33 | ☕Atlas Hunts for Anya While Shes Trying Not to Die ☕
Atlas stared at the cracked phone resting on the table, the spiderweb of fractures cutting across the screen like a cruel, silent reminder of how little time he had.
Anya's phone—his only lead. The last trace of her before she vanished.
He had done what any rational person would, handing it over to the police in the hopes that their forensic techs could extract something useful.
But after days of waiting, all he got was a clipped response and an apologetic shake of the head.
"Nothing recoverable."
Bullshit. He refused to believe it. Anya had been careful, meticulous. If there was something on that phone—something that could lead him to her—he wasn't about to let red tape and incompetence bury it. So now, he turned to the only people he trusted.
The air in the dimly lit room felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension, pressing against Atlas's chest like a weight he couldn't shake.
The only sound was the faint hum of the overhead light, casting long shadows against the walls.
The scent of leather, faint cologne, and the lingering traces of whiskey from an untouched glass on the table mingled in the air, but Atlas barely noticed.
His focus was locked on the three men seated around him—his best friends, the only people he trusted.
They weren't just friends. They were his brothers in all but blood. Men he had fought beside, bled beside, survived with. Each of them carried their own past, their own demons, but none of that mattered now. What mattered was that when he called, they showed up—no questions, no hesitation.
They weren't law enforcement. They didn't play by the rules, didn't wait for paperwork or procedures to clear the way.
They weren't bound by red tape, weren't shackled by bureaucracy or limited by jurisdiction.
They operated in the spaces between—the places where power wasn't dictated by a badge but by knowledge, influence, and force.
They got things done.
Kieran sat closest to the phone, fingers idly spinning a sleek silver pen between them.
He was the kind of guy who never looked rushed, never looked anxious—just calculating, always thinking three steps ahead.
As the owner of CipherNet, the most powerful tech and web company in the city, he had access to systems most people didn't even know existed.
And if he didn't? He knew how to break into them.
Across from him, Jax leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest.
The dim lighting cast shadows across his scarred knuckles, a silent testament to the life he led.
He owned the city's biggest underground fighting ring, but that was just the surface.
The real power he wielded came from the network of informants, fixers, and criminals who operated in the shadows.
If there was dirt to be found, Jax could dig it up.
He exhaled through his nose, a slow smirk curling his lips.
Rowan remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching the conversation unfold with a quiet intensity.
He had never been one for unnecessary words, but when he spoke, people listened.
Owner of Velocity Motors, his name was synonymous with speed, luxury, and discretion.
His empire was built on more than just selling high-end cars—it was an intricate web of specialized transport, off-the-books vehicles, and back-channel deliveries.
If someone needed to disappear, Rowan knew how they did it.
And if someone had chased Anya down, he'd find their tracks.
His dark eyes flicked to Atlas, his expression unreadable.
Atlas let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face.
The exhaustion sat deep in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't shake.
For days, he'd felt like he was running into walls, grasping at shadows, drowning in a sense of helplessness he couldn't afford.
But now, staring at the three people who had his back no matter what, he felt something shift.
"I need all of you."
His gaze flicked between them, making sure they understood the weight of his words.
He wasn't just asking for their help—he was depending on them, trusting them with something that meant more than anything else in his world.
"The police couldn't crack her phone. No leads. Nothing. But I know there's something in there. We just have to find it."
Kieran, always the strategist, leaned forward, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. He didn't need Atlas to spell it out. He already knew his role. "You want me on the tech?" he asked, his voice even, confident—like there was no question of failure.
Atlas gave a firm nod, signing with quick, deliberate movements. "You own one of the biggest tech and web security companies in the country. If anyone can pull something from that phone, it's you."
Kieran smirked, the flicker of a challenge lighting up his eyes. He lived for puzzles, for breaking into things others swore were unbreakable. "Consider it done," he said, drumming his fingers against the table. "Give me the phone, and I'll dig up whatever the cops couldn't."
Atlas barely allowed himself a breath before turning to Jax.
"I need information from the underground. Whispers, rumours—anything. Someone out there knows what happened."
Jax's jaw tightened, his hands flexing like he was already preparing for a fight.
He ran the underground like a king without a crown—the fighting rings, the black-market trades, the places where men traded secrets for survival.
If something dark had happened to Anya, someone in Jax's world would know.
"I'll put the word out," he promised, his voice low, edged with something dangerous. "If Anya's name has passed through any backroom, alley, or bloodstained ring, I'll find out."
"I need speed. Connections. A way to move without being seen."
Rowan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watched him in silence.
Of the three, he was the hardest to read, his mind always moving, always calculating.
His empire wasn't built on brute force like Jax's or technical genius like Kieran's.
No, Rowan had carved his way to the top through control—of the streets, of the roads, of every shipment, every high-speed deal, every getaway that needed absolute precision.
"You want resources?" he asked at last, his voice calm but firm. "A way to move in and out without eyes on you?"
Atlas nodded."I need to be able to move fast. No interruptions. No trails."
Rowan exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders before pushing off the wall. "Done," he said simply, as if it was already decided. "Whatever you need, wherever you need to be—I'll make sure you get there. No one will see you coming."
As the seconds stretched into tense silence, the weight of the room pressed down on him. The three of them—Kieran, Jax, and Rowan—had scattered, each diving into their own world of action.
Atlas's phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with Kieran's name. He answered immediately, barely waiting a second before Kieran's face filled the screen. The tech genius looked sharp as ever, his expression serious, eyes glinting with something dark—something that told Atlas he had found something.
"I got something," Kieran said without preamble. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a tension that Atlas didn't like. "Traced a number from Anya's shattered phone. Clara's."
Atlas's grip on the phone tightened. Clara.
His toxic ex.
Kieran continued, his fingers flying over his keyboard in the background. "I pulled the deleted data. There were messages between Clara and an unknown number—a burner phone. They weren't just chatting, Atlas." He leaned in closer, his gaze hard. "They were talking about abducting Anya."
Atlas's eyes narrowed as Kieran's words sank in, the weight of them hanging heavy in the air between them. His mind was a storm, trying to process what he was hearing, but the fury was already bubbling up.
Kieran continued speaking, his fingers still flying over the keys as he pulled up the evidence. "I've got more. I dug into the burner phone's activity. There's a location tied to it—an address they've been coordinating with. We're talking about a place just outside the city, an abandoned warehouse."
Atlas's mind raced, the pieces falling into place with a sickening clarity. Clara was involved. He had suspected something, but hearing it confirmed made his blood run cold. He signed quickly, trying to push through the emotions that threatened to choke him.
"We're not letting you do this alone,"Kieran said, determination in his eyes. "We'll back you up."
Atlas shook his head, signing quickly, his voice clear even though it was silent. "I'll handle it."
Kieran didn't argue, his jaw tightening as he sent the information across. "We'll make sure you don't walk into a trap."
Atlas gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his fingers aching from the force of his grip.
The engine roared beneath him as his car tore down the empty streets, tires screeching against the asphalt.
Neon signs flickered past in streaks of colour, distorted by the speed, but he barely noticed them.
His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat a reminder of the adrenaline surging through his veins.
He pulled up to the dimly lit warehouse, his pulse thundering in his ears as he shut off the engine.
The place was quiet—too quiet—but something about the heavy silence made his skin crawl.
He stepped out of his car, his gaze immediately flicking over the crumbling structure in front of him, every inch of it radiating neglect and danger.
His muscles were taut with tension, his mind already mapping the most direct route to the entrance.
Behind him, the other cars rolled to a stop—Kieran's black sedan, Jax's truck, and Rowan's sleek sports car. They weren't here to play games. They were here to make sure Atlas didn't have to face this alone.