Chapter 2
Chapter Two
For the second time that night, Lily Gallo found herself jumping onto a man’s back as she tried to stop him from committing murder.
The first time she’d jumped onto a male’s back, she’d been desperate to try and save a life. Atlas’s life. He’d been sprawled on the pavement near his shiny Benz. His attacker had been close, and she’d been sure the creep was reaching for a knife.
She’d rushed up behind the man in the ski mask. She’d grabbed for him. Stopped the perp from stabbing Atlas.
Unfortunately, she’d succeeded in getting herself abducted, too.
Now, though, she was trying to stop Atlas from killing. He was the one with the knife, and if she didn’t get him to pull back, he’d be the killer.
“No!” Lily launched onto his back. Or she launched as much as she could considering that she was cuffed to him and she’d already been pretty much right on top of him, anyway. But she dropped the lantern she’d gripped so fiercely, and she grabbed for Atlas. “Stop! Don’t!”
He shook her off.
Correction, he tried to shake her off. She was far too tenacious to be easily shaken off by anyone.
She tightened her hold. “Atlas, no, he’s a cop!
” A desperate cry from her because the man who’d hit the floor moments before—when Atlas had barreled out of the basement and onto the first floor—he was a man that she recognized.
Lily should recognize him, after all. She’d called for his help when she first saw the attacker lunge for Atlas in that parking lot.
Detective Benedict Swain. Mid-thirties, brown hair, hazel eyes. Decorated. Dependable. One of those salt-of-the-earth types.
And the man who currently had a knife pressed to his neck, courtesy of Atlas.
One wrong jerk of Atlas’s hand, and he’d cut open Benedict’s throat. And then what in the world would they do?
Cop killer.
“Stop.” She gripped Atlas as desperately as she could. “I called him before we were taken. He’s on our side!”
Atlas’s body was rock hard. She was sort of half on top of him, half falling off him. The cuff cut into her wrist and made everything five times harder than it needed to be.
And, unfortunately, she’d just realized another important fact.
Atlas had his knife to Benedict’s throat, yes, but Benedict had his gun muzzle shoved against Atlas’s chest. The overhead lights shining in the room let her see both weapons as she craned her head and tried to figure out what in the world to do next.
“Tell your cop to lower the gun, Lily,” Atlas ordered.
Her lips parted.
“Tell him to drop the knife, Lily,” Benedict barked.
“Listen up! You two aren’t the bad guys, so how about you stop fighting each other so we can figure out what is happening—ah!” Her words ended in a scream because glass was suddenly breaking.
The windows were exploding inward. Glass was breaking and flying and a door to the far right had just come crashing open. It banged against the wall even as men in black pants and shirts and masks rushed inside. Armed men.
In a flash, Atlas was off the cop. Atlas was on his feet, and he’d shoved her so that she was behind him.
It took her a desperate beat of time to realize that Atlas was protecting her.
But they were far outnumbered by the men now fanning out, and there was no way his knife could stop this many attackers.
But one guy rushed forward, standing almost toe to toe with Atlas.
She peeked around Atlas and saw the mystery man yank the mask off his head.
Not a mask, not exactly. One of those balaclavas that covered his head and fell all the way down to his neck.
When he pulled it off, she had a fast impression of a clenched jaw. A glaring expression.
“Boss,” he snapped at Atlas, “you good?” His dark eyes glittered.
Boss?
“No, I’m not fucking good,” Atlas snapped back. “What took you so long? Did you stop for drinks? Dinner? A freaking show? I could have been butchered!”
Several of the other armed men surged toward Benedict.
“I’m a cop!” Benedict blasted as he flashed his badge. “Detective Benedict Swain! Now stand the hell down!”
Everyone tensed. There was no standing down, but there was also no attacking, either.
Lily’s heart raced in her chest. Her gaze darted around the room—looked like the den of some old cabin. Lots of wood everywhere. A deer head and antlers on the wall. A bear skin rug on the floor.
Old chairs.
Dust.
Cobwebs.
And a mini army that seemed to be following Atlas’s every command.
“I need someone to tell me…” Benedict bit out. “What in the hell is going on here?”
But she’d just realized exactly what was happening. “Wow,” Lily said, well and truly impressed, and, in this world, it often took quite a bit to impress her. Her focus locked on Atlas. Atlas—in his wrinkled and bloody black suit and white shirt. “You didn’t need saving, did you?”
Atlas turned toward her. His electric blue eyes pinned her, and even the blood dripping toward one of those amazing eyes of his did zero to impact the absolute gorgeousness that was Atlas Bennett.
Pitch black hair. Bright blue eyes. Chiseled jaw. Faint cleft in his chin. Cheekbones made of glass. And an expression that was as cold and unrelenting as death itself.
But as she gaped at him and as she realized exactly what was happening, his slightly cruel lips curled into a smile. One that flashed—of all things—deep dimples.
“No, sweets, I didn’t need saving. I’m far, far past that point. But I do appreciate you trying.”
Her breath shuddered in and out. In and out. Of course, the man did not need saving. He’d just had a small army rush inside, an army under his command.
“Someone needs to tell me what in the hell is happening!” Benedict thundered as he kept his gun up and swinging toward the armed men. “Now!”
“Atlas must be lowjacked.” Lily’s gaze swept around the cabin.
There had to be some sort of GPS tracker on him, and that tracker had led the team right to his location.
Smart. “His phone was shattered and tossed near his Benz.” She remembered seeing it as she rushed to help. “So he wasn’t tracked via that route.”
“Your phone is how I found you, Lily,” Benedict groused at her. “One minute, you’re on the phone with me, telling me someone was attacking Atlas, and then I lost you. It’s a damn good thing you kept your phone on for a while—I was able to triangulate the signal with some help and find you.”
It had been a good thing—a deliberate thing. As soon as she’d realized what was happening to Atlas, she’d called Benedict. Then she’d hidden the phone in her waistband, pulling the sweater low to cover it, and rushed to help Atlas.
Her phone had been smashed into a million pieces when she tumbled down the stairs, though. She knew because her feet had crunched on a few of those pieces in the basement.
“Your phone went dead,” Benedict added, “Luckily, I used your last known location to find you. This location.”
Uh, it hadn’t gone dead. It had gone smash. But…
But for locating Atlas, something different had been used.
Where is your tracker, Atlas? Her eyes narrowed as she considered him.
“If you go missing, your men have orders to track you, huh, Atlas? Makes sense.” Definitely something she should have thought about sooner.
“Seeing as how you are worth millions of dollars.”
“Billions,” Atlas corrected.
He didn’t deny the tracking charge. She wondered where the tracker was.
On his watch? She could see the gleaming Rolex that circled his wrist. Maybe it was hidden inside the Rolex.
Or maybe even on the battered silver ring that circled his right, middle finger.
It was very wise of Atlas to have a tracker on him.
Someone with his wealth and power would often be a potential target but…
But this isn’t some situation where Atlas is being held for ransom. This isn’t about ransom at all. She knew it with certainty.
Except…
What was it about? And why did she suddenly have even more unease prickling at her nape? Something was very wrong. Well, something beyond the fact that a killer had taken her and Atlas and tossed them down into a dank and dark basement.
“I think we should all get out of here,” she said. Goosebumps had risen onto her skin. The scene didn’t feel right. Where was the bad guy? He’d thrown them into the basement, and then what…just left?
Why?
“No one is going anywhere,” Benedict stated, voice full of authority. “Not until I get my answers. I’ve called for backup. Local units will be responding soon, and we are all staying right the hell here until they arrive. But you fuckers are going to drop your guns, now.”
Atlas gave a slight incline of his head. Because she was watching him so closely, Lily caught the movement.
The men in black immediately lowered their weapons. They didn’t drop them, though. Just pointed them at the floor.
Her gaze went to the front door that the mini-army had used when they burst inside. “Did you try the lock?” she asked. Her stare darted to the leader.
Coal-black eyes held her gaze. Dark, buzzed hair. Clenched jaw. He shook his head.
No. No, he’d assumed the front door was locked so he’d busted inside. But…was it locked? It should have been. Should. And yet…
“Benedict,” she addressed the angry detective, “how did you get inside?”
“I came in through the back window. The sonofabitch had left it unlocked. Hell, it was actually open a few inches. Saw it and knew it was my perfect way inside.” Gruff, angry. Then, “Lily, are you all right? What did he do to you?”
Physically, she was fine. Just a few bruises and bumps. If Atlas hadn’t cradled her with his much bigger body during that fall down the stairs, she could have wound up with broken bones…or even a broken neck. But…