Page 7 of Guarded By Atlas

“Hmm,” I hum, my mouth parting on a sigh when his hand kneads the tension in my neck.

“Doc, our club physician, is on his way. He’ll check you out to make sure you don’t have a concussion, and then he’ll treat the marks on your wrists. The girls are fixing you something to eat. They’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” I respond, not quite paying attention to his words, focusing instead on the deep hum of his voice and letting it soothe me. The ache eases as his gifted hands work to relieve the tension, and I’m about to shamelessly suggest he moves lowerto my knotted shoulders when he pulls back. I bite back the disappointed whine that threatens to slip out.

“I’ll get you some water and see if I can find you some painkillers.”

I want to feel those strong hands on me once more, but more than anything, I want to curl up and sleep, hopefully forget the memories of tonight. “Okay.”

As if reading my mind, he instructs, “Don’t fall asleep, okay? Not until you see Doc.”

I know the drill. Head injuries are pretty common at the nursing home with our residents often falling. I’ve dealt with my share of concussions, and even though I want to do nothing more than close my eyes and fade into oblivion, I know how dangerous it is to allow myself that small reprieve, so I simply nod at his words, dropping my head against the back of the couch and forcing my eyes to stay open. “I won’t fall asleep,” I promise him.

“Good girl.”

My mind jolts at those words, but I force it away. drifts and I barely register the deep rumble of the bike or the smooth vibration as we ride off. I do my best to force my eyes to stay open, but now that I’m alone in the room, it’s a losing battle. My eyelids grow heavy, and my head bobs just before I feel a touch on my shoulder.

My body stiffens, and I experience a moment of panic at being in a strange space, but the hand on my shoulder gives a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” my rescuer says. “You’re safe. This is probably the safest place you can be in the entire city. I promise you.”

I believe him.

After what happened tonight, Christ knows I need to be more cautious and self-aware, but everything in me trusts this mountain of a man with gentle eyes, and my body relaxes under his now-familiar touch. He helps me sit up and presses a glass of water into my hand, helping guide it my lips. Neither of us says a word when I’m finished drinking and he sets the glass aside, his eyes on me the entire time.

Before I met Chelsea, I knew of the Steel Rebel MC. Knew they existed, but that was about it. Having been born and raised in the wealthy north suburbs didn’t expose me to the criminal gangs in the city, but I knew of them. Then I met Chelsea and her biker boyfriend, so I looked up the club.

They are criminals. All sources online labeled them as such.

My eyes shift to the man standing beside me. He doesn’t look like a criminal. I’m sure his large frame and the tattoos on his arms garner plenty of looks; they’d certainly have my parents’ neighbors clutching their pearls and purses at the sight of him, but…he doesn’t scare me.

Not like those other men did.

“Marie!”

I tear my eyes from him and to the doorway to see Chelsea rush toward me with Scarlett following closely behind, and suddenly I’m engulfed in their arms. “Oh, I’m sorry! So sorry!”

There are tears, gut-wrenching sobs from women I’ve known less than a year. Their warmth, concern, and affection floors me.

“I’m so sorry,” Scarlett sobs again, pushing into the embrace. “It’s my fault. This should never have happened to you.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, returning their hugs and trying to ignore my pounding headache. “It’s no one’s fault but the men who took me.”

It’s clear Scarlett doesn’t believe that, and I want to assure and comfort her in turn, but someone steps in, gently pulling the ladies away from me. “Let’s get her checked by Doc, first,” my savior says, and I glance thankfully at him.

“Right,” Chelsea responds, pulling back. “Sorry, we were so worried. He’s in his clinic downstairs; we’ll take her to see him. Thank you.”

I find myself surrounded by the women and ferried away. I try to turn around and seek him out, but barely manage a glimpse before the elevator door closes between us. And all I can think as I am dragged away is…I didn’t even catch his name.

***

Atlas.

I learn from the girls that the man who rescued me is called Atlas. At thirty-six, he is one of the oldest members of the Steel Rebels and a club enforcer. They tell me so much about the man and the club that I am certain the public doesn’t know.

Christ, I’ve been cooped up at the clubhouse for four long days because everyone is scared that my kidnappers might come after me.

Chelsea and the other girls even advised me to ask for leave from work in case those men are watching the place. They know my face, and I saw theirs. Those monsters know that I work at the nursing home and could easily find a way to sneak in and hurt me. It’s not exactly the most secure facility, it’ssafety measures intended to keep elderly patients in rather than locking anyone out.

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