Page 6 of Guarded By Atlas

Turning back to Marie, I ask, “Did they hurt you?”

The flashlight bathes us in a soft glow, illuminating her features so I take a moment to really look at her. Despite the dirt coating her cheeks, she’s stunning. Golden hair frames a face that is a mix of delicate features. Her high cheekbones accentuate the soft curve of her jawline and the sexy cupid bow of her lips. Her lashes, long and thick, frame her blue eyes, and God above, she’s a masterpiece.

“I… Just my wrists.” She sniffs, extending her hands to show the shadow of the bruising on her wrist. I take them, instinctively rubbing my thumbs lightly over the reddened skin. “It’s not me they were after.”

My head shoots up and lock on those impossibly blue eyes. “Why would you say that?”

“They wanted Scarlett,” she whispers, her wary eyes shifting from mine and back to the bruises marring her skin.“They were going to kill her. They…were saying something about making her sign a deed or something, then killing her!”

Chapter Three

Marie

I had the weekend mapped out.

A plan that involved sleeping in, curling up on the couch with some ice cream as I caught up on my favorite shows, and then a hot bath with a glass of wine. Maybe some of that herbal tea my mother bought me if it was too cold for wine. Now none of that is going to play out how I imagined it. Not after what happened tonight.

The memory of the knife pressed against my throat, the cold steel threatening to end a life I’d only started living was going to stay with me for a very long time. When they’d grabbed me, I was certain the men meant to kill me. I could see it in their dark eyes when they finally stopped and pulled me out of the van… I could see the hate in their expressions, and in that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to deserve it.

Why had they taken me?

Then my hood fell, and the man who’d held the knife stood frozen, staring at me in shock. “She’s blonde. Why is this bitch blonde?” he’d asked, his voice laced with disbelief before fumbling around his pockets and coming out with his phone. I shut my eyes when he shined the flashlight on my face. “You’veboth seen Stone’s daughter, right?” he called to the other men. “That bitch is not a fucking blonde!”

“Maybe she dyed her hair,” one of the other two men offered.

“Her hair was black when she walked into that fucking nursing home,” the other spoke as he came around the side of the van and stopping in front of me. “This isn’t Scarlett. Who the fuck is this?”

“You grabbed the wrong girl!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know? They had the same fucking red coat on!”

Scarlett. My panic-riddled brain was able to make sense of the fact that I was never their target. A part of me was hopeful they would let me go until the first guy spoke, snuffing out what little hope I’d been grasping. “Doesn’t matter now. We can’t let her go, she’ll alert Scarlett,” he hissed. “The Rebels can’t know that we’re looking for that little traitor.”

“So what do we do with this one? Kill her?”

My heart dropped in that moment, but despite their words, it seemed none of them were willing to volunteer to do the job, so they settled for bringing me to a shitty, run-down apartment building and tying me up in a closet while they figured out their next steps. I’d assumed one of them had stayed behind and it would only be a matter of time before they came back to finish what they’d started.

They didn’t get the chance.

My eyes find the man standing a few feet away from me speaking on the phone. He’s a walking contradiction. All rough edges and calloused hands, yet there is a softness in his green eyes when he looks at me that makes my heart skip a beat. Fora man built like a mountain, there was a gentleness about him when he cut me free of my bindings.

He’s weathered, like a storm-battered shore, with a jagged scar that runs along his jaw. It doesn’t do anything to take away from that strong, stoic face; in fact, it only adds to his rugged appeal. His short, buzzed hair is black, and there are faint lines around his eyes. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties if I had to guess.

My savior is handsome, but God, he’s huge! The other man that had been with him was nearly as big and intimidating, but something about this man draws me in, makes me feel safe. I’m grateful that it was him who found me. Despite my assurances that I could walk, he’d insisted on carrying me out of that dirty building and down the street where the other man waited next to two motorcycles. Atlas had helped me onto his bike, then brought me here, to the Steel Rebel clubhouse.

Now, as I sit on a couch in an upstairs lounge area, I find myself watching him. The way he moves with quiet confidence, his broad shoulders and strong frame a picture of raw masculinity. It shouldn’t do anything for me, all things considered, but it has my stomach fluttering. I guess Chelsea wasn’t lying when she was talking about the hot bikers in the Steel Rebel MC.

I allow myself to look, take in every rugged inch of the giant dressed in blue jeans and a plain T-shirt. I focus on him, tune into the deep rumble of his voice as he speaks, anything to not think about what happened to me. To not think about those men with their angry eyes and dark hearts.

“No, don’t think about it, Marie,” I mutter, closing my eyes against the headache burning at the base of my skull. I’d done my best to brace myself during the rough ride, but I’m prettysure I hit my head a couple of times. God, I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a bump the size of a golf ball and a concussion.

“Are you okay?”

My eyes shoot up at the deep voice, surprised to see that he’s moved. I didn’t hear him, and God, he’s so close to me. So close I catch the soothing musk and woodsy scent clinging to him, stronger on him than on the jacket he draped over my shoulder. “I’m fine,” I whisper, brushing a hand through my hair. “It’s just a headache. Nothing a few painkillers can’t help.” I try to look at it positively. Tonight could have ended much worse for me.

I could’ve died.

“Where does it hurt?” the giant asks, stepping closer and crouching in front of me as he brings his hands to my head, gently massaging my temples. A moan slips out before I can stop it, and I flush, mortified by the sound, but it doesn’t stop him as he runs his large and surprisingly soothing hands over my head and neck. I close my eyes as the touch soothes the ache. “You have a bump here and another one…here. Did you hit your head?”

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