Page 72 of Princes of Carnage

I grab my keys and stride toward the front door, cutting through the living room again.

“Where are you—”

Quinn’s voice cuts off as I let the front door bang closed behind me.

My feet take me to my bike, and I get on it, revving for a second before I take off down the driveway. I head straight for the Carnage clubhouse, parking my bike and walking in once I arrive.

As usual, there are people hanging out, milling around and shooting the shit. It’s a gathering place when there’s no official business going on, and it already feels more relaxing to be here with other members of Carnage than being back at Quinn’s place.

“Atlas!”

As soon as I enter the large space, a few of our crew greet me with wide smiles. I nod to them all, letting people draw me into various conversations.

“Damn, you’ve been gone for a while,” Hudson says, clapping me on the back. “We thought you forgot where your headquarters were.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Nah, just a lot to do.”

“Nico’s been working you to death?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I advise and laugh with him.

“Is that Atlas?” someone else asks, coming over. “It’s good to see you, man.”

Gradually, I start to relax. It’s easier to breathe here, easier to let myself forget about all the shit waiting for me back ‘home.’

I chat for a while with some of the guys shooting pool at the table in the corner, chuckling at Jeremiah’s form as he fucks up his shot.

“Could’ve told you that’s what was going to happen if you aimed like that,” I say, shrugging.

He scowls at me good-naturedly. “Then why didn’t you?” he complains. “You coulda done me a solid.”

“But then how would you learn from your mistakes?” I ask him. “It’s all in the wrist.”

“Yeah, Jer,” one of the others cackles. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He makes a motion like he’s jacking off, and Jeremiah flips him off before grabbing a cup and downing whatever is in it.

“Fuck all of you,” he mutters.

“Damn, you can’t talk to Atlas like that,” someone else chimes in. “Insubordination. That’s the word, right?”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes.

Someone else approaches and has a report from one of the smuggling drops we did recently, and I take it, nodding as he fills me in on what happened.

“Smooth as we could’ve hoped for,” he says. “Thank fuck for that.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “The more smooth operations we have, the better. We’re working on making sure that’s the norm going forward.”

I get a little salute in response before he shuffles away.

On the other side of the room, a few people drag a table over and gather some chairs, laying out a deck of cards.

“Poker, Atlas?” Stefan offers, and I shrug, figuring why the hell not.

They set up with the cards and a bottle of whiskey and some glasses, and I take a seat, motioning for them to deal me in. I grab the bottle and pour myself a couple fingers, watching as the amber liquid splashes into the glass.

I’ve been working my ass of lately, trying to make sure our people are protected no matter what shit comes our way. I deserve an evening off—although I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince with that thought. Nico’s not here, and he’d probably be the first one to tell me not to work myself to death.

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