Page 55 of Bonds of Obsession

My stomach twists into knots at the thought of navigating the Syndicate’s web of politics and power plays. The organization I joined to save Atlas is already starting to feel like a noose around my neck.

But when I look at him lying there next to me, alive and breathing in spite of everything he’s been through, I know I’d make the same choice again. Having him back is worth whatever price I have to pay.

“Well, now that we’ve established Atlas is an idiot who can’t keep it in his pants for twenty-four hours…” Nico’s lips quirk up, breaking the heavy tension in the room. “He probably needs some food to replace all that blood loss.”

“I can walk downstairs myself.” Atlas pushes himself up on his elbows, ignoring Killian’s disapproving glare. “The stitches are fresh now, I’ll be fine.”

“Fucking dumbass.” Killian’s barely-suppressed smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he starts packing up the medical supplies. “But I suppose you need to eat something.”

“See? Even the doctor agrees.” Atlas grins, although it’s strained around the edges. He swings his legs over the side of the bed with a barely concealed wince. “Could use some work on that bedside manner though.”

“At least put on some clothes first.” Nico tosses him a pair of sweatpants. “I don’t need to see any more of you today than I already have.”

I slip into the bathroom to clean up and throw on fresh clothes, my mind still churning with thoughts of the Syndicate. But when I come out and see Atlas standing there, black sweatpants slung low on his hips and that familiar stubborn set to his jaw as he argues with Killian about whether he needshelp down the stairs, I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders.

I hover close to Atlas as we make our way down the stairs, ready to catch him if he stumbles. He catches me watching and shakes his head.

“I’m not going to keel over dead from walking down some stairs.” He reaches out to run a hand over the curve of my ass. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m made of glass. The blood loss makes me look worse than I feel.”

Killian grunts from behind us. “That’s because you’re still riding an endorphin high from getting laid.”

“Maybe.” Atlas shrugs and shoots me a wink. “Still worth it.”

We reach the kitchen, where Nico has already pulled several ingredients from the fridge. The familiar sounds and smells of him cooking—the sizzle of oil and the sharp scent of garlic—fill the space.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he orders, pointing his spatula at Atlas.

I help Atlas into a chair, earning another eye roll from him.

“I swear, if you all keep looking at me like that…” he mutters.

“Yeah, I fucking know you’re not made of glass,” I huff, shooting him a look. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t still need a little help sometimes.”

“I’m fine.” He tugs me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Better than fine.”

“You lost enough blood to paint the bedroom red.”

“But look.” He flexes his bicep with an exaggerated grunt. “Still strong enough to?—”

Nico’s phone buzzes on the counter, cutting off whatever ridiculous thing Atlas was about to say. Nico glances at the screen and his whole body tenses.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, setting the spatula aside.

The playful atmosphere evaporates. Atlas straightens in his chair, wincing slightly at the movement. Killian sets down his coffee mug with a sharp click.

I strain to see the name flashing on the screen, but can’t quite make it out. “Who is it?”

“Brace yourselves.” His thumb hovers above the screen to answer the call. “It’s Zoey.”

20

KILLIAN

My shoulders tensethe second Nico’s phone lights up with Zoey’s name. The fucking traitor has some nerve, calling here after turning the other Princes—our fucking family—against us.

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