me about five minutes ago.”

“Atlas,” she snaps, flustered now, pacing towards the window like she can still catch a glimpse of him, but he’s long gone. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he doesn’t belong in your fucking doorway, Nita. You had my cum dripping down your legs, and he shows up playing Romeo?”

“That’s not the point,” she hisses. “This is messy enough already!” She storms to her bedroom, and I follow, leaning in the doorway to watch her as she rushes to dress.

“Tell me who he is,” I say. “Tell me why you won’t just be with me.”

“It’s complicated,” she cries.

“Tell me and I’ll uncomplicate it for you.”

She stops, her eyes full of pain. “If it was that simple, don’t you think I’d have told you everything by now?”

She shoves her feet into her trainers. “Where are you going?” I follow her to the door.

“To sort out the mess you just made.”

I glare. “You’re going after him?” She doesn’t answer, just looks down at the floor with one hand on the door. “If you walk out of here, we’re done,” I say, my heart slamming against my chest. “I mean it.”

She waits a beat, then pulls the door open and rushes out, letting it slam closed behind her.

I stare at it, willing it to open, willing her to come back and tell me she picks me.

But when she doesn’t, I take a breath, shake out my shoulders and release it slowly.

“It’s done now,” I mutter to myself. “Let her go.”

Anita

I hate this part of London. I mean, it’s beautiful to look at and growing up here I was the envy of my friends, but there’s something about the white buildings with their posh gold door knockers and black gated fencing that makes me feel uncomfortable. Like I’m no longer good enough to be here.

Anthony never gave me his address, so I don’t know how he’ll react to me just showing up, but I did my research and realised he lived just two streets away from my childhood Kensington home.

I raise my hand and grip the lion shaped knocker, gently tapping it a few times before crossing my arms and looking around the area, praying Atlas hasn’t followed me. The door opens and Anthony takes a surprised step back. “Anita,” he murmurs, clearly confused by my dripping wet hair.

I’m suddenly self-conscious, running my hand over the tangled locks. “I’m so sorry. I came to explain,” I rush to say.

He glances around the street, probably hoping the neighbours haven’t spotted me, before taking my arm and guiding me inside. He turns on the lamp by the door and takes a second to scan me with curious eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes . . . no . . . I’m not sure.”

His frown deepens. “Take your shoes off and come through,” he mutters.

I kick off my trainers and follow him through the large hall to a kitchen that mirrors the one I grew up in. “You have a beautiful home,” I compliment. “Have you lived here long?” I spot the discarded bunch of roses on the side, and he follows my eyeline.

“I wanted to surprise you, only you beat me to it,” he says dryly.

“About that,” I mutter, avoiding his eye. “Atlas is a friend. He was just messing around.”

“Atlas?” he repeats. “A curious name.”

“It’s not his real name,” I say absentmindedly.

“Have you slept with this friend?”

I bite my lower lip, the lie almost choking me. “No.”

“Ever?”

“He called by to check my car. It’s been making crazy noises,” I say with a slight laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“So. he’s your mechanic?”

I nod. “Sort of.”

“Well. which is it, Anita, a friend or your mechanic?” he snaps.

“He’s both. His boss is my client,” I say, wincing at how complicated I’m making this, “and sometimes they fix my car for me as a favour.”

“Is that the only favours they give out complimentary?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks colour slightly. “He was just messing around, I’m really sorry.”

He steps closer and I try not to stiffen as he reaches a hand to my face and gently tucks some hair behind my ear.

“To make it up to me, I think you should have dinner with me,” he says, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.

“And I can show you holiday destinations.” I find myself nodding.

“Can you cook?” he asks, and I laugh, waiting for him to follow.

When he doesn’t, I clear my throat to hide my surprise. “Erm, sort of.”

“Great. There’s some chicken in the fridge, also some noodles and vegetables. Whip up a stir-fry and I’ll quickly go shower.”

I glance towards the fridge. “You want me to cook dinner?”

He nods, cupping my cheeks a little too hard and pressing a firm kiss to my lips. “Then we’ll call it quits on the entire embarrassing situation.”

I force a smile as he steps back. “Oh, and I’ll have your car looked at tomorrow, the garage I use is reputable.” And he heads off, leaving me to cook.