Page 9 of Atlas (The Chaos Demons MC #6)

I’m halfway through reading over some case notes when the familiar low rumble of a bike engine vibrates through the window.

My stomach drops.

Before I even stand, there’s a sharp knock at the door, and then Atlas steps in, filling the doorway with his huge frame.

He doesn’t smile as I approach my office door, just crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down before saying, “I came to get the car. Your part’s in.”

Right. The starter motor . Shit.

“Oh, crap. I forgot to tell you, I’ve sorted it already.”

His eyes narrow. “Sorted it?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I was meant to text you, but I’ve been so busy all day—”

“I told you I’d order the part. The job wasn’t urgent, Nita.”

“I can pay for the part if it’s put you out.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need your money.” He glances out the window to where my car usually sits. “Which garage did you take it to?”

I rack my brain trying to think of a nearby one but come up with nothing, so I shrug. And then, as if he realises, he rolls his eyes. “You got your man to sort it.”

His words cause an ache in my heart. “He’s not my man,” I mutter.

“Does posh boy know a good mechanic who’ll charge you triple?”

“He offered,” I say with a shrug. “He was quite insistent.”

“Of course, he was.”

We fall silent and then my office phone shrills, and I glance back at it like it’s about to explode. “I should get that,” I utter, rushing to grab it. If anything, it gives me a chance to regain my nerve.

It’s routine. A client follow-up. I jot down notes on a Post-it while nodding and humming politely.

When I return to the reception desk, Atlas is looking down at some paperwork on top of Tessa’s filing pile.

“Did you need something else?” I ask. He’s so very still which sets alarm bells ringing. “Atlas?”

He holds up a sheet of paper, it’s white, official, and instantly recognisable.

My stomach lurches.

The court letterhead is glaring at me, mocking me with its bold, black font and fancy logo.

I snatch it from him, my heart pounding. “That stuff is private,” I spit, holding it to my chest.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “It’s just work.”

“Anita.”

I squeeze the document tight, hating how my fingers tremble. “It’s a review hearing. For custody.”

Atlas exhales slowly, like someone just punched the breath out of him. “But your name is at the top.”

“Yes.”

“So, that means Leo Carpenter is—”

“My son,” I snap, “yes.”

“And you don’t have custody.”

I shake my head, not quite meeting his eyes. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not relevant to us.”

“The hell it’s not.”

My voice cracks, the pain spilling out. “I told you I couldn’t give you more, Atlas. You wanted reasons, well, there’s your fucking reason.”

“You’ve got a fucking kid,” he utters like he can’t quite believe it.

“You should go.”

“Not until you explain,” he says firmly.

“There’s nothing to explain,” I yell. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? We’ve been sleeping together for over a year, and I knew nothing about this. Do you see him?”

“When Damien allows it.”

“Allows it?” he repeats, his expression still full of confusion.

“He’s . . . difficult. The situation is messy and complicated.”

“He’s the reason,” he almost whispers and I can see him connect the dots in his head. “You can’t settle for me because it’ll make this harder,” he says, pointing to the letter in my hand.

“Lord knows he uses anything and everything against me.”

“You could’ve told me,” he mutters. “I would’ve understood.”

“It’s not just about Leo,” I snap. “It’s everything. You’re a biker,” I almost yell. “And I’m a . . .”

He’s already nodding with anger pulsing through him when he cuts me off. “A stuck-up bitch.”

Tears fill my eyes. “Yeah, that,” I whisper, crossing my arms over my chest like that will somehow stop his words cutting me deep.

“I will never be good enough for you, will I?”

I remain silent and he turns, heading for the door. I want to scream, tell him that it’s me that’s not good enough. It’s me that doesn’t deserve him. Just like I don’t deserve Leo. Instead, I let him go. Again.

There’s something about a restaurant that makes me feel uneasy. Especially when it’s times like this, times I want to spend alone with my son. Instead, I have to follow orders from Damien, which is why today, I’m sitting in a top end place waiting patiently for my parents to arrive.

Of course, he organises this sort of thing on purpose, trying to derail me. He knows things are strained between my parents and I, but I think he gets a kick out of knowing it’ll hurt me.

I spot my father first. George’s large frame barrels towards me as the ma?tre-de tries to take his coat. My mother, Carol, is behind him, dressed in a powerful suit with oversized pearls hanging around her neck. God, how I wish they’d choke her.

I stand, smiling. “It’s great to see you,” I lie.

“You reserved a window seat?” It’s the first thing my father says as he arches a brow.

“Yes. Leo prefers to sit by the window,” I tell him.

“So, he can daydream,” he snaps, thrusting his coat at the ma?tre-de. “Move us to a central table,” he tells him firmly and the man nods, leading my parents to a new table. I sigh heavily, gathering my things and following.

“Your hair needs a colour,” Mother mentions as she takes her seat.

“I know, I’ve been too busy.”

“Criminal law will keep you busy,” Father snaps. “London is full of them.”

“And how is your work going, Father?” I ask with a forced smile. He was bitterly disappointed when I refused a job in his corporate law firm.

“You’ve seen last year’s turnover,” he states with a boastful grin, “and I still get to play golf on Fridays.”

I spot Damien heading our way and inwardly groan. Usually, he sends Leo in to me, choosing to wait in the car so we don’t have to interact. Father stands, shaking his hand, and Mother turns her cheek so he can kiss it in greeting. He ignores me, standard.

Leo smiles awkwardly, the way teenagers do when they’re forced to attend things they don’t want to.

I don’t blame him, eating out in a place like this is ridiculous when all he wants to do is go to the cinema and eat junk.

Our visits used to be like that, cinema, skate park, pizza and swimming.

But Damien realised he was having too much fun, which meant I was too, and he hated it.

Now he restricts visitation and dictates where we go.

“George, Carol, it’s great to see you again. We didn’t get chance to talk at last week’s gala.”

I roll my eyes at the way he plays them. His act is perfect.

“You were busy,” says Mother, her cheeks the perfect shade of pink as she flutters her lashes.

“Are you going on Friday?” Father asks.

“Yes. I’ll look out for you. Anyway, I came in to apologise. Leo won’t be able to join you this afternoon. My fault entirely, I double booked us.”

“No,” I cry, pushing to my feet and they all turn to stare at me. I gather myself, lowering back into my seat. “Damien, surely the other thing can be rearranged,” I say, my voice lower.

Leo gives me a sympathetic smile, and I know he feels the pain just as much as me.

“Unfortunately, not. He’s got extra practise for piano so he’s ready for his final exam next week.”

“Piano,” I practically scoff. Leo hates it, it’s just another thing Damien forces him to do. “I think seeing his mother is more important than piano practise.”

“Anita, get a hold of yourself,” Father hisses.

“But you enjoy your meal,” Damien says, ignoring me and staring at my parents. “I’ll pay the bill to compensate for the inconvenience.”

“That’s very kind,” Father tells him, shaking his hand.

“And I know how you all love to get together. It’s not often your schedules align.” He gives me one last smirk before looking down at Leo. “Say goodbye.” Leo turns to me, but Damien cuts in sharply, adding, “To your grandparents.”

I stand abruptly. “Can we talk?” I ask Damien.

He eyes me reluctantly. “If we must, but you know we should do it through our solicitors.”

“Fuck the solicitors,” I snap, grabbing my things and marching out the restaurant. I wait for him to follow, and when he steps out, he looks calm, even though deep down I know he’s angry. He hands Leo the car keys and tells him to get in the car, which he does.

“You went to all this trouble so I could have lunch with my parents,” I snap.

“I don’t have time for your childish accusations.”

“When can I see him?” I ask.

“You just saw him.”

“You know what I mean. I want quality time with my son.”

“Did you get the court date?” I nod. “Then let’s wait to see the outcome of that before we fix any more dates.”

I narrow my eyes. “Damien, that’s weeks away.”

“I’ll see you in court,” he mutters, heading to the driver’s side of the car.

I growl in frustration and before I can stop myself, I rip open the passenger door, taking Leo by surprise. “I love you,” I tell him.

“Anita, close the door,” Damien snaps.

“And I will get you back so we can do all the things we used to do.” Leo’s eyes soften. “Do you remember them?” I ask, smiling with tears in my eyes.

“Anita, I’m warning you,” Damien hisses, getting back out the car.

“Ice cream Sundays,” I continue, keeping my eyes on Leo. “Trips to the beach. Film nights way past bedtime.” Leo nods, his eyes also filling with tears.

Damien rounds the car quickly, gripping my arm until it’s painful but I refuse to let Leo see.

“You just have to be honest, Leo,” I whisper, wincing as he twists it up my back.

“And we can be together again.” I’m hauled back, and Damien slams the door closed, spinning me and pushing me against the car.

I smirk, unaffected by his face so close to mine, because for the first time since this all began, Leo acknowledged our time together, and I know he misses it too.

“You try a stunt like that again and I’ll have a restraining order slapped on you,” he sneers, gripping my arm tighter.

“Careful, Damien,” I whisper. “We both know how you get when you’re feeling violent.” His nostrils flare. “Pinning me down was your speciality,” I add.

“Everything that happened between us,” he whispers, pushing his forehead against my own roughly, “was because you deserved it.”

A smile plays on my lips. “No, Damien,” I whisper back.

“Everything that happened between us was abuse. Now, get the fuck off me.” I shove him back, and he releases me, his hair falling out of place.

It satisfies me to see him dishevelled for once, and I laugh as he rounds the car and gets back into the driver’s seat, speeding off.