He grabs his keys from his pocket. “Going to see my brothers.”
“You mean you’re going to start a fight,” I mutter.
He smirks. “I don’t start fights. I just finish them.”
I shake my head, exhaling. “I’m coming with you.”
Atlas tilts his head slightly, like he’s weighing his options. “No, you’re not.”
I cross my arms. “Yes, I am.”
His lips twitch. “You’ve gotten stubborn.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’ve gotten bossy.”
He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Yep, but that’s the thing, I need you to stay. You’re safer here than with me.”
“You still haven’t told me why you came back,” I say. “Is it to claim Therese’s inheritance?”
His cracks his knuckles and cracks his neck. “No. I came for you. I should have been here sooner.” But his voice is low, certain when he finally says, “I came back to end this. They let it go too far.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. What is he talking about?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hopper
The farmhands who look somehow threatening call me so I can take care of some bandages. We got a foul last night that needed my help. I’m about to be done when I see him.
Fucking Atlas, standing there with murder in his eyes and his sights locked on Malerick.
I barely recognize him. He was always strong—broad, powerful, quick with his fists when he needed to be. But now? Now he looks different. Bigger. Ink covers his arms, snaking down his forearms, crawling up under the sleeves of his dark shirt. His muscles are thick, almost as solid as Malerick’s, almost as imposing as Ledger’s.
But the biggest change isn’t physical.
It’s the edge in his eyes.
The controlled fury in every step he takes toward Mal. The way his jaw clenches, the way his shoulders coil like he’s holding back a storm.
And right now?
That storm is about to break.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Atlas’s voice is sharp, cutting through the thick, humid air.
Mal doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.
He just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set like he’s waiting for Atlas to make a move.
I step forward. “Atlas?—”
“Shut up, Hopper.” His eyes don’t leave Mal. “I’m not here for you.”
I glance at Mal, but his face stays blank, unreadable.
Atlas closes the distance, his fists clenched at his sides. “She’s not safe in here and you’re making her stay. You’re using her as bait.”
I know he’s talking about Nysa. She mentioned they were still friends. Did she call him? Ask for help? I don’t like that he’s here, defending what is mine. Who is mine.
