Page 3 of Guarded by Atlas (Steel Rebels MC #6)

Atlas

Life begins at thirty, they say. Well, they clearly weren’t talking about my life.

Christ, at thirty-six, I feel every bit of those years.

It’s been a heck of a busy week, and I ought to join my MC brothers down in the bar and unwind with a bottle of beer and terrible music, but here I am, settled in my armchair, a well-worn copy of the Odyssey in my hand and my ginger cat draped across my lap.

Most of my MC brothers are downstairs getting drunk, which is a sensible thing to do on a Friday evening, but I’m locked in my apartment with a fucking book that barely anyone reads anymore. Fuck, this is the kind of shit those old fucks do.

I shift my eyes from my book to the window.

Outside, the world is a symphony of noise—the wail of sirens, the cackle of drunk teenagers carrying through the night and the car honks that seem to come from all around.

The chaos within Chicago is worlds apart from West Odessa with its endless flatlands and tumbleweeds.

I left the dust and silence ages ago for this concrete jungle.

Left the endless days of working on the oil rigs, the smell of crude clinging to clothes and the grime under my fingernails.

I spent my whole life in the arid expanse, a world of endless horizon and deafening silence only broken when I rode my Harley along the dusty road, allowing myself small pleasures when I was done baking in the sun.

But I wanted more, a community, a family.

The Steel Rebels MC offered me that.

So I left the oil rig, the dust and the silence of West Odessa, and headed northeast.

Chicago is a different beast. It’s loud and chaotic, it’s alive. But every once in a while, the hermit in me that was raised in West Odessa reemerges, and then I find myself locked in my apartment with a book and a chubby ginger cat I named Rusty while listening to the world move all around me.

A faint sound drifts through the city’s noise. My mind slowly surfaces from the past when I realize how out of place the sound is. The second my thoughts snap back to the present, I make out the insistent ringing of my phone.

Shit!

I snap the book closed and toss it on the table before lowering Rusty to the floor.

I get up and follow the noise to the bedroom where I left my jacket.

I quickly take it out and only sigh a little when I see the MC president’s number flash over my screen.

Saint would not call me so soon after coming home from a job if it was not important, so I take the call.

“Atlas, are you at the clubhouse?”

“Hmm,” I hum. “Got back a couple of hours ago. Need anything, Prez?”

“I need you to come down to Ransom’s office immediately.” The dark and slightly unnerved tone of his voice sends the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight. Saint is not a man who rattles easily, but before I can ask more, he quickly adds, “I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

I’m already sliding into my jacket before he hangs up.

I walk to my closet and grab my gun from the locked compartment I had installed and check for bullets.

Rusty curves around my legs, mewling needily as I move for the door.

“I know, looks like you’re spending the evening alone,” I say, leaning down to rub his ginger head before heading out the door.

There is no telling whether the occasion Saint called me for will require a gun, but something in his voice suggested as much. Besides, as the club’s most experienced enforcer, there’s rarely ever a time when my presence doesn’t require the use of force.

Ransom’s office is on the ground floor. Despite being our newest member, Ransom is one of three men with an office at the club, Saint and the club’s VP, Knox, being the other two. It makes sense, seeing as Ransom is the club’s official hacker and money man.

The sight in Ransom’s office is unexpected, and a wave of confusion washes over me when I spot some of my MC brothers and their partners crowded into the room. The atmosphere feels heavy, almost palpable as I take in the scene before me.

Saint is huddled with Ransom by his workstation, their voices low as they stare at a series of monitors.

At the far end of the room is his sister Chelsea.

She’s burrowed in the arms of her fiancé, sobbing as Hound rubs her shoulders.

There are other two women sitting together on the small sofa, their shoulders shaking as they sob quietly, expressions twisted in distress.

“I will never forgive myself if something happens to her,” cries one of them, who I recognize as Scarlett. “What if she’s… Oh God! This is all my fault!”

“It’s not your fault,” Jade, Saint’s wife whispers, patting Scarlett gently on the back. I can see tears streaming down her own face, glistening in the harsh fluorescent light of the office.

My first thought is that someone died or is about to. What else could explain this level of reaction and distress?

Fuck, it’s no use speculating.

I approach Saint, but he stops me before I reach him. He motions to talk outside the office, and we both step out. There’s something akin to concern in his eyes, and it puts me on edge.

He clears his throat, his voice strained when he speaks. “Someone’s been kidnapped.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Marie. She isn’t from the club.

She works at the nursing home where Chelsea and Ransom’s grandmother lives.

She was taken tonight after leaving work.

Since Chelsea and Scarlett were there visiting, and they said Marie and Scarlett were wearing the same coat, we suspect that Scarlett was the intended target and these assholes grabbed the wrong woman. ”

My mind reels for a moment, trying to keep up with Saint’s rushed explanation. “So who do you think is behind it?”

“The Chrome Vipers.”

I suppose it makes sense, but I’d thought there was nothing left of the Vipers but bad memories.

A few months ago, the Steel Rebels took down our rival motorcycle club after we had gotten evidence that they were involved in trafficking and auctioning girls.

Scarlett, whose father, Stone, was the president of the Chrome Vipers, helped a great deal in bringing them down.

Many of them weren’t killed in the final showdown were delivered to the authorities along with the evidence to put them away, and those who managed to escape, fled. Or so I’d assumed.

“What the fuck do they expect to achieve even if they’d gotten the right girl?” I ask, confused by the news. “The Vipers don’t exist anymore.”

“Revenge,” he explains. “I suspect some Vipers have been watching our building for a while, and they must have seen Scarlett and Chelsea leave and followed them to the nursing home. Marie’s kidnapping was simply a case of mistaken identity.”

“How can we be sure? What proof do we have that it was the Vipers? What do we know about Marie?”

“Ransom was able to get some footage from outside the nursing home. He and Scarlett recognized the driver of the van.”

Fuck! The Vipers were well known for their lack of boundaries and propensity for violence. There’s no telling what they will do to her when they realize they got the wrong woman.”

He doesn’t respond, not that he needs to. Now I understand the concern I read in his eyes. The Vipers are literal vipers with no regard for human life.

“We need to find her fast.”

A loud curse sounds from the office, pulling Saint’s attention, and I follow when he walks back in. Ransom is seated in front of three monitors, typing frantically at his keyboard, but my eyes shift to the monitor replaying the surveillance footage of the kidnapping.

I watch as a woman in a red parka steps out of a building, tugging the hood over her light hair. It’s the same coat the sobbing Scarlett is still wearing on the sofa behind me. The woman spares a single glance at a white van slowly driving toward her before turning away.

It all happens in seconds.

I watch as a man in a dark hoodie slips out of the van and moves swiftly toward her.

She barely has time to react before he has a knife to her throat and then shoves her into the van before speeding off.

It’s pure luck that they drove right past the camera, the driver’s face clearly visible through the windshield.

Just as the van pulls out of the drive, a woman rushes out of the building, waving her arms and yelling at the van before rushing back inside.

“Give me some good news, Ransom,” Saint tells our hacker, impatience clear in his voice. Everyone in this room knows that every second counts. Especially when the Vipers are involved.

“I’m trying my best,” Ransom growls. “We have the make and the plate of the van, so I’m trying to hack into the BMV to get an address off the registration and match it with known Viper properties… Got you, son of a bitch!”

“You have it?”

“The van has been registered to two different addresses. It was previously registered as a commercial vehicle with the address of the Vipers’ clubhouse, but right after we took them down, it was re-registered to a private individual. I don’t recognize this second address…”

“Scarlett,” Saint calls to her urgently. “Can you take a look and see if you recognize this address?”

Looking over my shoulder, I see Scarlett extract herself from Jade and stand.

Just then someone else bursts through the office door and rushes toward her.

I have barely a second to recognize Gray, another of my club brothers, pull her into his arms. Scarlett returns his embrace before pulling away to look at the monitor over Ransom’s shoulder.

Gray’s presence seems to have given her renewed strength.

“It’s an apartment building. My dad owned it.

It’s one of the few properties he didn’t put in the club’s name…

or mine. I haven’t been there in years, but I remember it being a run-down dump. ”