Page 106 of Atlas
The sudden shrill of my phone breaks the heat between us, jolting me.
I yank it from my bag. “Axel?” I murmur, glancing at Tom.
“Take it,” he says, his fingers flexing on my knee. “It might be about Damien.”
I nod and answer the call, putting it on speaker.
“Hi, Axel.”
“Have you heard from Atlas tonight?” His voice is tight, tense.
My spine straightens. “No . . . should I have?”
“He was supposed to be here for church. He didn’t show.”
I frown. That’s not like Atlas. Not at all. “Is that a huge problem?”
“I tried to call. His phone rang out, several times.”
My frown deepens. Atlas would never ignore a call from his President. None of them would.
“You think he’s been arrested or something?”
“That was my first thought. But if he hasn’t reached out to you, he can’t have been.” He’s right, my number’s his emergency contact for legal representation. If something had happened, I’d know.
“Where was he last?” Tom asks, sharp now. His fingers are no longer casual on my skin.
“He took Rue out on the bike,” Axel replies. The name still stings a little, but not like it used to. Not with Tom sitting beside me. “And Kasey tracked Rue’s phone,” Axel adds, “but it was off.”
A flicker of unease crawls up my spine. “Oh,” I say, more to myself than anyone, thumbing through my phone. “I have a tracker too. Atlas put it on both our phones months ago.”
I’ve never used it. I’d forgotten it existed until now.
I load the app and tap his name, and a location pings.
“He’s nearby,” I murmur, glancing at the woods ahead. “A wooded area. That turn-off . . .there.” I point it out to Tom, who doesn’t hesitate. He veers the car down the lane, his jaw clenched.
“I’ll send you the location,” I say quickly, flicking it over to Axel.
Tom follows the tracker down a narrow, tree-lined track, the car bumping gently over the uneven road. The sun has dipped low enough that the woods feel darker than they should, shadowy and still.
“There,” I say, spotting the gleam of chrome tucked behind some overgrowth.Atlas’s bike.
Tom pulls in fast, cutting the engine. The silence that follows is deafening.
My phone rings again. It’s Axel. I answer before the first ring finishes. “We found his bike. It’s here.”
“Don’t go in,” Axel snaps. “Wait there. I’m sending a crew. It could be a setup.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “A setup?”
“Just wait for backup,” he insists. “Ten minutes, Anita. Don’t do anything stupid.”
But I’m already out the car, sprinting, because ten minutes is too long.
“Anita!” Tom calls after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
The trees close in fast as I break into the woods, leaves crunching underfoot, branches clawing at my jacket. My breathing turns ragged, but I don’t care. I keep pushing through the underbrush, drawn by something deeper than instinct.
