30. Atlas
30
ATLAS
I’m in my bedroom cleaning my gun when I hear the familiar pattern of knocks at the front door. Three distinct, two quick.
That’s Quinn’s code.
My heart rate spikes, and I set the weapon down to reach for my shirt. Before I can even get it over my head, I hear Killian’s heavy footsteps moving through the living room toward the entrance.
The door creaks open, and there’s a moment of silence. Then Killian’s voice, soft and surprised in a way I rarely hear it.
“Fuck.”
I tense, pulling my shirt down and moving toward the hallway. We’re all on edge these days, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Malcolm to figure out we’re still seeing Quinn and burst through the door with his men.
But as I round the corner, what I see isn’t trouble. It’s Killian hauling Quinn against his chest, his mouth crushing against hers like he’s a dying man and she’s his last breath. Something in my chest loosens at the sight of her safe, here, with us where she belongs.
My relief is cut with a twinge of jealousy. Not because she’s kissing Killian—that’s never bothered me—but because he got to her first. It’s only been a day since I last touched her, but I’m fucking greedy and she’s addictive as hell.
Killian pulls her inside, and I frown as I see her hand him something small and fuzzy. What the hell? My eyes widen as I realize it’s the cat—Princess, or whatever the fuck Killian insists on calling it. The one we left behind when everything went to shit.
I stare as Killian cradles the animal to his chest, his expression softening in a way that would shock anyone who has ever been on his bad side. He murmurs soft words I can’t quite catch as he scratches the cat under its chin.
“Fucking Christ,” I say, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “A man who would put a knife through another man’s heart without a second thought, and he turns into a goddamn marshmallow for a ten-pound ball of fur.”
Killian looks up and immediately schools his features back into the usual unreadable mask, but his hands seem to still be extra-gentle with the cat. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Clearly,” I smirk. “Or you might have held back on the baby talk.”
“I wasn’t—” he starts, then shakes his head, giving me a deadpan look. “You know what? Animals deserve that kind of talk. They aren’t shitty, like people tend to be. They deserve better.”
I shrug because I can’t really argue with that. After the shit I’ve seen people do to each other—along with all the shit I’ve done myself—it’s hard to disagree.
Quinn smiles as she looks back and forth between the two of us. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” I echo. “Killian Graves, world-renowned for his ability to make grown men piss themselves with a single look, and you’re calling him sweet?”
“Careful,” Killian warns, but there’s no real threat in his voice.
It’s a good thing, because I’m enjoying this way too much to stop now. “Has anyone ever called you sweet before?”
Killian flips me off, but there’s the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, fuck off.”
Quinn rolls her eyes at me, then leans in to press another kiss to Killian’s lips. “You’re both sweet in different ways, and I missed you both,” she says when they finally break apart. “All three of you.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” I say, pushing off the wall. “By my count, Killian has had at least three kisses from you—not to mention however many from the cat. It seems like you might have a favorite after all.”
I’m teasing both of them now, but the fact remains that I want a fucking kiss.
Her eyes find mine, and the heat in them makes my blood run hot. “Never.”
That’s all the invitation I need. I cross the room in three long strides and pull her out of Killian’s arms, spinning her to face me. My hand cups the back of her neck, and my fingers tangle in her teal hair as I crush my mouth to hers.
Her lips part instantly under mine, and I kiss her hard and deep, pouring all the fear and longing I felt while we were apart into it. I’ve never been good with words, never known how to say all the shit that builds up inside me, but I can show her with my hands, my mouth, and my body.
“Some of us are trying to have a fucking moment with our cat here,” Killian grumbles.
I break the kiss with a grin, keeping Quinn close against me. “Your cat will survive the trauma of watching.”
Heavy footsteps approach from the kitchen, and Nico appears in the doorway with a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He freezes when he sees Quinn, and something flashes in his eyes—relief, hunger, and love all at once.
“Mia cara.”
She steps out of my arms and moves to him, and I watch as he sets his beer aside and pulls her in close, his kiss gentler than mine but no less desperate. His hand cradles her face like she’s something precious, something he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch.
“Well, don’t let us interrupt your little reunion,” Killian says dryly, carrying Princess toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get this poor neglected animal some food.”
Quinn breaks away from Nico with a soft laugh. “She hasn’t been neglected,” she calls after Killian. “She’s been with Imogen.”
“Because Imogen is the warmest, most nurturing soul I’ve ever met,” Killian deadpans over his shoulder.
“Almost as warm and fuzzy as you,” I shoot back.
We follow him into the kitchen where he’s already rooting through the fridge, pulling out what looks like a package of deli meat. He tears off a small piece of turkey and offers it to the cat, who delicately takes it from his fingers.
“You’re really going to share our food with it?” Nico asks, raising an eyebrow.
“She’s probably been eating fucking cat food at Imogen’s,” Killian says, as if that explains everything. “She deserves better.”
“We’ll get her some proper food,” Quinn promises, leaning against the counter. She’s watching all of us with a small smile playing at her lips, and there’s something different about her today. A spark in her eyes that’s been missing for way too fucking long.
I study her for a moment, trying to figure out what’s changed. “You’re in a good mood. What’s going on?”
Her smile widens. “I’m making progress.”
“What kind of progress?” Nico asks, instantly alert.
Quinn glances toward the door, an old habit from years of being cautious. Even here, in what should be a safe place, she checks. We all do.
“I’m starting to turn Imogen against Malcolm,” she says, her voice low but excited. “She’s going to help me.”
“Help you how?” I ask, not bothering to hide my skepticism. I’ve learned not to trust anyone outside our tight circle, especially not someone who literally stabbed Quinn not so long ago.
She spends the next few minutes filling us in on her conversation with Imogen—how she learned about Imogen’s sister, how Malcolm manipulated her, and how Quinn planted the seed that Malcolm might have set up the whole situation.
“She thinks we can turn the other Syndicate members too,” Quinn says. “One by one, starting with Cassandra.”
“And you believe her?” Nico asks, voicing the doubt we’re all feeling. “You trust that she’s not just gathering intel to report back to Malcolm?”
Quinn hesitates. “I don’t trust her completely. But I think her hatred for Malcolm is real. You should have heard her voice when she talked about her sister, about how Malcolm showed up with his offer right after she died. There was real pain there. Real resentment.”
“Pain can be faked,” Killian points out, still feeding small bits of meat to Princess. “Manipulation is Malcolm’s specialty. Maybe Imogen learned from the master.”
“I don’t think so,” Quinn insists. “This felt genuine. And it makes sense—if Malcolm has been using this blood debt system to manipulate all of them, to build his little empire of powerful criminals who owe him… why wouldn’t they resent him for it?”
I exchange a look with Nico, who seems to be considering it.
“If she’s really on board,” he says slowly, “this could actually work. Imogen has connections and resources. She could help recruit the others.”
“Exactly,” Quinn says. “She already has a relationship with Cassandra. She thinks she can bring her over to our side.”
“And then what?” I ask. “Say you manage to turn all of these Syndicate members against Malcolm. What’s the endgame?”
Quinn’s expression hardens, a cold light entering her eyes. “We take him down. Permanently.”
“You mean kill him,” Killian clarifies, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “He dies. And we make sure everyone knows it was the Syndicate that did it—that his own people turned on him.”
“That sends a message,” Nico nods approvingly. “It destabilizes the power structure he built.”
“And it keeps us off the radar,” I add, starting to see the logic. “If it looks like internal Syndicate business, no one comes looking for outsiders to blame.”
“It’s smart,” Killian admits. “But it hinges entirely on these people actually hating Malcolm enough to turn on him. You’re sure about that?”
Quinn’s face is set with determination. “No one in that room genuinely likes Malcolm. They fear him, they respect his power, but they don’t like him. And fear only gets you so far.” She takes a deep breath. “Imogen said it herself—the members of the Syndicate are survivors first. If they think Malcolm is going down, they’ll abandon him to save themselves.”
“Let’s hope they’re as predictable as Imogen thinks,” I say.
Quinn’s eyes meet mine, and I see a flash of the old Quinn there—the fierce leader who took over Enigma after her father died and kept it running through sheer force of will.
“They are,” she says with quiet certainty. “And even if they’re not, I’ll find another way. I’m not staying Malcolm’s wife for one day longer than necessary.”
I reach out and pull her to me, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Damn right you’re not,” I mutter against her hair. “You’re ours. And we’re taking you back.”
There’s a moment of quiet as we all take in what this plan against Malcolm could mean—freedom for Quinn, revenge for us, maybe even a chance at something like a normal life. But I can see there’s more she’s not telling us. Something’s weighing on her.
“What is it?” I ask.
She hesitates, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “I had to go back to him after the last time I was here,” she says finally. “I had to sleep in his bed.”
I feel my muscles lock up, and beside me, Nico and Killian go equally still.
“Nothing happened,” she adds quickly as her eyes dart between us. “I made sure of that. But… he won’t wait forever.”
Her voice cracks slightly on the last word, and it takes everything in me not to put my fist through the nearest wall.
“He’s fucking creepy,” she continues, wrapping her arms around herself. “The way he looks at me and talks about my mother. I don’t understand why he’s so obsessed.”
I reach for her, but she straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “I’m okay,” she insists. “I can handle it. I only have to wait a little longer until we can spring the trap on him.”
Her voice is steady, but I notice the goosebumps that scatter across her skin and the slight tremor in her hands that she tries to hide. She’s putting on a brave face, and it makes me want to tear Malcolm Mercer apart with my bare hands.
“You shouldn’t have to handle it at all,” Nico grumbles.
“What choice do I have? If I try to run, he’ll hunt us all down. This is the only way.”
Killian sets Princess down gently and moves toward Quinn. “We could end this tonight,” he says. “One bullet. Problem solved.”
She shakes her head. “And then what? The entire Syndicate would come after us. This way, we take out Malcolm and neutralize the Syndicate threat in one move.”
“She’s right,” I admit reluctantly. “Doesn’t mean we have to fucking like it though.”
I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing right now—imagining that bastard putting his hands on Quinn and forcing her into his bed. I need to change the subject before one of us snaps and does something stupid.
Then I remember the surprise we have in store for her.
“We have something that might take your mind off all this for a while,” I say.
Quinn looks up and flashes me a curious look. “You do?”
“Yep. Come on.” I jerk my head toward the back door. “We want to show you something.”
She follows us through the kitchen and out the back door of the house. The small yard is mostly dirt and gravel, surrounded by a chain-link fence, but what’s parked there makes it look like fucking paradise to me.
Four motorcycles are sitting there gleaming under the security light—three massive, powerful machines and one slightly smaller sport bike with custom teal accents that match Quinn’s hair.
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit.”
“Kendrick came through,” Nico explains, running his hand over the sleek black tank of his bike. “Called in some favors with an old connection through Carnage. We’re rebuilding, piece by piece.”
“And you got one for me,” she says, moving toward the teal motorcycle like she’s in a trance.
“It’s not your old one,” Killian says. “But it should handle similarly.”
Quinn circles the bike, her fingers trailing over the handlebars, the seat, the polished chrome. I can’t take my eyes off her face—the pure joy there makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t explain.
“You like it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She turns to us, a wild grin spreading across her face. “I fucking love it. Can we ride?”
As excited as she is, there’s no way I could deny her anything in the fucking world if she asked for it. But that’s one of the reasons I’m not the leader here.
We turn to Nico, and I can tell he wants to give in too. Still, he hesitates. “It’s risky.”
“We’ve got helmets,” I point out, nodding to the gear hanging on hooks by the back door. “Full face, with visors. No one would recognize us.”
“And we can stay off the main roads,” Killian adds. “We should be able to avoid the traffic cameras that way.”
Quinn looks between us all, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Please?” she asks. “I need this.”
And fuck, how can any of us say no to that?
Five minutes later, we’re suited up and rolling out, taking the back alley that leads away from the main streets. Quinn rides like she was born to do it, her body seemingly fused to the bike beneath her. Between the confidence in her posture and the easy way she handles the machine, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop staring.
We wind our way through mostly empty industrial areas, heading out of the city and onto the back roads where the chances of being spotted are slim to none.
Beside me, Quinn opens the throttle and pulls ahead with a burst of speed. I grin inside my helmet and chase after her, with Nico and Killian close behind. For a few precious minutes, there’s nothing but the four of us, the open road, and the kind of freedom we haven’t felt in a long fucking time.
The farther we get from the city, the more a crazy idea takes hold in my mind. What if we just kept going? What if we rode straight through the night, crossed state lines, and disappeared somewhere Malcolm and his goons would never find us?
Part of me—the part that’s tired of being separated—wants to suggest it. To convince Quinn to run away with us, no matter what the fucking consequences might be.
But I know she’d never go for it. I don’t call her vicious for being a runner. She’s a fucking fighter, and she always will be. I know in my gut that she’s going to stay and face this head-on, take Malcolm down, and reclaim her life on her terms.
And goddamn if that doesn’t make me love her even more.
I glance over at her as we cruise side by side down an empty stretch of road. Even with her face hidden behind the helmet’s visor, I can sense her happiness and determination.
The sight of her on that bike, powerful and in control, sends a jolt of heat straight through my veins. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her—not just physically, but all of her. Her strength, her fire, her courage in the face of impossible odds.
I guide my bike closer to hers, until we’re riding nearly handlebar to handlebar. She turns her head slightly toward me, and I reach out, letting my hand rest briefly on her thigh.
She stiffens in surprise but doesn’t pull away. I slide my hand higher, until I can feel the heat of her pussy radiating through her jeans.
With one eye on the road and one hand on my handlebars, I let my other hand start to explore—rubbing and massaging her inner thigh, working my way higher and higher.
I glance over and see her chest rising and falling faster as she sucks in a deep breath and lets her thighs fall open. She gives a small nod inside her helmet.
Go ahead.
I press harder, teasing her clit through her jeans and making her rock her hips against the seat. Between my hand and the vibrations beneath her, I know I can make her come in a matter of minutes if I want to. Maybe only seconds.
My cock is getting painfully hard inside my jeans, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to pull the bike over right here and lay her out in the dirt to fuck her like we both need.
That’ll have to wait, though, because Killian is pulling up on the other side of her to join the party. He reaches out, his hand finding her breast and squeezing hard enough to make her buck against my hand again.
I can’t hear her moaning, but I know she is, and that’s enough to send another bolt of heat straight to my dick.
Killian leans in closer, his fingers pinching and tugging at her nipple through her clothes while I work her clit. Yeah, she’s really fucking close to coming now. I can tell by the way her body goes rigid, the way her thighs tense.
We ride on, our hands stroking and caressing her through her clothes, working her over until her back arches and I know it’s time.
I wish I could hear her, but the feeling of her body tensing under our hands is enough. I ride the line of her orgasm, keeping her there as long as I can until her body tenses and shudders, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
I signal for us to stop, and all four of us pull over in a spray of gravel. We’re spread across half this back road, but I don’t fucking care. We haven’t seen another car for miles, and if we do now?
They can sit back and enjoy the free show.
I swing my leg off my bike and put the kickstand down, barely giving Quinn time to do the same before I pull her close. The second our helmets are off, my mouth is crashing against hers, kissing her long and hard and deep as Nico and Killian watch from a few feet away.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” I growl between kisses. “I can’t even tell you how bad I wanna bend you over this bike and fuck you right here, right now.”
“Oh, fuck, Atlas,” she moans as I squeeze her perfect ass through her jeans with both hands. “I want that too. I wanted it that night I came to the party at the club house when you told me to go home or you’d fuck me over my bike. Do you remember?”
“Fuck, how could I forget? I think about that night all the time.”
She pulls back just far enough to look into my eyes, then smiles up at me in a way that makes my cock throb hard against her belly. “Then do it now.”