Page 102 of Bonds of Obsession

My nails dig into my palms as I clench my fists. Focus on the bite of pain. Anything to keep the tears at bay.

“Get it together,” I mutter to myself. “Get it the fuck together.”

But the words feel hollow. Empty, like everything else.

I lean forward, pressing my palms against the cold brick wall of the building in front of me, letting my head drop forward until my hair falls around my face to give me some sort of privacy.

I’ve had setbacks before, but this? This is what real failure looks like. Everything I’ve touched has turned to shit. So many of the people I’ve tried to protect have ended up hurt or dead.

I’m nothing now. No gang. No home. Nothing but a fucking target that gets everyone around me killed.

The sound of footsteps approaching makes me tense. I don’t want comfort. I don’t want understanding looks or gentle words. I just want—fuck, I don’t even know what I want anymore.

“Don’t,” I say without looking up. “Just… don’t.”

The footsteps continue anyway, steady and determined. Just like their owner.

I recognize Atlas’s gait even before he speaks.

“Vicious.”

“I said don’t.” The words come out more pleading than sharp. “Just leave me alone. Please.”

“No.”

I whirl to face him, ready to snap, to push him away, to do whatever it takes to get some fucking space. But the look in his eyes stops me. I see understanding. And pain. And something else I’m not ready to name.

“You think you’re the only one who has lost everything?” His voice is gentle even though his words aren’t. “You think you’re the only one who’s watched everything you love go up in flames?”

“Atlas—”

“I know what this feels like.” He steps closer, ignoring my attempt to back away. “Better than most.”

“I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“Good. Because that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” I try to step back again, but the wall is behind me now. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop pushing us away.” His hands come up to bracket my shoulders. “Stop acting like you have to handle this alone.”

“I do have to handle it alone.” I lift my chin. “That’s what leaders do.”

“Bullshit.” His grip tightens. “That’s what scared people do. And you’re not just scared right now. You’re fucking terrified.”

I try to shove him back. “Get off me.”

“No.” He doesn’t budge. “I’m not letting you run from this. Or from us.”

Is he really so determined to make me lose it? To make me break down right here in this goddamn parking lot? Because that’s where things are heading if he doesn’t back up and back off.

“I don’t need any fucking help.” I look away because we both know it’s a lie.

“Yes, you do.” His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You need to hear this. You need to understand.”

I try to jerk away again, but he holds firm. “Let me go.”

“No.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Not now. Not ever again. Listen to me. I was fourteen when they killed my father. Right in front of me. Rebel Saints, the club we both rode with in Chicago.”

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