Page 5 of Guarded by Atlas (Steel Rebels MC #6)

Marie

I had the weekend mapped out.

A plan that involved sleeping in, curling up on the couch with some ice cream as I caught up on my favorite shows, and then a hot bath with a glass of wine.

Maybe some of that herbal tea my mother bought me if it was too cold for wine.

Now none of that is going to play out how I imagined it. Not after what happened tonight.

The memory of the knife pressed against my throat, the cold steel threatening to end a life I’d only started living was going to stay with me for a very long time.

When they’d grabbed me, I was certain the men meant to kill me.

I could see it in their dark eyes when they finally stopped and pulled me out of the van…

I could see the hate in their expressions, and in that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to deserve it.

Why had they taken me?

Then my hood fell, and the man who’d held the knife stood frozen, staring at me in shock.

“She’s blonde. Why is this bitch blonde?

” he’d asked, his voice laced with disbelief before fumbling around his pockets and coming out with his phone.

I shut my eyes when he shined the flashlight on my face.

“You’ve both seen Stone’s daughter, right?

” he called to the other men. “That bitch is not a fucking blonde!”

“Maybe she dyed her hair,” one of the other two men offered.

“Her hair was black when she walked into that fucking nursing home,” the other spoke as he came around the side of the van and stopping in front of me. “This isn’t Scarlett. Who the fuck is this?”

“You grabbed the wrong girl!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know? They had the same fucking red coat on!”

Scarlett. My panic-riddled brain was able to make sense of the fact that I was never their target.

A part of me was hopeful they would let me go until the first guy spoke, snuffing out what little hope I’d been grasping.

“Doesn’t matter now. We can’t let her go, she’ll alert Scarlett,” he hissed.

“The Rebels can’t know that we’re looking for that little traitor. ”

“So what do we do with this one? Kill her?”

My heart dropped in that moment, but despite their words, it seemed none of them were willing to volunteer to do the job, so they settled for bringing me to a shitty, run-down apartment building and tying me up in a closet while they figured out their next steps.

I’d assumed one of them had stayed behind and it would only be a matter of time before they came back to finish what they’d started.

They didn’t get the chance.

My eyes find the man standing a few feet away from me speaking on the phone.

He’s a walking contradiction. All rough edges and calloused hands, yet there is a softness in his green eyes when he looks at me that makes my heart skip a beat.

For a man built like a mountain, there was a gentleness about him when he cut me free of my bindings.

He’s weathered, like a storm-battered shore, with a jagged scar that runs along his jaw.

It doesn’t do anything to take away from that strong, stoic face; in fact, it only adds to his rugged appeal.

His short, buzzed hair is black, and there are faint lines around his eyes.

He looks to be in his mid to late thirties if I had to guess.

My savior is handsome, but God, he’s huge!

The other man that had been with him was nearly as big and intimidating, but something about this man draws me in, makes me feel safe.

I’m grateful that it was him who found me.

Despite my assurances that I could walk, he’d insisted on carrying me out of that dirty building and down the street where the other man waited next to two motorcycles.

Atlas had helped me onto his bike, then brought me here, to the Steel Rebel clubhouse.

Now, as I sit on a couch in an upstairs lounge area, I find myself watching him.

The way he moves with quiet confidence, his broad shoulders and strong frame a picture of raw masculinity.

It shouldn’t do anything for me, all things considered, but it has my stomach fluttering.

I guess Chelsea wasn’t lying when she was talking about the hot bikers in the Steel Rebel MC.

I allow myself to look, take in every rugged inch of the giant dressed in blue jeans and a plain T-shirt. I focus on him, tune into the deep rumble of his voice as he speaks, anything to not think about what happened to me. To not think about those men with their angry eyes and dark hearts.

“No, don’t think about it, Marie,” I mutter, closing my eyes against the headache burning at the base of my skull.

I’d done my best to brace myself during the rough ride, but I’m pretty sure I hit my head a couple of times.

God, I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a bump the size of a golf ball and a concussion.

“Are you okay?”

My eyes shoot up at the deep voice, surprised to see that he’s moved.

I didn’t hear him, and God, he’s so close to me.

So close I catch the soothing musk and woodsy scent clinging to him, stronger on him than on the jacket he draped over my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, brushing a hand through my hair.

“It’s just a headache. Nothing a few painkillers can’t help.

” I try to look at it positively. Tonight could have ended much worse for me.

I could’ve died.

“Where does it hurt?” the giant asks, stepping closer and crouching in front of me as he brings his hands to my head, gently massaging my temples.

A moan slips out before I can stop it, and I flush, mortified by the sound, but it doesn’t stop him as he runs his large and surprisingly soothing hands over my head and neck.

I close my eyes as the touch soothes the ache.

“You have a bump here and another one…here. Did you hit your head?”

“Hmm,” I hum, my mouth parting on a sigh when his hand kneads the tension in my neck.

“Doc, our club physician, is on his way. He’ll check you out to make sure you don’t have a concussion, and then he’ll treat the marks on your wrists. The girls are fixing you something to eat. They’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” I respond, not quite paying attention to his words, focusing instead on the deep hum of his voice and letting it soothe me.

The ache eases as his gifted hands work to relieve the tension, and I’m about to shamelessly suggest he moves lower to my knotted shoulders when he pulls back.

I bite back the disappointed whine that threatens to slip out.

“I’ll get you some water and see if I can find you some painkillers.”

I want to feel those strong hands on me once more, but more than anything, I want to curl up and sleep, hopefully forget the memories of tonight. “Okay.”

As if reading my mind, he instructs, “Don’t fall asleep, okay? Not until you see Doc.”

I know the drill. Head injuries are pretty common at the nursing home with our residents often falling.

I’ve dealt with my share of concussions, and even though I want to do nothing more than close my eyes and fade into oblivion, I know how dangerous it is to allow myself that small reprieve, so I simply nod at his words, dropping my head against the back of the couch and forcing my eyes to stay open. “I won’t fall asleep,” I promise him.

“Good girl.”

My mind jolts at those words, but I force it away.

drifts and I barely register the deep rumble of the bike or the smooth vibration as we ride off.

I do my best to force my eyes to stay open, but now that I’m alone in the room, it’s a losing battle.

My eyelids grow heavy, and my head bobs just before I feel a touch on my shoulder.

My body stiffens, and I experience a moment of panic at being in a strange space, but the hand on my shoulder gives a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” my rescuer says. “You’re safe. This is probably the safest place you can be in the entire city. I promise you.”

I believe him.

After what happened tonight, Christ knows I need to be more cautious and self-aware, but everything in me trusts this mountain of a man with gentle eyes, and my body relaxes under his now-familiar touch.

He helps me sit up and presses a glass of water into my hand, helping guide it my lips.

Neither of us says a word when I’m finished drinking and he sets the glass aside, his eyes on me the entire time.

Before I met Chelsea, I knew of the Steel Rebel MC. Knew they existed, but that was about it. Having been born and raised in the wealthy north suburbs didn’t expose me to the criminal gangs in the city, but I knew of them. Then I met Chelsea and her biker boyfriend, so I looked up the club.

They are criminals. All sources online labeled them as such.

My eyes shift to the man standing beside me. He doesn’t look like a criminal. I’m sure his large frame and the tattoos on his arms garner plenty of looks; they’d certainly have my parents’ neighbors clutching their pearls and purses at the sight of him, but…he doesn’t scare me.

Not like those other men did.

“Marie!”

I tear my eyes from him and to the doorway to see Chelsea rush toward me with Scarlett following closely behind, and suddenly I’m engulfed in their arms. “Oh, I’m sorry! So sorry!”

There are tears, gut-wrenching sobs from women I’ve known less than a year. Their warmth, concern, and affection floors me.

“I’m so sorry,” Scarlett sobs again, pushing into the embrace. “It’s my fault. This should never have happened to you.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, returning their hugs and trying to ignore my pounding headache. “It’s no one’s fault but the men who took me.”

It’s clear Scarlett doesn’t believe that, and I want to assure and comfort her in turn, but someone steps in, gently pulling the ladies away from me. “Let’s get her checked by Doc, first,” my savior says, and I glance thankfully at him.