Atlas
Dean points a Glock at my father’s head. Connor is already on his feet, literally bringing a knife to a gunfight. Carter, Link, and even Jacob rise with him, ready to jump in.
That’s what my family does—we fight for each other. But this time around, they are not fighting for me. This time, it’s about Summer.
“What loyal friends you have, son! Foolish, but loyal. Ready to protect you at any cost.”
“They are protecting her,” I correct him.
“And why would they do that, if not to cater to your wishes?”
“‘Cause she’s one of us,” Dean roars.
My father’s lips twitch—a tic he’s always had when he’s caught off guard.
“Put the gun down, boy, before you hurt yourself. Or before I off the maniac with the knife here.” He glances down at his lap, indicating a second gun trained on Connor. “It would be a shame. I’ve always liked him.”
“Dean, put it down.” Summer’s voice comes from behind me, shifting my focus back on her.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. She considers the guys family and would never let anyone hurt them.
Still, that gun is our only leverage. I don’t want Connor to get hurt, but I also don’t know how to protect her from that man, who I’m unfortunately related to.
He won’t listen to my pleas. If anything, he’ll take it as a sign of weakness, feeding his twisted belief that killing her will make me stronger.
“Summer!” I warn, but she doesn’t listen.
“No one’s getting hurt because of me. Put the gun down,” she says, and he turns to look at her. “Please!”
Anger bares Dean’s teeth when he lowers the gun, leaving it in front of my father. Seems I’m not the only one she can command with a single word.
The way my father glares at the guys is a silent order for all of them to get back to their seats, the guns in his possession, leaving them no choice but to comply.
“Stab your right hand!” Mason pins that command on Dean.
My “No” is echoed by the even louder protests of my friends, but our words make no difference when it takes milliseconds for Dean’s palm to be flat against the table, and without a shred of hesitation, the cake knife drives through his hand with enough force to puncture the wood underneath the flesh.
He lets out a quiet grunt like it’s a splinter he has sticking out of his hand, and not a wide-ass blade instead.
All of us freeze at the sight.
Summer squeezes my hand resting on her thigh, hard enough for me to know she’s seconds from jumping over the table and killing Mason with her bare fists. She’s far from the only one.
“You would’ve been dead already if I didn’t like you, too,” Mason says, but what he means is if it wasn’t for your last name. He would kill me, but never the Malik heir.
With a hiss, Dean pulls the knife out and presses a cloth napkin to the wound before sitting down, while Mason’s attention shifts back to me.
“Take the gun,” my father commands, and I reach for the one Dean left on the table. “Not you, son.” He stops me by tapping the muzzle of his own gun over my hand. “Her.”
“Father!” That’s as much of a warning I can give him, without aggravating him further.
“Step aside and let her take the gun. Now!”
“It’s okay.” Summer’s hand lands on my forearm, silently asking me to move aside. It’s my turn to ignore her.
When I don’t move, she pushes me while standing up, and I follow immediately, ready to step in front of her if my father points the gun at my woman.
“You say she’s one of you. Let’s put that theory to the test. You know damn well how I put all of you through it.
” My father points his attention to Dean for a moment, reminding him how he made each and every one of us kill, his sick and twisted version of a sweet sixteen.
Then Mason’s eyes shift back to Summer. “Pick up the gun, girl!”
Summer doesn’t hesitate when taking it, handling the weapon with practiced precision, before letting her hand, along with the gun in it, fall to her side.
“My nephew has been causing trouble for my son’s business. I think for mine, too.” Mason’s deadly smirk is on his face, and I know what comes next before he says it. “Kill him!”
“Wow! Wait! Wait!” Jacob pushes his chair back, shooting up, along with everyone else.
“Back to your seats!” Mason roars, making us freeze. “Everyone but her, or she’s dead, and so are you, nephew. You know I don’t favor quick deaths, and I’ll be especially creative if you don’t get back to your seat.”
“Don’t!” My meek attempt is silenced when Mason shushes me with the barrel of the gun over his mouth.
“Any of you move—she dies.” His belligerent tone is more of a promise than his words are. “I’m not going to let you make her part of the family if she’s not ruthless enough. She either kills him, or I kill her.”
“He’s your nephew,” I try to reason, but reasoning with Mason when it comes to murder is never an option.
Summer lifts the gun, lining it up with Jacob’s head, and my mind snaps into panic, scrambling for a way to stop this, to save them both. I’ve wanted to wring my cousin’s neck more times than I can count these past three years, but I don’t want him dead.
If it comes down to him or her, I’ll let him take the bullet. I’d sacrifice the whole fucking world—myself included—if it keeps her safe. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to find a way out that spares them both.
I don’t want his blood on her conscience. And honestly? I don’t think Summer has it in her to kill an innocent.
“Sis . . .” Carter starts, but his words die there.
Her gaze doesn’t waver. Her hand doesn’t tremble.
“Aren’t you scared, girl? Do you think I’m bluffing?” Mason asks.
She looks back at him, weapon still trained on her target.
“Are you hot, Mason? You’re sweating.”
The non sequitur comes from her in a tone so eerily calm it could’ve been her offering another slice of cake with an unhealthy pinch of defiance sprinkled on top.
My father’s gun goes from resting at the table position, back at her head, and I try to stand in front of her in an instant.
“You move, she dies,” he reminds me, riveting me to my spot, helplessness burning through me. “Are. You. Scared?”
“I’ve been dead once for a whole minute, and faced death like this less than a year and a half ago,” Summer says, then turns to look at my father, the gun still pointed at Jacob.
“You’d think death and I are old acquaintances, and I shouldn’t fear it, but the thing is, you can’t get used to it, especially when you have someone to live for.
So yes, I’m scared. I’d be a fool not to be.
The sole purpose of fear is to keep us alert. Aren’t you scared of death, Mason?”
“I’m not the one with a gun pointed at my head.” My father smiling like this is never a good sign. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen beauty like yours, so I don’t want to kill you, but it’s either you or him. Be a good girl and pull the trigger, or I’ll pull mine.”
That twisted incentive makes Summer look back at Jacob.
“Summer,” Jacob begs.
I break.
I can’t let him die. And I won’t let her carry that burden of this death either.