Page 11 of Bonds of Obsession

Something or someone is pulling me backward, and I stumble, my fingers slipping from Atlas’s sleeve. Panic surges through me as I realize I’m being carried away from him, that he really is determined to stay behind and die.

For me.

“No! Let me go!” I punch and kick, but it’s like fighting against steel bars.

Atlas turns to me, his eyes wide with fear—not for himself, but for me. “Quinn, I told you to get out of here! Run!”

But I can’t. I’m frozen in place, forced to watch as mercenaries emerge from the smoke, surrounding Atlas. Their guns are trained on him, and I don’t want to see whatever is going to happen next, but I can’t seem to make myself look away.

“Atlas!” I scream for what feels like the hundredth time, but it doesn’t do any good.

He opens his mouth to say something, but his words are cut off by a scream of agony. The sound shoots through me like an actual bullet. I’ve never heard Atlas scream like that before—never even imagined he could make such a blood-curdling sound.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” I’m still fighting, still yelling, still doing everything I can to get back there and help him, but I’m not gaining any ground and his screams of pain haven’t stopped.

They’re echoing through the building, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in my skull. Each one feels like it’s tearing me apart from the inside.

The smoke seems to clear a little, and I can see someone else now. They’re getting closer and closer, but it takes me a few seconds to recognize the man’s silhouette.

Fucking Ambrose.

I can feel my own strength start to ebb as he walks up to Atlas with a big, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, well,” Ambrose’s smug tone makes me want to throw up. “Not so tough after all, hm?”

I watch in horror as Ambrose circles Atlas like a vulture, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. The mercenaries are holding Atlas down, and I can see the pain on his face, althoughI’m somewhat thankful I haven’t been able to see exactly what they’ve been doing to him.

“Let’s see how long you can keep up that tough guy act,” Ambrose sneers, nodding to one of his men.

The mercenary pulls out a wicked-looking knife, and my heart stops. Atlas’s eyes widen, but he sets his jaw, clearly determined not to show even an ounce of fear.

The first cut draws a strangled cry from his throat. It’s a sound that rips through me, and I start struggling all over again against whatever’s holding me back, kicking and clawing with everything I have.

“Stop it!” I scream, my voice sounding raw and desperate to my own ears. “Leave him alone, you fuckers!”

But they don’t stop. The knife flashes again and again, each stroke punctuated by Atlas’s agonized cries.

I fight harder, knowing he’s going to die if I don’t get to him soon. My nails dig into flesh—whose, I don’t know—and I hear a grunt of pain behind me. The grip on me loosens just a little, but it’s enough.

With a final, desperate lunge, I break free. I don’t hesitate, don’t think—I just move. My fists connect with faces, my elbows with ribs. I’m not fighting smart or clean. I’m just fighting to get through.

Ambrose’s men grab at me, but I slip past them. My focus is on Atlas, sprawled on the ground in front of me. I can’t hear him anymore, and that terrifies me more than anything.

Finally, I break through the last of the men standing in my way. My heart jumps when I see Atlas, then it drops just as quickly. He’s lying still on the ground, his eyes open but not blinking, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“No,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside him. “No, no, no.”

I reach out with trembling hands, desperately searching for a pulse, for any sign of life. But there’s nothing. He’s dead.

I jerk awake, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Adrenaline and grief flood my system as I push and pull against the hands that are trying to hold me down. In my mind, I’m still back there, still trying to get to Atlas, still desperate to save him.

“Let me go!” I scream, so hoarse that I can barely hear myself over the pounding in my head. “I have to—I need to?—”

My fists connect with something solid, and I hear a grunt. Good. I want to hurt them. I want to make them pay for what they did to Atlas.

“Quinn, stop!” A familiar voice cuts through the fog of my panic, but only for an instant. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

But I can’t stop. I won’t. They took him from me, and I’ll be damned if I let them get away with it.

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