I’d rather bathe in skunk spray or stomp barefoot through broken Legos than walk downstairs, paraded like his bitch on a leash. But choice? Not an option.
And all I have to show for it is an incomplete safe code I caught in a shard-like mirrored wall piece, and an equally incomplete orgasm.
A couple of steps down the stairs, we find ourselves under the scrutinizing gaze of the crowd. I try to peel myself away from Atlas, but he pulls me closer, grip tightening on my waist to a blue-fingerprints-on-my-skin level.
It’s not as if I care about those people’s opinions. Like a snake sheds its skin, I’ll leave their whispers behind the second I’m out of here. What I care about, however, is that none of what he did upstairs affected me in any negative way until this—the way he’s getting back at me by humiliating me in front of strangers.
Unfortunately for him, I don’tjustget mad. I get creative... and committed. And right now, I’m so fucking furious, my hands are itching to take the taser or the knife out of my bag and let the rage reign.
I enter the crowd with my chin held high in a regal manner,only to trip on my own feet in a not-so-regal fashion, but Atlas’s hold prevents me from plunging headfirst to the floor.
Straightening up, I brush off the stumble. My face will show neither shame nor fear, only fury, poised to break loose.
To hell with everyone.
A shirtless, tattooed psychopath with a godlike body, accompanied by a crazy bitch wearing only his shirt and a belt around her neck. I’m sure we’re a prodigious spectacle, but no one dares snap a photo of our little freak show.
My eyes lock on the door like I’m about to profess my undying love to it, when my escape plan gets scorched by Atlas’s firm grip. He hauls me to where his friends are gathered, my body welded to his, not a single atom of space between us. I steady myself, keeping the murderous look in check. For my plan to work, his friends should find me crazy enough to be with him, but not crazy enough to be able to kill him.
“I want to introduce you to my friends,” he whispers in my ear.
“And I want to introduce you to my knife. It’s stupid and forgets faces, so I’ll have to make the introductions at least a few times.”
“You’re killing me, honey.” He chuckles, guiding us toward the shiny black-and-copper kitchen, which is too clean to ever have seen conventional use.
“Not yet, I’m not.”
We stop near his gang and all but Dean offer welcoming half-smiles.
“These are Dean, Link, and Connor, and the guy with the orange T-shirt coming our way is Carter.”
My besties! Still unaware, but no longer from afar.
Atlas’s introduction stops there. Did that asshole forget my name?
“Summer. It’s nice to meet you all.”
“We know who you are,” Dean deadpans before taking a sip from his beer, eyes pinned on me like he’s trying to uncover where thebodies are buried.
They’re not buried but incinerated.
“But it’s great to finally put a face to the girl who knocked him unconscious,” Link adds, pointing at Atlas.
He’s mentioned me?
“Oh! You know about that?” My gaze snaps to Atlas, wondering how much more he’s shared.
“Hey, Summer,” Carter inserts himself into the conversation with a tone like he’s known me all his life. One line, one warm smile, gives the impression of him being quite an amiable guy.
All of Atlas’s friends being around is an opportunity I must seize. He aims to humiliate me, but I’ll return the favor in full in front of the people who matter the most to him.
“Did Atlas tell you about the little blue pills I had to give him?”
Connor spits his beer, some of it coming out of his nose, and Carter bursts into contagious laughter.
“She’s talking about Advil,” Atlas protests, nudging Dean’s shoulder, who struggles to hide his own amusement.
“No need to be ashamed. It can happen to anyone,” I continue, and my spirits are back up. He can’t rattle me with his shenanigans.
