Page 4 of Atlas and the Traitor

“Oh, fuck!” Louder as the speed of Niall’s strokes and ruts increased. He pressed his sweaty brow against Atlas’s temple, his hot breath a heavy pant in his ear, coming unhinged with a litany of grunts and curses.

Exactly the state Atlas needed him in. He kissed up the side of Niall’s face and pecked away at more of the truth. “Has my brother been practicing in these parts too?”

Evan had been a no-show in La Purisima when Atlas had slayed another giant and again at Club Sutro when the giant from the Stick had attacked Vincent’s son, Paris, who’d allied himself with Nature. Atlas had killed that giant too, finally, and had made it back to the safe house in time to move Cole—and missed Evan’s return to the Stick on Samhain. Evan had joined the last remaining giant in another attempt to bring Chaos through the veil, but Paris, Nature, and their team had defeated the giant and kept Chaos at bay a little longer.

And Evan had disappeared. Again.

“Not practicing,” Niall said on a groan.

“But he’s been here?”

“He wanted to say a prayer for your brother.”

Anger caused Atlas to bite down harder than intended on Niall’s ear lobe. The priest only groaned louder...and disclosed a nugget of useful information, finally. “He wanted me to arrange a meet at the casino.”

The closest casino was located on Chumash land. The local Indigenous tribe had steadily reclaimed more and more of the southern inland territories, same as other tribes had done north and east of Yerba Buena.

Sensing Niall was close to spilling come and more intel, Atlas hitched his leg higher and rolled his hips, jostling Niall so his erection collided with his fist stroking Atlas’s. Niall was powerless to resist the offered pleasure, wrapping his hand around them both, their hard cocks slippery against each other in his grip. He wound his other arm around Atlas’s neck, needing more leverage and balance for his rutting, for the climax bearing down on him.

Atlas didn’t have much time. He licked into the hollow behind Niall’s ear. “What did he want with the Chumash?”

“Help Cole reach peace,” Niall panted. “One way or another.”

Niall might have believed that; the priest always wanted to see the good in people. Atlas didn’t buy it for one second. Evan was after something.

Or someone.

“Who did he want a meet with?” Atlas had a few ideas, but he needed Niall to confirm which one was right.

Instead, the priest’s body tensed, practically vibrating, and with a shouted “Oh, fuck!” he erupted, soaking his fist and Atlas’s cock with warm, sticky come.

And then with his next breath, he promptly panicked, his self-hatred welling up and out. “Fuck,” he cursed again in a decidedly different tone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the familiar litany began as he scurried off Atlas. He always did this. Every single fucking time.

Atlas was glad for the blindfold. It hid his rolling eyes as he tried to coax Niall back with a gentler tone. “Niall, it’s okay,” Atlas called after him, his best lead in months stumbling for the door. “You did so good. We can do more good.” Sometimes the cajoling worked, but more often than not, Atlas was left hard and hanging.

Literally, this time.

The door opened and slammed shut, leaving Atlas to curse alone. To sulk in a rare moment of exhaustion, letting the cross and bindings hold him up. No one was there to see him, to take advantage of his weakness. He could indulge in a well-earned moment of self-pity. Two months, four dead giants, a second dead brother, and his last surviving brother on the run again, each passing day another one closer to Solstice and Evan’s next best opportunity to bring Chaos through the veil.

And Atlas had to stop him.

Because of a promise he’d made their mother.

He leaned back his head, his world blissfully dark beneath the blindfold, his earlier sweat and Niall’s come cooling on his skin. “Did you have any idea how hard this would be?” he idly asked the keeper of his vow. “What you were asking of us? Of me?”

Times like these, he wished it had been him who’d taken Evan’s hit six weeks ago—or on that day ten years ago in Talahalusi.

“But then who would champion Her cause?”his mother lilted in his head.“Who could balance it all but you, my sweet?”

Balance.

Sweet.

He laughed out loud, the cold, harsh sound bouncing off the cement walls. No one would ever accuse him of being sweet, and as for balanced... He felt more unbalanced every futile day, like he was teetering on the edge of one of those jetties in the Canyon Lands, nothing but a sheer cliff and the cold dark water below.

“It’s too hard,” he told her.

“There’s another way. You don’t have to do it alone.”

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