Deleting this text now feels like throwing away my battle armor.
“I’m sorry, brother,” I choke out, as it disappears fromthe screen.
Atlas must be planning something, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from me. Link’s been checking whether Gabriel is back in the States more times than I can count. Or maybe that’s just my mind spinning pretty little lies I can live with, a comforting story I can whisper to myself and my family in my dreams so the guilt doesn’t eat me alive.
“The guys aren’t texting back or picking up their phones.” Atlas’s voice carries from behind me with tangible heaviness. “Their locations pin them at our place.”
He grabs onto my waist, drawing me to him, and there’s a pause, a moment of contemplation while he looks at me, like he’s searching for an answer in my eyes to a question that’s unspoken. A question, I can’t figure out.
“Get in the car, honey.”
The ride back home is silent, like never before, as he tries and fails to brush this off like nothing’s happening. But my gut instinct knows better.
When Atlas makes a turn, my stomach twists into a cold knot at the sight of two black Range Rovers and a Mercedes parked outside our house, intruding among the guy’s cars and Dean’s bike.
Fuck.
Mason’s here.
But just three cars? His convoy is usually almost triple this. Is it because he’s visiting his son and considers this a safe place?
Atlas’s hand shoots for my leg, snapping my attention to him instead of my potentially impending demise, which flashes before my eyes and sends my pulse skyrocketing.
“Take off as soon as I exit the car. There’s a gun in the glove box.”
Oh, no.
“There isn’t. I took it out last week when your car was in for maintenance and forgot to put it back.”
“Honey. . .”
“I know! I’m sorry.”
He catches my hand, placing the car key inside my palm, with concern etched between his brows. But the way he scans the congregation of cars tells me his worry is not only about keeping me safe.
“Does this usually happen?” I ask, gulping down my fear.
“No. It doesn’t. Last week’s problems plus the fact I kept declining hissummons... When he’s pissed, someone pays the price.”
Oh, God! I did this. All of this.
Careful what you wish for, right?
“We’re going inside together,” I say, covering his hand.
“No, we’re not! You’re taking the car and leaving this place.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
A wrong-head-to-neck-ratio goon knocks on the driver’s side window and points for us to get inside, halting our argument for a moment.
“Just fuckin’ drive away when I get out of the car.”
“Are you in danger? Are the guys in danger?”
“I’m not . . .” His reassurance trails off there.
The guys are family now. I can’t let anything happen to them.
