My focus drifts to the windows, catching the last sun rays sliding across the dark wooden floor. Is this my last sunset reduced to a few stray beams waving goodbye?
If that’s all I get, I’d rather look at him. The man beside me putting himself between me and the monster across the table. The one who loves me for all the messed-up freak that I am. The same one who treats me like I’m his whole world.
Fuck the sunset. He’s my sun, and I don’t need anything else to look at.
When my attention shifts back to the table, all guys on their feet, ready to go at Mason.
For me?
I’m not alone.
That’s all I need for the spark of fearlessness and a perfect amount of insidiousness to start coursing through my veins as my battle armor is back on.
Guess dinner and a murder were both on the menu tonight.
Let’s see who bleeds first.
Chapter 42
Atlas
Dean points a Glock at my father’s head. Connor is already on his feet, literally bringing a knife to a gunfight. Carter, Link, and even Jacob rise with him, ready to jump in.
That’s what my family does—we fight for each other. But this time around, they are not fighting for me. This time, it’s about Summer.
“What loyal friends you have, son! Foolish, but loyal. Ready to protect you at any cost.”
“They are protecting her,” I correct him.
“And why would they do that, if not to cater to your wishes?”
“‘Cause she’s one of us,” Dean roars.
My father’s lips twitch—a tic he’s always had when he’s caught off guard.
“Put the gun down, boy, before you hurt yourself. Or before I off the maniac with the knife here.” He glances down at his lap, indicating a second gun trained on Connor. “It would be a shame. I’ve always liked him.”
“Dean, put it down.” Summer’s voice comes from behind me, shifting my focus back on her. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Sheconsiders the guys family and would never let anyone hurt them. Still, that gun is our only leverage. I don’t want Connor to get hurt, but I also don’t know how to protect her from that man, who I’m unfortunately related to. He won’t listen to my pleas. If anything, he’ll take it as a sign of weakness, feeding his twisted belief that killing her will make me stronger.
“Summer!” I warn, but she doesn’t listen.
“No one’s getting hurt because of me.Put the gun down,” she says, and he turns to look at her. “Please!”
Anger bares Dean’s teeth when he lowers the gun, leaving it in front of my father. Seems I’m not the only one she can command with a single word.
The way my father glares at the guys is a silent order for all of them to get back to their seats, the guns in his possession, leaving them no choice but to comply.
“Stab your right hand!” Mason pins that command on Dean.
My “No” is echoed by the even louder protests of my friends, but our words make no difference when it takes milliseconds for Dean’s palm to be flat against the table, and without a shred of hesitation, the cake knife drives through his hand with enough force to puncture the wood underneath the flesh. He lets out a quiet grunt like it’s a splinter he has sticking out of his hand, and not a wide-ass blade instead.
All of us freeze at the sight.
Summer squeezes my hand resting on her thigh, hard enough for me to know she’s seconds from jumping over the table and killing Mason with her bare fists. She’s far from the only one.
“You would’ve been dead already if I didn’t like you, too,” Mason says, but what he means isif it wasn’t for your last name. He would kill me, but never the Malik heir.
With a hiss, Dean pulls the knife out and presses a cloth napkin to the wound before sitting down, while Mason’s attention shifts back to me.
