Page 11 of Atlas

I promised to pay him, and I’ll make sure he accepts, even if I have to give the money to his parents or slip it to Bullet.

I do one last sweep of the still crowded area. I could come back here and pick for days. Maybe I will. No, fuck that. No maybes about it. I’mdefinitelycoming back.

The humped top of a gorgeous steamer trunk catches my eye off in the corner at the very back of the barn.

There’s a second door back here, and the weird thing is, when I look across the pile of stuff, it appears as though there’s been a path cleared recently. Maybe Agatha tried to do a bit of cleaning before I came? She said she hadn’t been in here, but maybe she meant other than trying to get the back door open. She might have been worried that I wouldn’t even be able to get into the barn.

There isn’t the same layer of grime and dust here, but maybe that’s because at the back, the boards are gapping far apart, letting in more light than at the front or the sides. Instead of blowing dirt in, the wind could have forced it all to the front.

Apparently, the flies too.

Never forgetting that one either. Shudder.

“Atlas! Georgia! I just want this trunk!” I clear a path to it, so that by the time my help arrives, I can grasp one of the leather handles on the side and tug. I try again, but the thing won’t budge. It must be stuck to the floor. “Oh my god, it’s heavy.”

“We’re not taking that old beast.” Atlas circles around it. He’s covered in grime and so is Georgia. They still look fabulous, but I can’t imagine I look any better than yogurt left out in the sun. For three days. “It’s locked.” He grasps both handles and tries to lift it, but it doesn’t budge. “And it’s insanely heavy. There could be a body in there for all we know.”

Georgia squeals and starts flapping her arms. “Don’t say that!” She snaps. “Eww!”

I work my way to the front, brushing past Atlas. The hairs on my arms stand on end from the contact. I drop down and rub my gloved fingers over the metal lock. It’s old. Probably as old as the trunk itself, which is at least a hundred years, though I’d guess more.

“This is a true steamer trunk and she’s gorgeous. There’s no way I can leave her behind.”

“If there was a body in there, I think it would just be bones by now, and a whole lot lighter,” Georgia points out.

“That’s disgusting. Can you imagine how horrible it would be to cut the lock off and find that?” Atlas makes a fake gagging sound.

Yes. For real. I can’t imagine that he’s been a saint doing his club stuff. I know some of the men there have had to have killed someone in the past, and that it wasn’t in the far distant past, before they joined the Satan’s Angels. There’s no one I’d trust my big sister with other than Bullet, and he was a soldier for two decades. He’s never said so, but I’m positive he’s killed people.

It’s so crazy that Atlas is shuddering about this old trunk.

“This is a sweet old lady.” I’m not going down the direction of club business. I have to rationalize other ways. “She’s owned this farm for a long time and her parents before her. I’m pretty sure they don’t have skeletons stashed in their barn.”

“You never know. Just because she looks sweet doesn’t mean she’s not a serial killer.”

“Oh Jesus, now it’s more than one body?” Georgia shakes her head. “Come on, Willa, I’ll help you carry it to the trailer.” She takes one handle and motions me to the other.

“No, I’ll do it,” Atlas sighs. “At least it’s not crazy dusty like the rest.”

He bends his legs and in an astounding feat of strength that causes all his muscles to ripple and bulge, as well as the veins running along his forearms to pop, he braces himself and then hefts. The trunk literally groans and grunts, but comes off the ground.

Once he’s got it picked up, Atlas doesn’t waste time. He hurries out with it, bowed under its weight. We race after him and watch him set it down in the middle of the pile.

He straightens, and I’m about to tell Georgia that she should unmask and grab some water while I go get Agatha, but I don’t get a chance.

Atlas goes rigid, but then he sways. I almost think he’s playing when he staggers, it’s that exaggerated, but then he goes down hard, landing on the grass on his side. If he’s playing us, he’s really damn good at not moving.

Georgia and I are both so shocked we can only stare, and then stare at each other.

Fuck. If he jumps up at me after scaring me like this and laughs in my face, I swear I’m going to kill him myself.

Except… he’s not jumping up. He’s not moving at all.

“Oh my god!” I rip my mask off and go running.

Georgia’s right behind me, yelling her brother’s name. “Simon!”

I hit the ground right beside Atlas, scooping his head into my lap and cradling it before it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t have moved him.

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