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"Doeswhywe met matter so much?"
That's the million dollar question I've been asking myself. "You hurt me."
"I didn't mean to."
"Maybe not, but I don't think it would have mattered to you if you realized what the outcome would be."
"The hell it wouldn't have. If I knew asking for a protection tithe would cost me you, I never would have done it. I would have protected you and your club no matter what. You have to know that."
Part of me does, but part of me is still struggling with it. "I want to believe you because it hurts thinking it was all about using me."
"It wasn't." He drops on his knees in front of me. "Damn it, Lucia, the second I saw you, I knew you were mine. Maybe that's where I messed up. I thought you had to feel something that strong too."
"I did," I admit, my voice hoarse with emotion.
"Then why the hell do you doubt me when I say I will leave my brothers to be with you? That I will protect you with my life? I will never let you be hurt."
"Because no one has ever put me first like that. They're your family."
"Agape mou, you are my sun." He grabs both sides of my face and presses our foreheads together. "You are my future."
I want to believe him so badly, it scares me.
~ ~ ~
Two days later, Atlas takes me out to the parking lot. "I have something for you."
When we get outside, there is a metallic silver Mercedes parked near the back door. A soft chirp sounds and the quiet snick of door locks disengaging follows.
Atlas holds a black key fob with the silver Mercedes logo in the center out to me. "It's yours."
"You bought me a car?" Shock and excitement course through me. The luxury sedan is beautiful.
"I won it from Orion in a bet, but I had it detailed so his cologne won't assault you every time you drive."
He talks like his brother wears some cheap aerosol spray crap. When in fact, like everything else in Orion's life, his cologne is expensive and classy. However, Atlas knows my nausea can be triggered by smells.
So far, that doesn't include sophisticated men's colognes, but he's not taking any chances.
"What kind of bet gets you a car?" Unable to help myself, I open the driver's side door and peek inside.
The custom grey leather interior is pristine. I inhale. Atlas is right. I don't smell his brother's cologne. Or anything. Nothing to trigger the pregnancy nausea.
Nice.
"It was about how efficiently I can do my job."
Considering what Atlas's job is, I don't ask for more details. "Were you going to give him your BMW if he won?"
"No. He wanted dinner with you."
"Atlas!" I glare over my shoulder at him. "You cannot bet my time."
"You like to cook."
"That's not the point."
"I knew I would win, so it wasn't really a bet," Atlas dismisses.
