Page 11 of Atlas
I close the gap between us, towering over her to look her in the eye. “I’m serious, Nita. Who the fuck was he?”
There’s a flicker of fear, just like there always is if I get too close, but this time, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m too close to her life or in her face. One thing I know for sure is that guy meant something to her.
I step back, and she relaxes slightly. “I’m outta here for a while.” She remains silent, her eyes following me as I back towards the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Axel’s got me on some rescue mission.” I pull the door open, our eyes stillconnected. “When I get back, shit’s gonna be different between us, Nita. You’re either gonna let me in or let me go.” Her chest rises with her sharp inhale.
The engine’s a low, constant growl beneath me. I’ve been riding for an hour, maybe more. It’s hard to keep track when all I can think about is Nita.
The wind cuts across my jaw, sharp and cold even in June. Nita’s blank expression haunts me along with her sharp intake when I delivered that ultimatum. And that sinking feel I have in my gut, knowing she’ll never let me in, and now I’ll have no choice but to walk away.
And instead of staying and making her see we could work, I’m riding out on some halfway run because I’d rather chase ghosts down the A-roads than sit at the bar pretending I’m not wrecked over a woman who won’t even admit she cares.
I roll my shoulders out and glance down at the map on my burner. The petrol station is up ahead. That’s where she was last seen.
A lorry overtakes me, rattling like it’s gonna fall apart. I twist the throttle and pass it easy, my eyes on the road, but my heart nowhere near it.
I pull into the petrol station. It’s run-down, with flickering lights and two pumps. The kind of place you only stop at if you’re running out of fuel or running from something else.
I kill the engine. The silence afterwards is deafening.
Inside, a bored-looking attendant leans on the counter, scrolling his phone. I flash the photo of Kasey.
“She been through here?”
He squints. “Yeah. Yesterday. Late. Looked strung-out, bit scared. Bought a bag of crisps and a Monster. Sat outside for a while then got picked up in some clapped-out Vauxhall.”
“Driver?”
“Guy in his twenties. Skinny. Looked sketchy as hell.”
Of course, he did.
“You see her again, call me.”
“They headed in the direction of Norwich,” he adds. “There are a lot of drugs on the streets there. She seemed the type to be looking.”
I leave my number and head back to the bike. If she’s with someone now, that complicates things. If she’s not, she’s vulnerable. Either way, she’s mine to find.
As I swing my leg over the bike, I feel it, that old hum under my skin. Not lust. Not rage. The mission. The chase.
Maybe it's good I’m doing this. Something real. Something that ain’t about Nita.
And maybe, just maybe, I can outrun the way she makes me feel before I go back and end things.
The city’s nothing like London. It’s smaller, dirtier, but the streets still pulse with life—neon signs flickering, music leaking from open doors, and bodies stumbling out of bars with too much drink and not enough sense.
The perfect place to disappear.
I park the bike then zip up my jacket and start walking. The photos in my back pocket are already worn soft from the ride.
I try the first bar. It smells like piss and sticky floors, and a couple girls at the bar are half-dressed and high. The bartender clocks me the second I walk in—patches always draw attention.
“Lookin’ for someone,” I say, sliding the photo across the bar.
He glances at it, then at me. “Maybe I’ve seen her. Maybe I haven’t.”
I flash a tight smile. “If you’re about to ask for money, don’t. I’m not in the mood.”
He snorts. “Calm down, Rambo. Yeah, she came in last night. Didn’t drink. Looked out of place.”
