Page 38 of Bonds of Obsession

Nico steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. The touch is gentle, but there’s something burning in his eyes that steals my breath.

“Mia cara.” His thumb brushes across my skin. “I haven’t lost everything. I still have what’s most important.”

The weight of his words hits me square in the chest. My heart pounds against my ribs as I meet his gaze, and the air between us feels electric, charged with everything we’ve never said out loud.

Killian’s boots scuff against the kitchen floor, pulling our attention to the doorway where he’s standing. “Hate to break this up, but we better finish getting ready. Time’s ticking.”

He’s right. As much as I’d like to steal a few more quiet moments with Nico right now, I know Atlas will pay the price if we’re even a minute late for the handoff. He’s on borrowed time, and every second counts until we get him back.

13

QUINN

I doubleand then triple-check my weapon, making sure my gun is loaded one last time before shoving it into the waistband of my pants. The familiar chill of the metal against the small of my back doesn’t completely get rid of my nerves, but it calms them enough for now.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Nico’s voice echoes through the garage as he shrugs into his leather jacket.

“Crystal.” I grab my own jacket and trace my fingers over the Enigma patch before putting it on. Fuck, that patch—and everything it represents—feels like it weighs a thousand pounds tonight.

Nico methodically checks his weapons: backup piece at his ankle, his favorite Glock at his side, knife strapped to his other side. His movements are as precise and practiced as mine, and it occurs to me that he and Killian might be nervous too.

Maybe some other day, I’ll find some humor in the way we’ve all found ways to push through the bullshit. There’s nothing funny about it tonight though. Not with so much on the line.

“The address they gave us is right around Elmwood Cemetery.” I pull up the map on my phone. “Lots of trees, old statues and monuments, perfect spot for an ambush.”

“Or a clean getaway.” Killian tests the sight on his gun before holstering it. “Multiple exit routes, plenty of cover.”

I squint at my phone screen, studying the cemetery layout for probably the hundredth time. Somewhere in that maze of headstones and monuments, Atlas will be waiting. Probably as worried about us as we’re worried about him. Definitely hurting.

“Two bikes or three?” Killian asks. “Might be a good idea if someone is free to shoot in case we need cover getting out of there.”

“You’re not wrong,” I offer. “But one of us will have Atlas. I want plenty of options to get him out of there if shit starts to go sideways.” I let the words hang in the air for a moment in case anyone has a counter-argument before I make the final decision. “Three bikes.”

The familiar rumble of motorcycles fills the garage as our engines roar to life. The vibrations travel up through my boots, settling in my chest like a second heartbeat.

The suburban streets are dark and quiet as we head out, and the lights of downtown Detroit slip farther and farther away. The cemetery is far enough away that nobody will interfere with the ceremony, but that also means there won’t be anyone around to help us if we need it.

That’s the chance we have to take if we want Atlas back in one piece.

After a few miles, I can see the cemetery gates up ahead, the tall wrought iron making them look delicate and intricate but imposing as hell at the same time. We kill our engines at the entrance, rolling our bikes the rest of the way in silence. There’s enough moonlight to make out the marble angels and headstones around us, but not enough to feel completely safe.

Especially since we know exactly what kinds of monsters are lurking around in the darkness here.

My heart stops when I spot them. Ambrose stands between two huge oaks, flanked by four of his men. They’ve got Atlas on his knees, hands bound behind his back, with two guns trained on him.

“Right on time.” Ambrose’s voice carries across the graves. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”

“Let me see him.” I step forward, ignoring the way Nico and Killian tense beside me.

Ambrose gestures and his men drag Atlas closer. Even in the dim light, I can see the bruises on his face, the way he’s favoring his left side. But his eyes are clear as fucking day when they lock with mine.

“Atlas?” My voice is strained despite my best efforts.

“I’m okay.” His split lip twitches into what might be a smile. “Really.” But there’s something in his expression that twists my gut—pain, yes, but also fear. Not for himself. For me.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I walk back over to join Nico and Killian. My fingers twitch near my gun while Ambrose’s men keep their weapons trained on Atlas. Every rustle of leaves has me on edge and searching the shadows between the monuments for any sign that shit is about to hit the fan.

Where the hell is Malcolm?

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