I swear to God, Mr. Kit-Kat nods while Atlas winks at him. My heart is so full, even though my past is shattered. I have everything I need right here.
After a few minutes of soaking in the tub, I hear the low, muted voices of the Aegis team. Easton, who I’ve discovered is Atlas’s boss, has a loud, recognizable voice. It carries from the speaker, firm, efficient, and final. He and the others are already taking care of the scene, confirming they’ll hand my father over to the FBI. I don't need the details, only that he’ll be out of my life for good, and unable to hurt anyone else.
I close my eyes, sinking into the warm, soapy water. I’m not sure how long I dozed off for, but I’m awoken when Atlas joins me in the bathroom. He’s in nothing but a towel, the harsh scent of dried blood and dirt rinsed away from his skin.
Atlas drops the towel with a little smirk, then steps into the water behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His hands roam over my skin, heavy and possessive, and the tears return. Not from fear, but from the sudden, overwhelming weight of the bullet that missed.
"I could have lost you," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I didn't even... I didn't get to tell you. I love you, Atlas."
He freezes. The breath hitches in his throat, and he pulls me around until I’m facing him. The adoration in his eyes is so bright it’s almost blinding. "Say it again," he demands, his voice barely a tremor.
"I love you," I repeat as the fear of overstepping dissolves into the same pure, sweet hope on his face.
“Kienna, you’ve wrecked me in the best possible way. I love you, I need you, and fuck if this isn’t the best moment of my life.”His voice is a rumbling vow that reaches into the deepest parts of my soul.
His lips cover mine, slow and soft at first, cherishing the reality of our confessions. The kiss turns more passionate, but right as I’m about to stroke his hard length, Atlas breaks away. I pout and look at him with an eyebrow raised.
“As much as I want all of you right this fucking second, you’ve had such a hard night. You’re already sore, love. Let me take care of you like the treasure you are.”
I nod and rest my head against his shoulder, feeling small and protected and cherished.
We finish our night in the quiet, tangled together in the wreckage of my old life and the promise of a new one. I let Atlas take care of me, just like he promised he would. We’re safe. We’re together. For the first time, the future doesn't look like a threat. In fact, it looks likehome.
10
ATLAS
“It’s that damn journalist again,” Easton grunts over the phone. “She thinks she’s so stealthy, but I can track her every move.”
“And she’s the final name on the hit list?”
“Affirmative.”
“Looks like it’ll be an easy job then, right? You already have her pinned down.”
“What? No, I don’t. Why would you say that?” Easton sounds caught off-guard, which is completely out of character for him.
“... I just meant, it seems like you already know how to find her,” I reply with more than a little interest at his outburst.
“Oh. Right. Yes. Well, no. It’s… messy. She has the leverage, but… I’m working on it.”
“Everything okay?” I ask my boss. He’s distracted and indecisive, two words that I’d never use to describe him previous to this interaction.
“It’s under control,” Easton says. Notably, he didn’t sayyes.
I finish the call with Easton, the hum of the secure line fading as I disconnect. The house is finally quiet, the tension of the last few days settling into a steady, manageable rhythm. Aegis hasthe clean-up handled, and my focus is shifting from survival to the future.
As I walk through my fortress, the silence feels different than it used to be. Less like a safe house and more like a home. I search the rooms, the living area, the kitchen, before I find her.
Kienna is on the back porch, bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon. She’s sitting on the steps, her focus absolute as she weaves a crown of wildflowers she must have gathered from the edge of the property. The sight catches me off guard; she’s so serene, her movements delicate and purposeful. It’s a stark, beautiful contrast to the woman who stared down a gun barrel just days ago.
I know she misses her classroom. She talks about the kids sometimes—the chaos of kindergarten, the little wins, the way they see the world. She’s slated to return next week, and while a part of me wants to lock the doors and keep her right here where I can see her every second of the day, I know who she is. She’s a nurturer, a light in a world that’s been too dark for too long. I can’t ask her to trade that for my shadows. All I can do is provide a safe haven for her to return to after a day of making the world a better place.
I step out onto the porch, my boots making no sound on the wood. She doesn't hear me until I’m standing right behind her, my hands hovering over her shoulders. She looks up, her face blooming into that soft, radiant smile that has become the only thing I care about.
I don't wait for words. I scoop her up bridal style, her small gasp of surprise turning into a delighted laugh as she instinctively clings to my neck. She’s light, vibrant, and entirely mine. I carry her through the house, the weight of her warm against my chest, feeling more grounded than I have in decades.
"What are you doing?" she breathes, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
