“You’re okay, sweet boy,” I coo as I scoop him up. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Kit-Kat curls up in my arms, only to tense and jump out of them when a loudthumpsounds from outside. I watch him get settled in his shelter under the table, satisfied that he’ll be okay once the chaos is over.
“Just a little longer,” I tell my cat as much as myself. I pray that’s true.
My pulse is so loud in my ears, I don’t hear the floorboards creak behind me. I don’t even sense the intruder until a shadow looms, blocking out the light. I spin around, and the breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, painful gust.My father.
He looks unhinged, his expensive suit disheveled, his blue eyes darting around the room with a desperate, hollow intensity. My stomach churns and I feel like I might throw up the longer I look at this cruel stranger.
"Kienna, please, you have to listen—" he starts, the apology already falling flat. It sounds more like a rehearsed line than a plea.
"Listen to what?" I snap, my voice trembling with a rage I didn't know I possessed. "The lies about your double life? The second family? The money you funneled while you sat there and watched me starve?"
“You have to understand–”
“Oh, I understand alright. I understand that you’re a selfish, shallow, evil man who never loved me or–”
He lunges before I can finish. My father’s fingers bite into my wrist like iron bands, yanking me around until my back is pressed against his chest. I’m about to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth, the callouses of his palm rough and suffocating.
I muffle out a cry and attempt to twist out of his embrace, but my dad is stronger. A flash of orange blurs across my vision, and then my father yelps. Mr. Kit-Kat hisses back and bites his leg, but my dad isn’t deterred.
He begins to drag me toward the back of the house, with Kit-Kat still attached to his leg. As much as I love my cat’s loyalty, I don’t want him to get hurt.
A thunderous crash at the back door stops my dad cold. My heart is beating out of my chest, my pulse pounding out a staccato rhythm behind my eyes. Is it the Shadow Syndicate? Did they breach the perimeter like my father did?
All thoughts cease when I hear the familiar sound of Atlas’s boots against the hardwood floor. He’s stomping my way, but he stops short when the cold, hard steel of a pistol is jammed against my temple.
My world narrows down to the dark, lethal calm in Atlas’s eyes. He exudes a control that makes the room feel impossibly small. Slowly, deliberately, he lays his gun on the floor and raiseshis palms, a gesture of total surrender. My father is shaking, his arm trembling against my throat where he’s nearly choking me while digging the gun painfully into my head. I’m paralyzed by the sight of Atlas—so close, yet separated by a divide of life and death.
The conversation between them is a whirlwind of barked out words I can barely process through the tears blurring my vision. I only know one thing: Atlas is moving. One careful, measured step after another, closer and closer. He interrupts my father’s rant, his voice low and commanding, cutting through the static.
"Kienna," he says, his gaze locked on mine. "Close your eyes. Run."
I don't think; I obey. I feel my father’s grip loosen for a fraction of a second as Atlas pounces. I sprint, my legs moving on pure adrenaline until I reach the far side of the room. A gunshot deafens me, followed by a silence so profound it feels like the end of the world.
I turn, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces, my mind already mourning Atlas. But as I rush forward, the nightmare shifts. My father is face down on the floor, his wrists and ankles bound tight. Atlas is standing over him, his chest heaving, his eyes searching me for injuries. My father is out cold, a bruise forming at his temple.
"He’s not dead," Atlas says, his voice rough. "Just unconscious. If you want him gone, just say the word."
I look at the man who betrayed me and then at the man who would burn the world to keep me safe. I shake my head, as the first round of tears starts spilling over my cheeks. “Then I would be no better than him or the men chasing him.”
“Come here, love,” Atlas murmurs, resting his hand on the small of my back. He guides me away from my father on the floor and toward the main bathroom.
Mr. Kit-Kat follows us from his hiding spot down the hall and bounces on a stack of freshly folded towels. He deserves it for risking his safety today.
Atlas turns on the water in the tub, then faces me. “Take a warm, relaxing bath,” Atlas says softly before kissing my temple. His lips press against the same spot the gun was jammed just a few minutes ago. I know he feels it, too. Atlas stays there, breathing me in and grounding himself in my presence. “Jesus. I’ll never be able to scrub the vision of a gun to your head. I’m so sorry, Kienna. I never should have let that happen.”
He takes a step back, holding me out at arms’ length. “Atlas, I don’t blame you at all. You were taking on the external threat. Like four guys at a time, right? And then you came back here and neutralized my crazy father, all while keeping me and Mr. Kit-Kat safe.”
“He never should have gotten inside in the first place. Mr. Kit-Kat was supposed to be relieved of his duties as soon as I came into your life.” Atlas’s voice is gruff, but his words melt my heart.
“It’s good to keep him on his toes,” I reply. “Mr. Kit-Kat has to earn his throne, afterall.” I point toward my big orange fluff ball of a cat, who has made a furry little nest out of the towels.
“He gets grilled tuna and chicken for dinner,” Atlas declares, making me smile for the first time since the siren sounded. “Go on, Kienna,” he says, nodding toward the full tub. I’ll call Aegis and rinse off real quick.”
Atlas turns to leave, but I grab his hand and spin him around. I throw my arms around his neck and pull him down for an intense kiss, filled with relief, adrenaline, and a profound gratefulness that we’re both here in this moment.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I needed that.” Atlas cups my face and kisses me fully, tangling his tongue in mine before peppering kisses down my neck. “Now, enough distractions,”Atlas declares in a mock serious voice. “Your mission is to take a bath,” he says, pointing at me. “And your mission,” he continues, pointing at Mr. Kit-Kat, “is to make sure your mama is safe and happy.”
