Page 38 of Atlas and the Traitor

“The ones looking for a third?”

Robin nodded. “More like hunters looking to lure their target. I’m going to make sure neither Atlas nor Glen end up in their hands.”

“On it,” Jason said, then wove his way to the other end of the bar, leaning over it to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear.

With the feline shifter handled, Robin focused on his targets and enacted a plan to foil theirs. He tipped back the rest of his beer, slid off the stool, and removed his flannel, stripping down to the black tank he had on underneath.

Heads swiveled his direction, including a certain blond one, the owner’s green gaze furious.

Good.

Even better that the bounty hunter pair had also picked him up on his way to the dance floor. He hadn’t danced in years, but he must have been convincing enough, the woman hunter crooking her finger to call him over. Robin’s gaze slid back to Atlas, who was watching him over Glen’s shoulder, the bear shifter oblivious to his partner’s wandering eye. Robin made a deliberate sweep of his gaze, to the booth where Jason was sliding in next to the hunter there, then back to the couple who had eyes on him. Identifying the threats for Atlas before Robin returned his attention to the couple meeting him halfway on the dance floor.

The woman slung an arm over his shoulder, drawing him closer while her partner hemmed him in from behind, his tall, toned body pressed against Robin’s back. “How about we make a deal?” the woman said. “The three of us take the two of them.” She tipped her head toward where Atlas and Glen were dancing. “Then we split the bounties three ways?”

“I don’t need your help,” Robin said.

The sharp point of a blade pressed against his back, right over his kidney. “We don’t need you either,” the man said. “Call it professional courtesy.”

“You think you can catch them?” Robin replied. “A warlock who can snap his way out of anywhere and a giant bear shifter.”

“The warlock got away from you,” the woman said. “You need us too.”

Robin pretended to be conflicted while swaying between the bodies on either side of him.

“What’ll it be?” the guy said, and Robin honestly wondered if he was asking about the bounties or the boner he notched against the seam of Robin’s jeans, sliding it along his ass crack.

“All right,” Robin said, playing along and rocking back his hips, distracting the already distracted. “You two take the warlock. He’s smaller. I’ll take the shifter.”

He didn’t give them a chance to argue, ducking out from between them and spinning toward Atlas and Glen. The head start gave him time to crowd behind Glen and whisper, “Did he explain to you what’s going on?”

“I’m in,” the bear said.

“Good, then shift!”

A giant bear appearing in the middle of a crowded club was a recipe for disaster. Add a roaring coyote and a warlock throwing orbs of green magic, and almost everyone was headed to the exits. None of the other paranormals, including Jason’s mark, wanted any part of the chaos.

Only the two human hunters were dumb enough to try and battle Atlas while Robin made a show of cornering the bear. He lunged, no teeth, and Glen made it seem like he was surrendering, letting Robin hold him down by the neck. If word got back to Evan, it would be of a catch by Robin. And of another escape by his twin, Atlas using his magic to throw the hunter pair into the backbar before snapping out of there.

Twenty-Seven

It was near dawn by the time everyone else cleared out of the distillery tasting room, alliances made and another phoenix in Mary’s pocket.

Robin didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was setting the record straight with the warlock in a kilt sprawled on the chaise. Turning his back on the reckless fucker, he busied himself with a shot of vodka to avoid charging across the room and wringing Atlas’s neck. “You want to tell me what the fuck that was?”

“Thatwas a successful operation.”

“Thatwasn’t the plan.”

“I improvised.”

The absolute arrogance was enraging, the growl bleeding into his voice. “Without a word of warning.”

“I told you, I don’t?—”

Robin slammed his glass down and rounded on him, unleashing a roared warning. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

Atlas’s smirk would be the death of him. The warlock rose from the couch and sauntered across the room. “Don’t tell me you didn’t love it. Thinking on your feet, setting traps, negotiating a deal in two seconds flat.”

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