Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Atlas
The second her voice cracks with my name, I know I’m fucked.
Atlas.
No teasing.
No warmth. Just a raw edge, stripped of everything I don’t want to hear.
Blythe doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t run.
But she steps back, like she’s trying to put distance between us—distance that wasn’t there last night.
Or this morning. Her fingers curl around the handle of the mug she just set down, holding on like it’s the only solid thing in the room.
And I hate it.
She looks at me like she doesn’t want me near her.
All the work I’ve put into this .
. . can I even call it a relationship?
I don’t know, but everything seems to just crumble at once.
I might lose her.
Malerick doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to. He just stands there, waiting.
Watching.
I grit my teeth, exhaling slowly, like I can keep this under control if I don’t react.
But why the fuck did he have to do this now?
Not the time to ask.
Not the time to fight him.
Don’t make this worse than it already is.
I take a slow step forward, hands loose at my sides, careful—because I know if I reach for her now, she might not let me touch her at all.
“Blythe.”
She shakes her head once, quick and firm as if that alone could stop whatever I’m about to say.
“How long?” Her voice is low, too low.
“How long have you known, Atlas?”
I can’t lie to her.
Not now. Not if I want her to trust me.
I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on her.
“Malerick came by last night.”
The slight tremor in her fingers stops.
Then, just as quickly, she squares her shoulders.
I see it coming before she even speaks.
“I should go.”
No.
“Blythe.” My voice is firm but calm.
“You can’t just walk out.”
She lets out a short laugh, but there’s nothing real in it.
“Watch me.”
She turns for the hallway.
I move before she can take more than two steps, stepping in front of her and blocking her path.
“If you leave, he’ll find you right away. He has eyes everywhere, sweetheart.”
Her breath catches—so quick, so quiet, I almost miss it.
But then she lifts her chin, defiant.
“Seems like he already has. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities hand me over.”
A jagged breath tears through my lungs, my pulse hammering.
“Not while I’m here. I’m the one standing between you and a death sentence. I promised to protect you and the baby—and I will.”
Her attention snaps to Malerick, her voice rising.
“He’s going to turn me over to him.”
“No, he won’t,” I say without hesitation.
Malerick nods, mumbling, “I won’t.”
She whips back toward me, her eyes blazing with something hot, something broken.
“You should have told me.”
I rake a hand through my hair, pressing my fingers against my scalp, trying to shove down the frustration clawing up my throat.
“I know, but you were sleeping.”
Her lips part, then press into a tight line.
“Were you even going to tell me?”
Was I?
I was getting there.
I would’ve told her about Sanford, about what he and I talked about.
But was I really going to tell her everything?
That Malerick had confirmed it?
That Winston had taken it even further?
“We had a lot to discuss this morning,” I say because I won’t lie to her.
Not now. I’m not sure if I would’ve told her everything.
Not yet.
She breathes out, something flickering across her face before she folds her arms tight across her chest, like she’s holding herself together.
“Then why didn’t you?”
There are a hundred ways I could answer that.
A hundred excuses, explanations, half-truths.
But I’ve already given her enough bullshit.
I let out a slow breath, my voice dropping.
“Because I didn’t want you to run.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
Malerick clears his throat.
“He’s right about one thing. Winston isn’t just looking for you. He’s setting you up.”
Blythe swallows hard, her throat working, but she doesn’t look away from me.
“And you knew this?”
I hold her stare.
“I’m working on a plan with my people, Blythe. You can’t just run. This is a lot more complicated now.”
She shakes her head, slower this time.
Processing. Piecing things together.
“So what now?” Her voice is quieter like she already knows she won’t like the answer.
“You keep me locked up here? Hide me forever?”
I step closer, slowly, not to startle her.
Close enough that if she wants to walk away, she’ll have to push past me.
“No,” I say. “But I need you to trust me. To give me a little more time to come up with a solid plan.”
Her jaw tightens, but it’s her eyes that give her away.
The flash of hesitation.
The way she pulls her arms tighter like she’s bracing for impact.
Like she wants to believe me, but can’t let herself.
“I’m not sure if I can trust you,” she says, and those words hurt more than if she had slapped me.
I nod once. “Then let me prove it.”
Malerick exhales, rubbing a hand down his face.
“I have to get back to the station. I’ve already slowed things down, but Winston’s people are everywhere. Every town he can think of in the country. His reach is fucking scary. If he shows up . . . we need a plan, Atlas. And someone just told me you’re good, but you’re rusty.”
My jaw tightens.
“Who the fuck did you talk to?”
He shrugs.
“You tell me why they said that, and I’ll give you more details.”
The pieces click into place before he even finishes talking.
Sanford’s warning from last night.
His brothers-in-law aren’t happy about me being here.
Which means I need to get to the bar and talk to Cassian—one of the operatives they planted in this town.
The real question is, who’s the second one?
Sanford arrives tomorrow.
His team already rented a house in case this drags out.
No official plan yet, but more people are coming.
A precaution. An escalation.
I let out a slow breath.
“We’ll handle it.”
“It’d be better if you add me to your plan,” Malerick says, watching me closely.
“We’ll talk later,” I reply, finality in my tone.
Right now, I need to focus on Blythe.
Malerick hesitates, then nods, giving me one last look before turning for the door.
The second it shuts behind him, the room feels tighter, the air heavier.
Blythe shifts on her feet, arms crossed, like she’s holding in something too big to carry.
“So what now?”
I reach for her before I can stop myself, my fingers brushing against her wrist. “Now . . . I wait for Sanford to get here with his team,” I say.
“I’m talking to the lawyer. We might be able to expedite your divorce if we’re willing to give up your location.”
She lets out an exhale.
It’s slow, measured, but I see the war happening behind her eyes.
Then, finally, her fingers curl—just slightly—in my hold.
Not fully, but enough.
“What if he drags me back to Miami?”
“We’re working through every scenario. The team is looking for any medical reports—anything that proves he hurt you. Even if you never reported him, there were bruises. Someone had to document them.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, her gaze dipping for half a second.
“I don’t know if the doctors kept track of the broken bones. The hospital visits.”
Rage knots low in my chest. I push it down.
Focus. “The people helping us are good. We’ll find everything.” My voice drops.
“I swear I was going to tell you. I just needed more time before . . .” I glance at her, watching the way she’s already pulling back into herself.
“Before fear took over.”
She doesn’t deny it.
Instead, she breathes out.
“Can I . . . can I have the list of therapists you mentioned?”
Relief loosens something in me.
Not much. Just enough.
“Of course.”
She nods, and for the first time since Malerick walked through that door, she doesn’t look like she’s about to run.
I breathe, too. Knowing she’s still here.
Knowing I haven’t fucked this up enough to make her leave.
I swallow, hesitating only a second before I ask, “Can I hold you?”
Her breath catches, her fingers twitching against mine.
Then, after a beat, she nods.
I step forward slowly, giving her space to change her mind.
When she doesn’t, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in.
She’s stiff at first, her hands caught between us, but then—bit by bit—her body softens.
She exhales, her forehead pressing lightly against my chest, and something inside me steadies.
This isn’t just about keeping her here anymore.
It’s about us.
I just need to trust her more. And hide less.