Page 51 of Bonds of Obsession

His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Right where I belong.”

And yeah, I’m pretty sure he understands.

I shift to settle beside him, and he immediately wraps his arm around me, pulling me close against his side. He’s warm and relaxed, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Within minutes, his breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep.

I stay awake longer with my head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat under my ear grounds me in this moment, in the reality that he’s here, he’s alive, he’s safe. It’s enough for me to finally relax along with him—really relax for the first time in too fucking long. My eyelids finally get too heavy to keep open, and I fall asleep curled up against him.

Right where I belong too.

18

QUINN

It’smorning when I finally open my eyes. My body is curled around Atlas’s, careful even in sleep to avoid his worst injuries. One of his hands is tangled in my hair, the other resting on my hip like he needed to keep me anchored to him through the night.

The first thing I notice is that he’s already awake. Those expressive eyes are fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he looks away for even a second.

“You stayed,” he says quietly. His voice is still rough from sleep and yesterday’s ordeal, but at least he’s here with me. At least he’s able to speak at all. There’s also something vulnerable in his tone that makes my chest ache—like he’s surprised, even now, that someone would choose to stay with him through all the roughest times.

I grunt and burrow closer, mindful of his bandages. “Of course I fucking stayed.” My own voice is sleep-heavy, and I’d kill for a glass of water, but that’ll have to wait. “I’m never letting you out of my damn sight again.”

The words come more harshly than I intend, raw with all the fear and helplessness of the past few days. Every time I close myeyes, I see him going down at Blood and Ink. See him staying behind so the rest of us could escape. See him disappearing into the screaming and the smoke and the gunfire while I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Never again. I’ll burn down the whole fucking city before I let anyone separate us like that again.

Atlas’s fingers tighten in my hair as if he can read the dark turn of my thoughts. “Quinn,” he starts, but I shake my head against his chest.

“I mean it,” I tell him, propping myself up on one elbow so I can look him in the eye. “That separation shit? That noble sacrifice bullshit? We’re done with that. The next time someone comes for one of us, they’d better be ready to take all four of us. Because I’m not watching you disappear again.”

His eyes darken at my words, and I see my own fierce protectiveness reflected back at me. The same need to keep, to guard, to destroy anything that threatens what’s ours.

“That works both ways, vicious,” he says softly, dangerously. “Anyone who wants to hurt you is going to have to kill me first. And I’m real fucking hard to kill.”

Something shifts in Atlas’s expression. A flash of vulnerability beneath his usual intensity that makes my heart stutter. It’s rare to see him like this, with his walls down. Even after everything we’ve been through—and even though he has a tendency to be more expressive than Nico or Killian—he usually keeps his emotions firmly in check.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks, and there’s an undertone in his voice that’s raw and needy enough to make me do a double-take. His eyes search mine, like he’s afraid to even voice what he wants.

“I need—” His jaw tightens as he cuts himself off.

I can see the emotion burning in his eyes. And even though I don’t know what he’s about to ask, I find myself nodding.

“Yes.” The word slips out before I can stop it, but I don’t regret it. In this moment, with him looking at me like that, I’d probably give him anything he wanted. I’d probably burn down the whole fucking world if he asked me to.

His hand slides down to my hip, thumb brushing over one of my tattoos. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through me. “You’ve got tattoo equipment here, right?”

The request surprises me, but I nod. “Of course. I’ve got my backup kit in the closet.” I study his face, trying to read his intentions. “Want me to get it?”

“Please.” It’s so seldom that my men ask for something that the word takes me by surprise all over again.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he gestures to his bandaged torso. “I’ll stay right here.”

When I return with the case, he’s watching me with that same intense need in his eyes.

“That night at your tattoo parlor,” he says, his voice rough with remembered rage. “Watching that motherfucker put his hands on you… it made me fucking crazy.” He reaches out to trace the mark just above my breast, and his touch is as electric in this moment as it was that night. “I wanted to rip his throat out with my bare hands.”

“Atlas—” I start, but he shakes his head.

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