Page 57 of Bonds of Obsession

“Keep it in your pants,” Nico says as he starts to clear away our plates. “We don’t have time to restitch you every five fucking minutes.”

“He’s right.” Quinn shoots Atlas a quelling look. “They’re both right. No fucking in the shower. You can barely stand as it is.”

“That’s what the wall is for,” Atlas growls, pulling her closer. But I can see the way his muscles tremble from just that small movement. The stubborn fuck is running on empty.

“Jesus Christ,” Quinn mutters. “Even half dead, you’re still thinking with your dick.”

“Only around you.” Atlas nips at her ear. “I just can’t help myself.”

“You’re gonna have to put it on ice for now,” she smirks, tossing a pointed look toward his crotch. “We need to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to this meeting.” She pauses, and her voice softens slightly. “I just got you back. I’m not letting you hurt yourself worse.”

The raw honesty in her words hits like a punch to the gut. Atlas must feel it too, because he stops arguing and lets her lead him toward the stairs.

I watch Quinn help Atlas up to the second floor, his arm slung over her shoulders as she takes his weight. My chest tightens at the sight—not with jealousy or possession like it might have before, but with something deeper. Something that feels dangerously close to peace.

The feeling catches me off guard. Peace isn’t something I’ve known since I was eight years old, watching my mother’s body sink beneath dark water. Even after finding Nico and Atlas, there was always an edge of violence to our brotherhood, a readiness for war that never quite settled.

But watching Quinn with Atlas, seeing how naturally she fits into the spaces between us… It shifts something in my chest. Makes me realize we weren’t just missing a fourth person in our lives. We were missing the thread that could stitch our jagged pieces into something whole.

Fuck. When did I start thinking like this? I’m the psychopath, the one who doesn’t feel. The killer who’s only kept in check by my brothers. Yet here I am, feeling my chest expand with emotions I can barely name as I watch Quinn take care of one of our own.

Our own. That’s what she is now. What we all are together. Not just a brotherhood anymore, but something more. Something I never thought I’d have after what my mother did to me.

A family.

The word should terrify me. Should make me want to run, to kill, to destroy before it can be taken away. Instead, it settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like maybe this is what I’ve been carved hollow for all these years—just waiting to be filled.

I shake my head, pushing away from these dangerous thoughts. Can’t afford to get soft, not with everything bearing down on us. But the feeling lingers, warm and steady in my chest, as their footsteps fade upstairs.

I need to be productive, to get my mind off… everything I’ve been thinking about. And since we’re about to throw ourselves willingly into a pit of vipers, the most productive thing I can do right now is to make sure we’re prepared.

The stairs down to the basement creak under my weight, and the fluorescent lights flicker and buzz for a moment before bathing the entire area in a bright, almost clinical light. The basement of Quinn’s house is my sanctuary—the place where we store our supplies and our weapons.

Unlike mysterious, nebulous feelings and emotions, I can reach out and touch and count and take inventory of everything down here.

As my eyes move from shelf to shelf, I catalog our arsenal with practiced efficiency. Nine millimeters, clean and oiled. Combat knives, edges honed razor-sharp. The satisfying weight of brass knuckles in my palm as I reach out to absently lift them before setting them back in their designated place.

We’ve accumulated a good stockpile, considering how our old clubhouse was destroyed and everything Quinn had at Blood and Ink was raided. But it’s not enough.

Not with Ambrose still out there, not with the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s hooks in Quinn, not with our old club turned against us. The air feels heavy, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. Every instinct I’ve honed through years of violence screams that this is just the calm before the storm.

I move to the medical supplies next, checking gauze, sutures, antibiotics. After seeing Atlas’s wounds, I know we’ll need more. The number of threats circling us is growing, and blood always flows before the end.

My hands work automatically, counting vials and bandages, but my mind catalogs the dangers until the medical kit clicks shut with the kind of certainty and finality that makes this process as soothing as it is satisfying. No matter what’s coming, Iknow I’ll be ready. Now that I have something worth protecting, I’ll paint the fucking streets red before I let anyone take it from me.

The storm is coming. Let it come. This time, I have more than just brothers at my back. I have a family. And I almost pity the poor bastards who try to break it apart.

Quinn appears in the doorway as I’m double-checking the weapons we’ll take to the meeting. One look at her, and I can’t help myself—I cross the room in three strides and crush my mouth to hers.

She makes a surprised sound against my lips but melts into it, her fingers curling into my shirt. When I finally break the kiss, her eyes are dark and questioning.

“Thank you,” I say, “for taking care of him.”

She shakes her head, a gorgeous shade of pink tinting her cheeks. “You did more than me. You’re the one who has to keep stitching him up every time he pops them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” My fingers find her chin, tilting her face up. “You gave him something to hold on to when Ambrose had him. Something worth surviving for.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by that fierce protectiveness that makes my cock hard and my chest ache at the same time. “You’re mine,” she says simply. “All of you. I protect what’s mine.”

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