Chapter 28
28
ATLAS
T he storm was close enough to taste.
It gnawed at the edges of my senses—bitter salt on my tongue, a dull ache in my molars, pressure coiling tight behind my eyes. Hurricane Arden hadn’t hit land yet, but its jaws were wide, snarling, the air thick and wet like it wanted to rip something raw. My skin prickled under its weight, every nerve awake, every muscle primed.
So was I.
I stood on the sagging back porch of the Johns Island cottage, boots sinking into damp wood, the mist curling around me like smoke. This safe house was a forgotten splinter of Charleston, tucked into an old fishing quarter where the gentrification stopped at Wi-Fi and left the bones alone. Tin roof. Brick chimney. One bedroom. Barely a shadow on the map.
Not the shack on Green Island. That one was buried in marshland, good for vanishing. This one was different—closer to town, easier to reach. My brothers knew about it. We’d used it once before, years ago, when a mission went sideways and we needed someplace quiet to bleed and regroup.
It was enough.
Enough for me. Enough for her.
Ryker’s SUV carved through the dark, tires hissing on the wet pavement as it rounded the narrow road and shuddered to a stop. Through the windshield, I saw Anna—her silhouette sharp, her hand pressed to the glass, eyes hunting me down before the engine even quit growling. She needed me alive, needed to see it for herself.
I needed it more.
I stepped off the porch, coat snapping in the wind like a flag of war. Ryker’s gaze locked with mine through the glass. A single nod. No words. My brother knew me better than most—knew what this moment was, what it cost.
Anna didn’t wait. The door flew open mid-brake, and she was out, running, her shoes slipping on the slick path. I met her halfway, caught her hard against my chest, arms locking around her like I could weld her into me. Her heat bled through my shirt, her breath fast against my throat.
“You’re here,” she whispered, voice trembling but fierce.
“I’m here,” I said, low and rough. I didn’t tell her it might not be for long.
The SUV’s engine roared behind us, tires spitting water as Ryker peeled back into the gray, leaving us alone with the storm’s rising howl. I dragged her inside, one hand on her waist, the other slamming the door shut. The sound cracked through the cottage, sealing out the wind’s teeth. Inside, it was dim—shadows pooling in the corners, air thick with quiet. Safe, for now.
Anna turned to me, rain glistening in her hair, eyes searching mine like she could pull answers from the silence. “You’re okay?”
“For now.”
“What’s going to happen?”
I measured it. Weighed the truth against the time we had. “I know who’s behind it.”
Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. “The threats?”
“Yes.”
“Your brothers—do they know?”
“No. Not yet. I need proof. I’m close. I’m—” I stopped, jaw tight. “I just needed to see you first.”
A beat stretched between us, heavy as the air outside.
“Before what?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Before everything burns.
“I’m going out tonight,” I said instead. “When the storm peaks. It’s the only way.”
Her fingers dug into my chest, nails catching on the fabric. “So this is goodbye.”
“No.” I caught her face between my hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, holding her gaze. “Not goodbye. Not unless I fail.”
Her eyes shimmered—green and wild, like the sea before it breaks—but she didn’t cry. Not Anna. She looked at me like I was her world, her anchor, her war. And maybe I was. Soon, I’d damn well make sure of it.
“How much time do we have?” she asked, voice steady now, daring me to answer.
I didn’t.
I kissed her instead.
It started slow—lips brushing hers, tasting rain and salt, a flicker of something soft like memory. But that wasn’t us. Not today. Not with the storm clawing at the walls and the blood pounding in my veins.
I shoved her back against the cottage wall, the wood creaking under the impact. My mouth claimed hers, hard and open, tongue sliding deep, tasting her hunger as it matched mine. One hand fisted in her wet hair, tilting her head back; the other gripped her thigh, hitching it up against my hip. Her moan hit me like a fist to the chest—raw, desperate, mine.
I lifted her, hands under her ass, and she wrapped around me like she’d been carved to fit. Legs locked behind my back, hips grinding into mine, chasing friction like it was oxygen. Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and I growled into her mouth, carrying her down the narrow hall without breaking the kiss. The bedroom door banged open, stormlight bleeding through the window in jagged blue-gray streaks.
I set her down on the warped floorboards, her chest heaving, eyes locked on me. “Don’t be gentle,” she said, voice like a blade.
I smirked against her lips. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
She stripped fast—sweatshirt yanked over her head, leggings peeled off, bra and panties hitting the ground in a damp heap. She stood there, bare and unyielding, skin flushed, nipples tight, every curve a challenge I’d already memorized. No shame. No hesitation. Just a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.
I dropped to my knees.
Her breath hitched. “Atlas?—”
I didn’t let her finish. My hands clamped onto her thighs, fingers digging in deep enough to leave marks, and I shoved her back until her ass hit the edge of the bed. She caught herself on her elbows, legs falling open—wide, wanton, a fucking offering. I dragged her hips to the brink of the mattress, spread her wider with my shoulders, and buried my face between her thighs.
She tasted like sin and salvation—slick, hot, pulsing under my tongue. I didn’t tease. I devoured. Licked her open with long, brutal strokes, sucked her clit between my teeth until she bucked, then bit down just enough to make her scream. Her hands flew—one fisting the sheets, the other clawing into my scalp, nails raking fire across my skin. I growled against her, the vibration making her hips jerk, and drove two fingers into her, deep and unrelenting. I curled them hard, hitting that spot inside her that made her sob, and pumped them in time with the storm’s rising rhythm outside.
She shattered fast—too fast—her thighs clamping around my head, her cry breaking into my name as she came apart. Her hips rolled against my mouth, smearing her release across my beard, marking me as hers. I didn’t stop. I licked her through it, slower now, drawing out every shudder until she was whimpering, oversensitive, and wrecked.
When I stood, her eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, but she wasn’t done. Not even close. She reached for me, hands trembling but sure, and rasped, “Your turn.”
I ripped my shirt off, fabric hitting the floor in a crumpled heap. Her palms were on my chest before I could blink—hot, greedy, sliding over muscle, nails scraping down to my abs. She shoved me back onto the bed, straddling me like a predator, her wet heat grinding against the bulge in my jeans. She bit my jaw, sharp and possessive, then dragged her tongue down my throat, tasting salt and sweat. Her hips rocked harder, teasing my cock through the denim until I was throbbing, half-mad with need.
I snapped. Grabbed her hips, flipped her under me in one brutal motion, and pinned her to the mattress. Her wrists were above her head before she could fight it, trapped in one of my hands, her body arching up like she was begging to be broken.
“You want to be ruined?” I growled, voice rough as gravel.
She nodded, lips parted, breath ragged. “Yes.”
“Hold still.”
I unzipped my jeans with my free hand, peeling them off along with my boots, and freed my cock—thick, heavy, already leaking for her. I didn’t ease in. I drove into her in one savage thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She arched like she’d been struck by lightning, a sob tearing from her throat, her walls clenching around me so tight it hurt. Her eyes locked on mine—wild, desperate, alive—and I set a pace that was pure violence.
Hips snapped into hers, skin slapping skin, the headboard slamming into the wall with every thrust. The storm outside roared louder, rain clawing the windows, wind rattling the roof like it wanted in. I fucked her through it—hard, relentless, each stroke a claim. She came again, fast and brutal, her scream muffled against my shoulder as her nails raked bloody trails down my back. I didn’t slow. Couldn’t. She came a third time, legs shaking, voice breaking, and still I kept going, chasing the edge of something primal.
I pulled out, flipped her onto her knees, and yanked her hips back against me. Her ass pressed into my groin, perfect and trembling, and I slammed into her from behind, deeper than before. She screamed my name into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets, and I gripped her hips so hard my knuckles whitened, bruising her flesh as I pounded into her. The angle was merciless—every thrust hit that spot inside her, and her moans turned to pleas, incoherent and raw.
I leaned over her, chest to her back, one hand sliding around to grip her throat—not choking, just holding, owning. My beard scraped her shoulder as I bit down, teeth sinking into her skin, marking her as mine. She shuddered under me, another orgasm ripping through her, her pussy pulsing around my cock like it was trying to pull me deeper. I lost it then—growled against her flesh, hips stuttering as I came, spilling into her with a force that left me shaking, her name a chant in my skull.
We collapsed, a tangle of sweat and breath, the storm howling louder now, rain lashing the cottage like it wanted to tear it apart. Anna turned to me, skin glowing, lips swollen red from my teeth. I brushed a damp strand of hair from her temple, my thumb lingering on her cheek.
She studied me, chest still heaving. “What?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Then: “Why now?” she asked, voice soft but piercing.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You asked for me. Brought me here. Not just for this.” She gestured vaguely to our wrecked bodies, the sheets twisted beneath us. “Not just for some goodbye you won’t admit to.”
I stayed silent, letting her words settle.
She rolled to her side, propping herself on an elbow, her gaze unrelenting. “Atlas …” she whispered. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I stared at the ceiling, shadows dancing across the cracked plaster as the storm raged. Then I turned to her, meeting her eyes.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“It matters.”
“I know.”
I drew a slow breath, steadying the chaos in my chest. “What’s your parents’ connection to the U.S. government? Maybe even the CIA?”
Her eyes widened, green and sharp, a flicker of something—shock, fear, recognition—flashing through them.
The storm howled louder, wind slamming the walls.
And the silence between us split open like thunder.