Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
MICHAEL
I was in the middle of a deep slumber when the shrill cry of my ringtone reverberated through the stillness of my bedroom. With a groan, I aimlessly reached for my bedside table and fumbled for my mobile.
As I slowly opened my eyes, the harsh glare of the screen made me squint. Who was calling me at this ungodly hour? I wasn’t starting my new position as the lead consultant at Amanar until tomorrow so no one else would call me at this time unless…
The moment I saw that the call was from a blocked caller, I jolted upright in bed, clearing my throat before swiping to answer.
“ Neh abeonim ? 1 . ”
“255 Hackney Rd,” my father said in greeting before abruptly ending the call.
I loathed these phone calls. It had been months since the last one, but I knew it was only a matter of when not if before I’d be summoned again. A flicker of my rebellious old self resurfaced for a moment and entertained the idea of ignoring the order, but I knew better than to go against my father, let alone the House.
As an Atlas, the House expected three things from you. Ascend. Obey orders given by your elders. And finally, keep your mouth shut.
With a resigned sigh, I got out of bed, headed for the en suite bathroom and took a brisk cold shower to shake off the drowsiness. I had no idea of the extent of the injuries I’d have to deal with so I’d need all the help I could get.
I quickly donned a pair of trousers and a black dress shirt before retrieving the bag I always kept at the ready for calls like these from the back of my closet. Then, after grabbing a coat since the temperatures in London had been drastically cold, I headed toward the lift at the end of the long hallway.
Taking the private lift to my designated underground parking level that each penthouse in the building I lived in came with, I pulled my phone out to check the time—it was 1:30 a.m. Once the doors slid open, I pocketed my phone and strode over to the side wall where different sets of keys hung in a glass compartment.
I wasn’t one to flaunt my wealth, and rarely splurged, but cars were the one thing I indulged in. Particularly old classics. My collection included some of the rarest models, but tonight wasn’t the time for showing them off. I tapped in the code to unlock the compartment and grabbed the keys to the least conspicuous vehicle I owned. Stepping into the dimly lit room, the scent of polished metal and leather clung in the air as I walked to the other end.
The overhead lights glinted off the sleek lines of my black motorcycle. I rarely used it anymore, but out of all the vehicles I owned, Levi was my favorite. Yes, I’d given him a name. Attack on Titan was one of my favorite manga series and the name seemed fitting.
The roar of the engine hummed to life as I inserted the key and turned the ignition. After strapping the bag to my back, I entered the address my father had given me into the navigation system and made my way out.
The streets were eerily quiet at this hour, the crisp night air wrapping over my body as I sped through the streets of London. I drove as fast as I could, but still kept it within the speed limits to avoid being caught. Last thing I needed was to explain to the authorities where I was going and arrive late to wherever my father was waiting for me.
Veering slightly to the left, I finally merged onto the main road and made my way down Hackney. As I approached the address, I parked a few streets away, not wanting to draw attention. I climbed off my motorcycle and stored my helmet under the seat before heading toward the place.
I’d never been to this area before. Locations changed with every call and given the House owned a significantly large part of the country, it wasn’t difficult for them to remain discreet and have access to countless warehouses for their various needs.
The neighborhood was relatively quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of a few late-night citizens. Just as I neared the building, my phone suddenly buzzed with an incoming call. Assuming it was my father, I answered without glancing at my screen.
“I’m a minute away,” I informed him in Korean.
Instead of the expected stern reprimand, loud music blared from the other end. Amar’s laugh filtered through the line before he quipped, “I hate to disappoint, but it’s just me.”
I raised a brow, surprised to hear from him. “You realize it’s nearly two in the morning.”
Amar Belkacem was the second oldest Atlas and the most annoying person I’d ever had the misfortune of having in my life. I loved him like a brother, but he always had an uncanny knack for bothering me at the most inopportune moments.
“Relax, grandpa,” he teased as I heard the sound of a door slamming shut before the music grew slightly more dull. “It’s the New Year, you too should be out celebrating.”
“As much as I’d love to indulge you, I just got a call.”
“Another late-night booty call,” he chuckled.
I arrived at the designated building and glanced around to see if anyone had followed me. If I took any longer, my father would berate me until my ears bled. “Listen, unless this is for an emergency, I need to go before my head ends up delivered on a platter for you and your next in line.”
Just as I was about to end the call, his tone shifted, taking on a more serious note. “I might need a favor.”
“For heaven’s sake, what have you done this time?” I asked with a heavy sigh.
Amar had a talent for landing himself in trouble. We all had strict rules to abide by and although he’d never technically broken any, he seemed to find it exhilarating to toe the line with every single one of them. He acted like this was all a game for his sole entertainment. I couldn't even begin to count the number of times I’d had to get him out of situations that would have had him terminated if any of the Elders found out.
The fact that he was still alive was truly a miracle.
He clucked his tongue. “Why do you always think I’ve done something?”
“Amar, stop wasting my time,” I replied sharply.
“Fine. I need a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“What the hell do you need that kind of money for?” I asked, running a hand over my face. The sum didn’t faze me, it was just money and we all had it in abundance. But I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to require that much so quickly.
“I may or may not be at Thorn and just lost a poker game to Marcus.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the surge of frustration. Everyone in the city knew the club’s reputation and how Marcus Blackthorn, its owner, was notorious for being a complete scam. He always cheated and wouldn’t let you leave the premises until you settled your debts.
“Amar,” I warned.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware. Little Marcus is the bad, bad wolf. But the wanker deserved a lesson. I was winning until he began accusing me of cheating. Me. Of cheating. Can you believe this arsehole? He?—”
“Amar, get to the point,” I interrupted, knowing I’d be here all night listening to him ramble on about how much he hated the man. You wouldn’t think so with how often Amar frequented Marcus’s establishment.
“Normally, I’d handle it, but if my father sees that much disappearing from the account, he’ll ask questions that he won’t like the answers to and I’d rather not disappoint him more than I already have,” he teased but I noted the slight wavering in his tone that was always there when his father, Nacer, was brought up in conversation.
Amar never openly spoke about his relationship with his parents, but I’d always sensed he’d been hiding something for as long as I’d known him.
“I would resort to more physical means, but we all remember what happened the last time I did. If we have a repeat of last year, he’ll actually have a coronary this time. And as much as I dislike the man, I’d prefer him to be breathing.”
“Why didn’t you ask for Sofiane’s help? He’s the computer whiz.”
Sofiane Ouali was four years my junior, making him the youngest and last Atlas.
He worked as a software engineer at his father’s multi-billion pound hedge fund company, Atlas Capital. He had a knack for computers and could have easily hacked into any account at the bank to wire the money without a trace. We’d done it countless times before to settle scores with anyone who’d crossed us growing up.
“I hope I’m not hurting your feelings when I say you weren’t my first call.”
“Just send me the account number, I’ll deal with it,” I said, not wanting to waste any more time than I already had. “Try to be less reckless next time.”
I hung up before he would respond, knowing he’d likely come up with some ridiculous retort. Almost immediately, my phone pinged with a text message from him.
I wired the money to the account he’d provided, using a foreign account I’d set up for emergencies just like these and that wouldn’t be traced back to any of us. After the first ten times he’d asked for help, I’d learned it was easier to be prepared.
I received another message from him but I ignored it and turned my phone off to avoid any further interruptions. After tucking it into the pocket of my jacket, I pushed open the heavy black iron gate and made my way up the steps to the front door. I knew the property would already be unlocked so I pushed it open.
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me, a sudden heavy silence wrapping around me like a thick fog. The building seemed to be unoccupied and newly acquired by the unmistakable smell of fresh paint lingering in the air. The walls were bare, and painted a stark white. There were a few light fixtures suspended from the ceiling, though none were turned on.
The moonlight streaming from large windows on the left side as well as the large skylight were the only source of light as I moved down the corridor. At the end of it, a grand, looped steel staircase led to what seemed to be a basement.
I leaned over the banister, peering down, and noticed three doors, a sliver of light spilling from beneath one of them. As I headed down the stairs, hushed voices filtered through that same door.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself before facing whoever was on the other side, I pushed it open. The room that greeted me was steeped in shadows, illuminated only by two flickering surgical lights that cast a pale yellow glow over the walls and the three figures standing before me.
Nacer Belkacem. Abdelrahim Ouali. And my father.
Collectively known as the Elders.
They were the previous generation of Atlases and the ones we were bound to honor with our Ascension.
A flicker of dread brushed against my spine but I quickly pushed it away.
Unless it was a societal event they were required to attend to ascertain their power, they were rarely ever all together in the same room. They showed a united front to the world, but unlike Amar, Sofiane and I, they were not friends.
At least, not anymore.
As boys, we’d often eavesdropped on their arguments behind closed doors, each blaming the other for some accident that had happened years ago. We’d been strictly forbidden from prying into the matter or asking any questions about it.
To this day, all we knew was that the very structure of the House had shifted during their generation, because before us, there were four Atlas families.
Until one was banished.
“You’re late,” my father stated, nonchalantly shoving a hand into his pocket. His expression didn’t betray any irritation, but I’d observed him long enough to recognize the simmering anger beneath the surface.
It’s only been seventeen minutes and I live nearly thirty minutes away , I wanted to say but I kept my mouth shut. My father had little tolerance for defiance, especially in front of company. It would suggest that he was incapable of keeping his son in check to the others. I’d already done enough of that in my early twenties to learn my lesson.
Without a word, all three stepped aside, revealing a black operating table with an unconscious man laying on it. White medical restraints bound both his wrists and ankles, while an IV line was attached to his left arm. He was also connected to a monitor, the faint beep of his heart rate filling the room.
The stranger had blood coating almost his entire body that from where I stood, I couldn’t tell where the source of it was.
Amar’s father thrust a file toward me, and I took a step forward, taking it from him. “Fix it, and when you’re finished, send a text message to the number at the back. The rest will be handled,” Belkacem instructed, before they all filed out of the room.
My father brushed past me, whispering in Korean that he expected nothing less than perfection before following after them.
The moment the door clicked shut, the tension in my shoulders dissipated.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment before opening the file and approaching the patient. My eyes scanned over the single sheet of information I had been provided. Thirty-seven year old male with no known allergies and a medical history consisting solely of an appendectomy at the age of twelve.
Most patients brought to me were relatively healthy, though occasionally they’d bring someone with a multitude of complications, expecting me to perform a miracle. I was a God in the operating theater, but I had a skilled team and the latest equipment money could buy.
What I was given here was always the bare minimum. The Elders were lucky I never backed down from a challenge and didn’t deliver anything less than perfection, but that didn’t always prevent losses.
As usual, there were no names or photographs. I glanced at what remained visible of his face. He appeared familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d seen him before.
But it didn’t matter who he was.
I made my way to the small table at the back of the room and placed both the file and my bag upon it. After changing into a pair of disposable scrubs, I secured my hair away from my face with a scrub cap, gathered my personal instruments, and got to work.
The next two and half hours passed in a blur as I operated on the stranger. After my assessment, I’d discovered deep lacerations marred his entire torso along with a ruptured spleen that I’d detected with the portable ultrasound I’d brought with me.
After suturing his wounds and removing the damaged organ, I meticulously closed him up to ensure minimal scarring. Satisfied with my work, I tidied the area, discarding any used material along with my used scrubs into the steel container behind the operating table.
I found a small ensuite bathroom attached to the room I’d operated in, hastily washing my hands before changing back into my clothes. By the time I sent the text message to the number Belkacem had instructed me to and left the building, it was already 5:00 a.m.
I had to be at work in less than three hours and had barely gotten any sleep earlier. Rubbing my eyes from fatigue, I mounted my motorcycle and headed home for a quick shower and an extra hour of rest.
It was nearly 8:00 a.m. when I eventually walked through the doors of the hospital. I’d only been here once in the past, filling in for another surgeon who had fallen ill a few months back.
But everyone knew of Amanar General Hospital. It was the pinnacle of medical excellence, and every aspiring doctor dreamed of working here.
I hadn’t turned down AGH’s offer to train here because I hadn’t wanted to; in fact, it had been quite the opposite. I’d always dreamed of being a surgeon here, but when I’d discovered it was my father’s top choice and he’d expected me to come to the same decision, everything in me rebelled against the idea.
Everything in me at the time rebelled against anything that he wanted.
So, when the time came to accept an offer, I’d chosen the only hospital I knew my father would disapprove of. My decision had been undoubtedly influenced by the satisfaction I felt at vexing my father, but Orion had afforded me the opportunity to carve my own identity away from his shadows and the suffocating feeling of duty I’d felt compelled to when it concerned the House.
For almost a decade, I’d enjoyed that freedom, but unfortunately for me, that time was now coming to an end. I had no idea what my Order would entail and what I’d be expected to perpetrate.
My father hadn’t explicitly influenced my decision in accepting the lead consultant position I’d been offered by AGH—he wasn’t authorized to—but my intuition told me the assignment I’d be given next month before my thirty-second birthday had everything to do with this place.
Amar, Sofiane and I had all been groomed for a specific field, expected to acquire a particular set of skills that would become valuable to the House. Amar had a gift for arts, Sofiane with computers and I, of course, had the brains. But despite knowing our education would potentially serve us to complete our Ascension, none of us knew to what extent.
Or if they would even be relevant.
So albeit reluctantly, I made my way down the large entrance hall, passing by the security office to collect my new credentials. I then climbed the stairs and made my way to the staff lifts on the other side, swiping my badge to access them and heading over to my new medical director’s office.
Adnan Ziani was a renowned vascular surgeon and the current medical director at Amanar General. He’d invented the Ziani method for which he’d received countless awards over the years. Any other doctor in his position would have long retired after years of working, but I’d heard he’d been refusing to do so, stating his love for the job and the desire to stay as long as he’d be capable.
The doors slid open with a soft chime onto the ninth floor, and I stepped out onto the bustling corridor of the surgical ward. Staff was scattered everywhere. Some were typing on computers, while others came in and out of patients' rooms.
A wave of whispers broke from a group of nurses gathered around the nursing station as I walked by, and I aimed a smile toward their curious glances.
I gave them a curt nod in acknowledgment and made my way down the ward toward Ziani’s office. Our meeting was just a formality since he’d already given me the position, but we’d never properly met. We’d exchanged a few emails over the years and I’d finally relented to his last offer.
I rounded the corner and stood in front of his office, his nameplate gleaming on the door, before knocking lightly on it.
“Come in,” a voice from within called out.
I opened the door and stepped into the room to find him grabbing a folder from a filing cabinet and moving toward his desk. “What’s the matter?” he asked without looking up from his papers and running a hand over his black buzzed hair. He wore black trousers with a white dress shirt that were too large on his figure. Like he’d lost weight recently but hadn’t changed his wardrobe.
Stress emanated from his posture, but with his job, it was understandable.
“I believe we ought to meet,” I said playfully, closing the door behind me and planting my most charming smile on my face.
He finally looked up and smiled warmly when recognition settled in. “Mr. Young, we’ve been impatiently waiting for you,” he said, his empty hand outstretched as he walked toward me. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“I hope it’s only good things,” I teased, grabbing his hand in a firm handshake.
“Yes, indeed. Please, take a seat,” he replied, gesturing for me to sit as he settled in his large leather chair. Placing the file he had in hand on his desk, he focused his attention on me as I slipped into the chair in front of him.
“How were your holidays?”
“Good,” I replied. I would have asked him about how his went, but the way he eagerly interjected the moment the word “good” had left my mouth told me he probably didn’t want to discuss it.
“Well, I’m glad to hear,” he said with a little too much enthusiasm. He leaned back in his chair and pushed his black rectangular glasses up with his index finger. “Listen, I won’t bore you with formalities. Your work at Orion was impeccable and I know you’ll emulate the same here.”
I nodded, not feeling the need to add to his statement. I was great at what I did, he’d said it himself.
“I know in our last correspondence I’d said you’d only officially start as of next week so you’d have enough time to get acquainted with the team and the hospital and its policies, but we have an important patient in our private wing,” he explained, sliding a folder across the desk.
I took it, my eyes scanning the patient’s file as I listened to him explain the case.
“The Prime Minister was admitted this morning for an acute aortic dissection. His surgery is scheduled for later this afternoon and we have our best surgeon on the case, but if you’re up for it, we’d love for you to assist.”
I could do this surgery in my sleep, but he wasn’t asking me because of my competence. Any complications on a member of the government would be bad publicity for the hospital. One decent surgeon was good, but having two ensured a better success rate.
I met his gaze and said without hesitation, “Absolutely. I’d rather be spending my day in the theater than spend it reading hospital policies,” I said with amusement in my tone.
“Very well then.” He chuckled, standing from his seat. “Let me give you a tour and then I’ll have you meet the surgical team you’ll be taking charge of.”
I stood, following closely behind him. I opened the door for him but before I could move and gesture for him to go first, a body stumbled against mine.
“Good lord,” I heard muffled against my chest before delicate hands gripped my shirt to regain balance. My hands had already found her waist, my fingers digging into her sides to help.
“Are you alr—” I started saying, but the words died on my tongue as I came face to face with the woman that had been plaguing my mind from the moment I ran into her.
It can’t be.
Her hair was tied up in a bun instead of down in loose curls like the last time I’d seen her at the coffee shop, and she wore green scrubs, a black full-zip fleece jacket over it, instead of a blouse and jeans, but it was her.
The girl from the coffee shop and that day I went for a run in Regent’s Park.
She had the same dark hair, the same full lips with a defined cupid’s bow that made you want to bite it and the same mesmerizing gaze that was currently boring a hole through my face as she glanced up.
The expression that crossed her face was downright murderous when realization sparked in her deep brown eyes.
“ You. ”
1 ? "Yes, father” (Korean)