2. Atlas
2
ATLAS
I grit my teeth, trying to hold back the scream that’s building in my throat. My entire body is shaking from the strain, and I can feel every muscle in my body suddenly clench as another wave of excruciating pain hits me.
I’m strong. Stronger than most men.
But the current of electricity is stronger. Another involuntary cry escapes my lips, echoing off the cement walls of this hellhole.
Ambrose grins, then laughs, a sound I’ve slowly become accustomed to over the hours I’ve been here.
Hours?
Days?
I honestly don’t fucking know anymore.
He steps back, lowering the electrodes he’s been using to torture me. My skin is still tingling from the electricity, like a thousand spiders skittering across my body at once, and I can smell the faint scent of burned flesh.
A wave of nausea hits me when I realize it’s my own skin that’s burning.
“Had enough yet?” he asks in a tone that’s so fucking nonchalant it’s almost maddening.
I spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor and glare up at him through my one good eye. The other is swollen shut from an earlier beating. “Fuck you,” I manage to rasp.
His face twists into a sneer. “Such a tough guy. I wonder how long it’ll take to break you.”
He turns away, giving me a second to catch my breath. I’ve been hanging from a chain hooked to the ceiling for so long that I can’t feel my arms anymore. Probably a blessing in disguise, since every other part of my body feels like it’s been ripped, shredded, and lit on fire.
I’m going to die here. I’ve made peace with that fact. Ambrose made sure I heard every word of his conversation with Quinn, made sure I understood that the only reason he’s keeping me alive is because I’m still useful to him.
But once he gets what he wants? I’m dead.
I’d almost welcome death at this point, if it wasn’t for what I’d be giving up.
Quinn.
Nico.
Killian.
They’re still out there. They still need me. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they’re planning something right now to get me the fuck out of here.
I just hope they don’t do anything stupid—like getting themselves killed in the process.
Ambrose returns, this time with a bucket of water. My heart rate spikes, and I know what’s coming next.
I brace myself, my muscles tensing involuntarily until the cold water hits me like a slap, shocking my system and making me gasp. It’s a cruel break from the heat of the electricity, but I know it isn’t an act of kindness or mercy. I’ve been down here long enough to know what’s coming next.
Sure enough, Ambrose presses the electrodes against my wet skin, and my whole world explodes all over again. I can’t help the scream that tears from my throat, my body convulsing as the current rips through me.
It’s been this same, familiar routine since those mercenaries dragged me down here. My memory is hazy, clouded by pain and the fog of unconsciousness, but a few things still stand out. I vaguely recall hands on me, doing something to the gunshot wound in my back. Stitching me up, maybe?
The fucker needs me alive, after all.
The electricity stops, leaving me panting and trembling. My chest aches with every breath, a stabbing pain that blends in with the lingering burn from the electrodes.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus. I can’t let Ambrose break me. I can make it through this. How many times have I endured worse, somehow surviving when everyone else had already written me off as dead?
The memories of past fights and abuse replay through my mind, giving me something to hold on to. If I survived then, I can survive now.
I have to calm the fuck down though. My whole body is slick with sweat, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples. I close my eyes, trying to slow my breathing, trying to calm the frantic beating in my chest. I’m not sure it’s working, but I have to keep trying. I need to conserve my strength, to stay alert.
Because Quinn and my brothers are coming for me. They have to be. And when they do, I need to be ready.
My voice is hoarse from screaming, but I still manage to rasp out, “You’re sick, you know that? This ain’t even about Quinn anymore. You’re just getting off on this shit.”
Ambrose’s lips curl into a smile that sends a chill down my spine. It’s cruel, twisted—the kind of smile that belongs on a predator who has finally cornered its prey.
“Observant, aren’t you?” He chuckles, circling me like a shark. “You’re right. This isn’t about Quinn. Not completely.”
He pauses, running a finger along the electrodes. The casual gesture makes my stomach churn.
“You know, I learned a lot in prison. Survival skills, mostly. But the most valuable lesson?” His eyes lock with mine, cold and calculating. “How to inflict pain. How to break a man.”
I try to sneer, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “Congratulations. Do they hand out awards for that in the yard? Got a plaque somewhere?”
He ignores my sarcasm. “It’s an art form, really. And it came in quite handy with poor Uncle Casey.”
The mention of Quinn’s uncle makes me stop and pay attention. Even through the pain and the rage and the brain fog from being beaten and shot and electrocuted within an inch of my life, I know enough to shut the fuck up when I’m being told something important.
“Casey was… resistant at first,” Ambrose continues in that casual, maddening tone, as if we’re discussing the weather. “Impressively resistant. But everyone has a breaking point. I found his.”
He leans in close. “He told me everything about the Dark Lotus Syndicate. About the marker they gave Quinn’s father.”
I clench my jaw as the realization hits me like a freight train.
Casey. Quinn’s uncle. Dead in prison.
We knew Ambrose was his cellmate, but this… this is something else entirely.
One by one, the pieces fall into place. Ambrose didn’t just share a cell with Casey. He tortured him. Broke him. And then…
“You killed him.” It isn’t a question. It’s obvious now, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.
He’s still leaning in close enough that I have to fight the sudden urge to headbutt him. It wouldn’t do any good—I’m too weak to do much damage, but it would probably be satisfying enough to outweigh the inevitable torture that would follow.
Ambrose’s cruel smirk widens. “Figured it out, have you? Took you long enough.”
His confirmation makes me think of Quinn, of how much she loved her uncle. How she’ll react when she finds out the truth. My hands clench into fists, chains rattling as I strain against them.
“You sick fuck,” I spit, my rage on Quinn’s behalf momentarily overriding the pain I’m feeling from head to toe.
He laughs, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Now, now. No need for name-calling. Haven’t you learned by now what happens when you make me angry?”
Before I can say anything else, he adjusts the electrodes against my skin for another round of torture. I’ve had a second to brace for it this time though. I grit my teeth, biting back the scream that threatens to tear free. My body convulses, and all of my muscles seize as electricity courses through me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out again.
The pain is excruciating. It feels like my insides are on fire, like my bones are trying to tear themselves apart. But I hold on, focusing on Quinn, on Nico, on Killian.
On the need to survive this hell.
When it finally stops, I’m left gasping and heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. Sweat is dripping into my eyes, stinging and making my vision blur, but I force myself to look up at him.
I’m almost caught off guard when I see a hint of grudging respect as he stares back at me. “Not bad.” He tilts his head from side to side, like he’s appraising my performance. “Most men would’ve broken by now. I doubt Casey could’ve lasted this long.”
I manage a weak snort, tasting blood at the mention of Quinn’s uncle again. “I’m not most men.”
But even as the words come out, I can feel myself starting to sag against my chains. I’m in rough fucking shape, and I belatedly notice that my body is trembling involuntarily from the aftershocks of the electricity. My vision darkens, and for a moment, I think I might pass out. But then a sharp sting across my face snaps me back to reality.
Ambrose looks at me expectantly, his hand still raised from the slap. “Stay with me now. Can’t have you checking out just yet.”
I blink and look up at the ceiling, trying to focus. As my vision clears, I notice something I hadn’t before. The chain holding me up is attached to a hook on the ceiling, and it looks… loose. If I can just get enough leverage…
“You know,” Ambrose continues, oblivious to my newfound hope, “I need you alive. That’s why I had someone patch up that little chest wound of yours. Couldn’t have you bleeding out before I got what I needed.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, buying time as I test the strength in my arms. “How considerate of you.”
He grins, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. “Oh, I can be very considerate when I want to be. I even made sure they gave you some antibiotics. Infection’s a bitch, you know.”
As he rambles on, I start to slowly, carefully shift my weight. If I can just lift myself up enough…
I wince as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through my body. I need to buy myself some more time if I’m really going to do something about this loose hook.
Good thing my captor seems to be in a talkative mood.
“You know,” I groan, making a show of twisting around and trembling just a little more than I need to in order to fully test this chain, “this is a hell of a lot of trouble to go through. For what? To join some mafia organization?”
I pause, catching my breath. The effort from speaking and moving at the same time is almost too much, but I force myself to continue. “How can that possibly be worth all this?”
Ambrose’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think I’ve struck a nerve. But then his lips curl into that infuriating smirk again.
“Oh, Atlas,” he says, shaking his head like he’s talking to a child. “You really do have more muscles than brains, don’t you? The Dark Lotus Syndicate isn’t just some mafia organization.” His eyes dance in a creepy, power-hungry sort of way for a moment before he schools his features again. “It’s the key to a kind of power that most petty criminals like you only dream about.”
I bristle at being called a petty criminal, but I bite back the smart-ass reply that’s on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I just try to keep him talking for a little while longer.
“Power?” I ask. And yeah, I guess he’s piqued my curiosity, although I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit it out loud. “What kind of power?”
“More than I’ve ever had before. More than your simple mind can comprehend. More than I had even before I was locked up.”
He seems to really be warming to the topic now, and I don’t even have to ask him to continue this time. “Oh, yes. I was on my way to the top in Detroit. Had my fingers in every pie, knew all the right people. I was this close,” he holds up his thumb and forefinger, barely an inch apart, “to running the whole damn city.”
He starts pacing, his agitation clear in every step. “Then I got sent away. One stupid mistake, and everything I’d built came crashing down.” His fists clench at his sides. “By the time I got out, it was all gone. My connections, my influence, everything.”
I can hear the bitterness in his voice, see the way his jaw clenches as he speaks. It’s almost enough to make me feel sorry for the bastard.
Almost.
“But now?” His eyes meet mine, and there’s that manic gleam in them again. “Now I have a chance at something even bigger. The Dark Lotus Syndicate isn’t just about running a city, Atlas. It’s about controlling entire countries from the shadows.”
He leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They have their tendrils in everything. Politics, finance, law enforcement. You name it, they have access at the highest levels. And once I’m in, all that delicious access will literally be at my fingertips.”
It’s hard not to look at him like he’s fucking crazy. I’ve seen men hungry for power before, but this? This is something else entirely. He’s already fully corrupted by just the thought of that kind of power.
He’s the last person who needs to have access to it.
“And all you have to do is torture and kill to get it, right?” I grunt. “Even when the people involved haven’t done shit to you.”
“See? Such a simple, naive mind.” Ambrose just laughs. “Surely you’ve learned this lesson by now, haven’t you? In this world, you either have power or you’re crushed beneath it. I’ve been on both sides, and I know which one I prefer.”
I’ve had about enough of his patronizing bullshit. Not to mention the fact that his speech about power and control makes my fucking skin crawl. Still, I force myself to focus. I need to keep him talking so I can buy myself more time. Even another minute or two could make or break this little plan of mine.
“And Quinn?” I ask. “What do you plan on doing with her after she’s given you what you want?”
“Quinn? I wouldn’t worry too much about her if I were you. She’s just a means to an end. Once she’s given me what I want, well…” He trails off with that fucking condescending smirk, leaving the implications hanging in the air.
My blood boils at the thought of him using her, hurting her. I might be half-dead, but I’ll still happily tear this motherfucker apart limb by limb if I get half a chance. “If you lay a finger on her, I swear?—”
He cuts me off with a snort. “Oh, how touching. You know, it’s almost funny. She said almost the exact same thing about you.” His voice takes on a mocking tone. “‘If you hurt Atlas, I’ll make you regret it.’ It would be sort of adorable if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.”
I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to spit in his face. He continues, seemingly oblivious to my growing anger—or maybe deliberately stoking it.
“You two and your feelings for each other. It’s a weakness, you know. One that I’ve been all too happy to exploit.”
As he speaks, I test the chain one last time. It’s now or never.
“It isn’t weakness, you asshole,” I growl. “It’s strength.”
With that, I summon every ounce of energy I have left. I push off the ground with my feet, using the momentum to lift myself up. The chain slips off the hook with a satisfying clank.
Ambrose’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t have time to react. I throw myself forward, my body slamming into his with all the force I can muster. We both go down hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me.
But I’m not done yet. Even with my hands still chained, I manage to roll on top of him, pinning him to the ground with my weight.
For a moment, it feels like I’ve finally gotten the upper hand. But the victory is short-lived.
“Guards!” he yells, struggling against me. He’s older and not nearly as built as I am, but he’s spent enough time in the pen to hold his own. “Get in here now!”
Before I can do any serious damage, the door bursts open. Two of his mercenaries rush in, and they’re on me in an instant. I try to fight them off, but I’m still chained and weak from the torture. It’s a losing battle from the start.
One of them grabs me by the hair, yanking me off Ambrose. The other delivers a vicious kick to my ribs that leaves me gasping for air. They drag me back to the center of the room, efficiently reattaching the chains to the ceiling hook.
I struggle against their grip, but it’s useless. My brief moment of freedom is over, and I’m right back where I started.
Ambrose staggers to his feet and wipes blood from the spot where my head must have connected with his face. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, are burning with rage. The smug, condescending expression he’s worn through our whole conversation is gone, replaced by a look of pure hatred.
“You’re going to regret that,” he snarls, stepping closer. “I was content to keep you alive, but now?” He shakes his head, his bloodied lips twisting into a cruel smile. “Now I’m really looking forward to killing you, once your slut of a girlfriend gives me what I want.”