Page 113 of Atlas
Atlas
The door creaks as I push out of the club and into the dying light. The air’s cooler now, carrying that scent of dust and oil, summer rain somewhere in the distance. I drag a hand over my face and inhale deeply, trying to keep it together. Rue’s gone, and the weight of not protecting her, is sitting heavy in my chest.
Footsteps approach, soft and hesitant. I don’t turn.
“You okay?” Anita’s voice is quiet but tight, like she’s holding something in.
I nod once. “No,” I admit, “but I will be.”
She stands beside me in silence for a moment, arms crossed, staring out at the gravel lot like it holds answers. “I never meant for any of this,” she says suddenly, her voice cracking. “This is my fight with Damien. It’s my mess. And now, he’s pulling Rue into it, and you—” She stops herself, like if she says more, it might all unravel.
I glance at her. “Stop.”
Her brows furrow. “Atlas—”
“This isn’t your fault.” My voice is steady, firm. “Damien’s the kind of man who’ll use anyone to get what he wants. You didn’t choose this war. He brought it to you.”
Tears well in her eyes, and I see the guilt eating her alive. “You keep fighting for Leo,” I tell her. “You hear me? That kid deserves better than a man like that for a father. You’re his safe place, Nita. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for wanting to protect him.”
She nods slowly, wiping under her eyes. “Thank you.”
We fall quiet again, and I glance sideways at her. There’s history between us, old, frayed, but still threaded with something tender.
I clear my throat. “You and Tom?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“Is there something there?”
A beat passes. Her lips twitch into a soft smile. “Yeah. There is.”
I nod, letting it settle in my chest. It doesn’t ache like I thought it might. In fact, it feels right.
“I’m happy for you,” I say, meaning it. “You deserve good things, Anita. Someone who shows up for you. Don’t let fear make you push it away.”
Her eyes shimmer again. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Grab it with both hands.”
The silence between us shifts. Not heavy, not awkward, just full of things we’ve said, and things we no longer need to. I squeeze her shoulder gently, turning to head inside. I can already feel the rumble of engines firing up inside me.
It’s time to get my old lady back home where she belongs.
I go back into church, the weight of my presence pulling all eyes my way.
My brothers are already gathered around the table, maps and burner phones scattered. Tom trails in behind Anita, andKasey’s already here perched on the edge of a chair, arms crossed tight, eyes full of fear.
Outsiders. In church.
If anyone needed proof this shit was serious, it’s that. We don’t let outsiders in, not even the women we love. But no one says a word, all too focussed on what we need to do.
I walk to my place at the table and rest my hands on the wood, letting the silence settle before I speak. “I’m claiming Rue,” I say firmly. It’s not the way I planned to announce it, hell, I haven’t even had a chance to discuss it with Rue. But if she’s mine, the club will go above and beyond to get her back.
“You heard the man,” says Axel, slapping me roughly on the back. “His old lady’s been taken, and we gotta get her back.”
Fletch leans forward, his jaw tight. “I’ve got a list of every place he’s been known to frequent. Every bar, every office, damn, we even got his friends and family on this thing,” he says, turning his laptop towards me. I scan my eyes over it. Nothing stands out.
“There’s another week before the custody hearing,” says Tom.
