I pick one up, hand trembling with a volatile mix of rage, grief, and pain. But then it stops, like it’s my brother there to steady it.
Sliding my finger down the edge of that photo, the thin paper slices my skin, letting red rush to the surface. I smear the blood across the face in the picture, knowing only death can stop me.
“Too bad foryou,” I say to the ruined photo. “Death only likes to bang me, but it never keeps me.”
Chapter 2
Atlas
That good-for-nothing wannabe artist, Neville Thorne, ruined my entire month by backing out. He doesn’t want to be a sellout.
Good fuckin’ luck buying stuff with your dignity!
He turned out to be a massivethornin my ass. Should’ve known that dickweed would renege. How the hell would he even have the funds to buy himself out of that contract? What’s worse is that this time I didn’t ensure a failsafe. Without him, I’ll have to scramble for a replacement fast, and even then, it probably won’t hit my father’s numbers. I don’t want to get summoned again. Being in his presence twice this summer and having to drag the guys, too, was torture. Never having to deal with him again would still be too soon.
I stride across campus toward my car, certain the murder written all over my face is why everyone gives me a wide berth.
A week and a half into the semester, and I’d much rather sit through boring-ass lectures than deal with the shitshow coming my way.
My phone chimes, and I stop to check.
Dean
I had a backup in mind. Meet me at the stadium.
My friend has more aces up his sleeve than a goddamn magician, always saving the day with scenarios that end up better than the original plan.
I turn on my heels, typing in our group chat when I slam straight into... a walking dessert. A heady scent hits me, loaded with vanilla, cinnamon, and pure sugar rush. It fills my lungs and stays there, clinging even after I exhale.
The intruder in my personal space is a geeky redhead with waist-length hair braided thick down her back, drowning in an ugly gray sweater big enough to hide two more bodies inside it.
I’ve seen this chick around campus, only noticing her because of her fiery locks. That color tends to steal my attention. But her face was always buried in textbooks, so I never got a proper look.
“Watch it, potato sack!” I bark.
I’m at my peak assholeness today, climbing even higher with that insult.
She doesn’t slow down, unabashedly and unapologetically passing me by. I should brush it off, but I’ve had a shitty day, so I allow myself to be that petty man who strides after, grabbing her arm to stop her. She makes no effort to face me, which pisses me off even more.
“You know, when you bump into someone, it’s only proper to apologize,” I snap.
When she finally turns, I freeze. Behind chunky wide-rimmed glasses rests the kind of flawless doll face that turns rational men irrational, and me... drags me straight into dark fantasies of ruining her. It’s not like I haven’t seen or fucked plenty of hot women, but her beauty is on another level.
A disruptive kind.
Dark blue eyes narrow at me, snaring me in place.
“Then what are you waiting for?” She smirks. Fuckin’ smirks! “Apologize!”
The audacity of this witch!
“I . . . You . . . girl sack . . .”Girl sack?!“I mean . . . that’s not . . .”
“Are you having a stroke or something?”
Full lips curl with pure mockery. I bet they are delicious.
Her eyes drop to where my hand holds her captive, and I release swiftly, like I got burned. With a devilish smirk on full display, she pierces through my skull with one last look before turning her back on me. She’s already walking away when I get to finish the mumbo-jumbo my all-too-stunned brain cobbled together.
