Page 179 of Rebel Hawke

A sinister growl slips from Atlas’ lips, his eyes going icy dark blue. “Then I will relish ripping his jugular out with my bare hands.”

The fact that he isn’t joking should probably scare me. That he’s capable of that kind of violence. But it’s somehow comforting to know the lengths he’ll go to in order to protect this baby and me.

“And what if he won’t accept your money for Coen?”

He grits his jaw again, grinding his teeth back and forth as he considers the possibility. “Then Coen suffers the consequences, whatever they might be.”

“Are you going to tell everyone what he did?”

It’s clear everyone was in the dark tonight. No one said a word, and everyone acted thrilled that he was back in town for the opening and the fight. The Hawkes don’t have a clue what he’s done or what it might mean for him and them.

Someone has to alert them.

Theyhaveto know.

Atlas feathers light kisses across my cheek and my lips. “I have to. Everyone has to be ready for what Satriano could do, and I don’t think he has any intention of coming clean himself.”

I shake my head. “Probably not, since he hasn’t already.”

Heshouldhave.

A little shiver rolls through me.

Atlas rubs his hands on my arms. “Are you cold?”

“No…” Even though I said I’m not, he reaches over and nudges up the temperature on the shower. “I’m just worried about what might be coming.”

My hand automatically slides between us and over my stomach. It won’t be too long before our baby is here and we’ll have another person to protect from whatever Satriano may try.

Atlas slides his hand over mine, the thick tape wet against my skin. “I know, Little Bird. Me, too. But whatever it is, we face it together. Always, right?”

I nod, fighting back tears that badly want to fall. “Always. And right now, you need to go get stitches and have the ring doc give you a full exam. You got rocked hard.”

He scowls at me. “He only landed a few good shots.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t get hurt, Atlas.” I drift my hand up to his side. “How are your ribs?”

Gordon got him good there.

He grimaces as if just now realizing he should be in pain. “I’m sure I’ll feel it once all the adrenaline completely wears off, but I’m fine, Wren. Really.”

For so many months, he’s been insisting things are okay when he’s been battling his injury, the pressure of the Hawke expectations, the reality of the opening, and facing his toughest opponent yet. Then throw in Gramps’ death and Satriano—he hasn’t really beenfinein a very long time.

But this time, I actually believe him.

Glancing down at my soaked clothes, I laugh, sliding my hands over his shoulders. “Um…how am I getting out of here like this?”

He grins playfully. “You’re going to throw on one of my extra T-shirts and a pair of my sweatpants—”

“They’re going to be huge on me!”

A slow smirk spreads across his face, and he nips at my lip. “That’s okay, Little Bird. Everyone will just know I fucked you in here.”

I gape at him. “Atlas…”

“What?” His brow rises again, sending more blood oozing from the wound. “Like they didn’t already when I charged out of the ring and practically threw you over my shoulder like a caveman?”

I smirk at him, annoyed but also insanely infatuated with this man—barbaric behavior and all. “I can’t believe you skipped the interview and seeing the ring doc.”

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