Page 162 of Rebel Hawke

“Your family will figure out a way to ensure everyone’s safe, Atlas, regardless of what you do. Coen, you, me, and the baby. No matter what.” I squeeze his hand. “You can’t throw the fight in some futile attempt to protect us from something that will always be there, always be looming. We’ve worked too hard.You’veworked too hard to just toss it all away.”

The look in his eyes tells me he knows I’m right, but there’s reservation there, too.

It might not matter.

He has spent so long being a protector. Defending the family, even at his own peril. Taking a bullet for his cousins doesn’t seem to be enough for him to realize he can’t single-handedly shoulder the responsibility for their safety.

I slide my free hand over his stubbled jaw. “The Atlas I know isn’t a quitter. The Atlas I fell in love with isn’t. If you throw the fight…”

Atlas flinches slightly in my hold. “If I throw the fight, what?”

What I have to say weighs heavy on my chest.

It needs to be said, no matter how painful it might be.

“I understand your desire to protect Coen and the rest of the family, to protect the baby and me, but if you give in to Satriano’s demands now on this, he’ll ownyou. He’ll ownus. You and I willneverbe free of him. Neither will this baby.”

Atlas blinks away a tear that slowly travels down his cheek to my fingers. “What are you saying, Wren?”

What am I saying?

The words burn like acid in my mouth. I don’t want to say them. They will hurt too much—both of us. But every word I said to him is true.

Satriano won’t end it with this fight.

He will twist the screws into Atlas. Control his career. Use his fights as a way to ensure his sports books make money hand over fist by fixing the odds, knowing the results because he’s demanding them.

This won’t be a one-time thing.

It will cement a relationship with Satriano going forward, establish a precedent.

One I can’t live with.

One Gramps couldn’t have if he were here and knew what was happening.

“If you intentionally lose the fight, Atlas”—I swallow thickly—“then you’re losing me, too.”

They might be the most painful words I’ve ever spoken, and they hit as if they are for him, too.

Air rushes from his lungs, and he staggers back a step, my palm slipping from his cheek and his hand sliding away from my belly. “You don’t mean that.”

Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision, my bottom lip quivering as I struggle to maintain control and take the stand I have to, even when my heart breaks. “I do.”

“How can you say that after everything we’ve been through?”

I swallow a sob, wrapping my arms around myself to try to hold myself together. “How canyoueventhinkof throwing the fight for the same reason? You havefoughtfor this your whole life. Three months ago, your career was over; you just didn’t want to admit it. And now, you have the chance to get what you’ve always wanted. You’ve battled your way back to win that belt.”

“You think I want to do it, Wren?” He roars, shoving his hands through his hair, pacing away from me. “You think I want to give upeverything?”

“Of course not. But you have a choice, and you’re acting like you don’t. You know what I said is true, Atlas. If you do this for Damon, he will own you the same way he does Pope, and he will use it to make you do things you will hate yourself for, beyond just losing this fight. Like what Dom made your grandfather do…”

He flinches at the mention of Abello and the dirty deeds he had Sam Hawke perform to repay his debts.

Acting as muscle for him.

Hurting people.

Doing the dirty work.

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