Then, slowly, Mal exhales, shaking his head. “It is safe.”
Atlas snaps. “Bullshit.”
I barely register what’s happening before Atlas’s fist is flying toward Mal’s face.
Mal ducks at the last second, his muscle memory kicking in, but he’s still half a second too slow.
Atlas clips him, his knuckles slamming against Mal’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.
The sound of bone meeting bone echoes through the open space.
Mal stumbles half a step, but then he rights himself, rolling his shoulders back like he barely felt it. His eyes flash with something cold, calculating. And then he grins. “That’s all you got?”
Atlas growls and lunges again, but this time, before his fist can land, one of the agents pretending to be a farmhand steps between them. He glares at Atlas and says, “You promised to keep this professional. If you can’t, you’re out.”
His jaw tics. “One of the few people I consider my family is in danger. I just went to see her and she’s terrified. She didn’t say as much, but I could feel it. How can I keep that professional when this asshole’s?—”
“They were handling it. Once they saw things were getting out of hand, they called us,” the guy talks with a calm voice. “We’re here to neutralize them. If you can’t be professional, you’re out.”
Atlas fights against his grip, breathing hard, his body still coiled, still ready to strike. “Then why the fuck did you bring me here, Beacon?” he snaps, his gaze still locked on Malerick. “So I could watch this asshole get my family killed?”
Mal’s jaw tics. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Atlas spits. “You’ll handle me the way you’re handling this case? I would’ve done a better job.”
Mal takes one slow step forward, his voice cold, sharp, cutting like a blade. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Atlas finally steps back. He drags a hand through his hair, pacing in a slow, frustrated circle, trying to contain himself, trying to breathe through it.
I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands are still clenched into fists, the way his whole body radiates frustration, anger, something deeper. Fear. That’s what this is it, right? He’s terrified of what can happen.
Because I am too.
“This asshole just got a call—his daughter is being threatened.” He points at me. “But Nysa is working, as if it’s an average day.”
Mal exhales through his nose, crossing his arms. “She’s being protected.”
Atlas barks out a humorless laugh. “It would have been easier if she had left. Instead of keeping her to make them think you’re not onto them.”
Mal glares. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The agent, Beacon, glares at Atlas.
Atlas says, “I’m here because I want my money. But I also want Nysa out of here.”
“She’s fine,” Mal states.
Atlas steps closer. “Then tell me why she doesn’t feel safe.”
Mal doesn’t answer right away. I don’t like that Atlas is claiming some kind of knowledge over Nysa. It takes all self-control I have not to react. Because I’m the one who should be this protective toward her. Not my little brother. I do know Nysa is frightened. Would it be better to listen to Atlas, let him take her—maybe even take Maddie with him?
Atlas laughs again, shaking his head. “That’s what I fucking thought.”
Mal exhales sharply. “I don’t answer to you.”
Atlas takes a slow breath, his voice lowering, steadying. “You don’t have to answer to me. But you sure as hell need to answer to Nysa.”
Mal stares at him. Silent.
