Page 108 of Atlas
His shirt is crisp white, sleeves rolled, cufflinks glinting as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip of something amber. He looks exactly the same as I imagined—tailored, cold, smug.
Only his eyes are different. Colder, sharper.
They assess me as one of the men from behind me, shoves me forward a few steps. “You look nothing how I imagined,” he says thoughtfully.
“Funny,” I mutter, “You look exactly how I imagined.”
He laughs, it’s cruel, matching his expression. “You are just like your sister, only plainer. Almost innocent looking.”
My mouth goes dry. My chest tightens, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
“What do you want?” I manage, forcing my voice to stay calm. “If this is about the money—”
“Oh, Rue,” he says softly, almost pitying. “This isn’t about the money anymore, it would be so much simpler if it was.” He gestures and one of the men cuts the ties on my wrists. My skin throbs, red and raw. I almost collapse, but I force myself to stay upright.
“It’s about unfinished business.”
I glare at him. “With Atlas?”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. He steps closer, slowly circling me like I’m some exhibit on display. “You made yourself important to people I’m trying to break. That makes you . . . useful.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I took a step back andthought about all the people I want to fuck up, and I realised the one person that they all have a connection with, is you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.
“Good,” he says smoothly. “Because fear would make this boring. And I want to enjoy what’s coming.”
He turns to the others. “Put her somewhere safe. And make sure she knows the rules.”
One of them grabs my arm, dragging me backwards again. I struggle, kicking once, twice, but it’s no use. Damien doesn’t flinch. He just watches, smiling faintly.
“He’ll come for me,” I scream. “He’ll find me.”
“Hold on to that,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “It’s so much more fun when you have hope and I get to see it leave those pretty little eyes.”
And then the door slams behind me and I’m met with darkness. But even in the pitch black, one thought roars in my chest.
Atlas will come.
He has to.
Anita
The machines beep steadily, cruel in their calm. I’ve been listening to that same rhythm for hours now, memorising every rise and fall of the numbers on the monitor as if willing them to stay steady could somehow bring him back.
Atlas hasn’t stirred. Not once.
I’m curled into the visitor chair beside his bed; my coat draped around my shoulders like a blanket. The harsh fluorescent lights have long since given me a headache, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Not while he’s like this.
Tom hasn’t left either.
He’s still here, sat in the corner with his legs stretched out and arms folded across his chest, watching me in quiet silence likehe’s guarding us both. Every now and then, he brings me coffee or puts a gentle hand on my back. He hasn’t asked for anything in return.
I glance at him now, my eyes sore from crying, my voice hoarse when I speak. “Do you mind?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Mind what?”
“That I’m here,” I say softly, nodding towards Atlas. “That I’m sitting at the bedside of a man I once thought I loved.”
Tom doesn’t answer straight away. He just stands, walks over to me, and crouches beside the chair until we’re eye-level. “Do you still love him?”
