Chapter 4 Atlas
FOUR
Atlas
Ascrapyard.
I’d been prepared for many things—a sleek mansion made of glass, or an apartment in a block of flats—but a scrapyard was an interesting change.
Jazmine’s two-storey house sat on a slight hill with a row of stairs leading up to the front door.
All around me, metal littered the ground—twisted car frames, rusted gears, old satellite dishes. What looked like the remains of an airplane wing leaned against a shipping container. Waning sunlight hit the piles in jagged flashes.
A B330 jet. How fucking cool.
It wasn’t a secret that I loved technology. From coding to hardware, I’d made it my life’s purpose to pull apart every piece of technology I’d ever been gifted to see what made it run.
I wondered if Jazmine would let me examine the airplane wing…
At the mention of her name, my nerves rose to the surface again. I’d been fighting to hold them back on the thirty-minute ride over, but my palms were now slick on the handles of my motorcycle. Was I overdressed? Underdressed?
Would she find me attractive?
All of this happening on V-day weekend only made things more awkward. Meeting someone for the first time and expecting to perform sexually while the shadow of a big romantic holiday hovered in the background was…
Really fucking stressful.
My heart gave a little lurch as I unclipped my helmet.
The house stood out like a cozy little cottage in the metallic mess.
It was small, with two arched windows facing the front yard and a sloping roof with a skylight on the second floor.
Ivy crept around the window frames and a brick chimney stuck out of the roof.
A rocking chair sat on the porch, nudged into a gentle sway by the wind.
I liked it even more with the knowledge that it was surrounded by an industrial graveyard.
As I stared up at the house, watching shadows move in the orange-tinted window, I forced a big breath into my lungs.
I’m Arya, your match from AlphaNet. I’m here to please you any way you wish.
God, the words were so fucking cheesy, but Irene had assured me that every single Alpha in our employ was saying the exact same line. It was to ensure that our clients had similar experiences with the service.
She’d also given me a fake name to protect my identity. This was to guarantee that I could go back to my normal life once this was over. It surprised me to learn that some Alphas actually chose to use their real names for an escort job rather than conceal their identity.
That was pure insanity.
I pronounced each word of my introduction carefully, making sure I remembered the way they felt in my mouth. I didn’t want to mess this up by stuttering.
I reached into the zipper of my leather jacket and withdrew the small bouquet of flowers that had kept me up all night. I’d spent hours deliberating on the small gesture, wondering if it was too intimate or too personal for an escort to do.
The startup hadn’t given me a stipend for gifts, but it seemed tacky to show up to an omega’s house without something nice in hand. My next choice would’ve been chocolates, but the varieties at the store had been overwhelming.
Three red roses, one for each night of the booking, were hugged by bursts of baby’s breath. The dark brown paper that encased everything was only slightly creased from the ride over.
Helmet in one hand and roses in the other, I took the stairs two at a time and stopped on the porch.
I’m Arya, your match from AlphaNet. I’m here to please you any way you wish.
I could do this. I could do this. I could—
The front door swung open as my fist hovered in front of it, ready to knock.
A young omega, barely college age, stared back at me.
Wrong person, wrong person, wrong person!
My brain short-circuited as the prepared speech died a quiet death. I’d been prepared, damn it! The client was supposed to answer the door, not whoever this was.
My tongue clicked awkwardly in my mouth as I struggled to come up with something—anything!—to say.
“Uh, hi?” she ventured, brows converging into a confused knot. “Did you have an appointment?”
“N-no.” Fuck, the stutter. “I mean, y-yes. I’m here to see Jazmine.”
The girl eyed the flowers I was clutching like a lifeline.
“And you are?” she asked, still standing in the doorway as though forbidding my entry any further.
“I’m Atlas.”
Fuck!
I really wasn’t cut out for this job. I hadn’t even met the client and I’d already broken the first rule Irene had laid down: never reveal your true identity. It’s for your own safety.
I looked over my shoulder, wondering if it was too late to hop on my bike and head straight home to pretend like this never happened.
Jasper’s pleading face materialized in my mind. I couldn’t let him down, could I? I doubted he was mean enough to fire me, but I didn’t want to be known around the office as the untrustworthy Alpha from the dev team.
“Rosie?” A voice called from above. “Who is it? Is your Uber here?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s pulling up in a few minutes,” Rosie called back. “There’s someone here to see you?”
Her sentence held an inflection as though she was unsure about my presence on her doorstep.
There was a soft thud upstairs, followed by footsteps that made the floorboards creak. I glanced toward the rickety wooden staircase in the corner just as her feet appeared on the top step. They were bare against the dark wood—the toes were painted a deep red.
Each step made the plush robe she wore shift around her legs.
It was a soft, wine-red thing that looked like it had been washed and loved a hundred times before.
The fabric brushed her shapely calves and was tied in a loose knot at her waist like she’d done it one-handed while absently thinking about something else.
The world around me dialed the volume down as her arms came into view, then her shoulders. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head—a tumble of curls pinned up high. A few strands had escaped, curling around her neck and brushing her cheeks.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
I had never laid eyes on an omega more out of my league than this one.
She had soft, glowy cheeks like vintage actresses in a black and white movie. With her hair curling around her face, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a steaming bath.
“Jazmine?” I asked, willing the stutter away with every ounce of willpower I possessed.
She paused a few steps away from the bottom of the stairs, eyeing me across the room.
I didn’t smell her at first. The cottage had several warm scents like cinnamon and woodsmoke that bled out onto the porch, but when she stood just a few feet away, it hit me like a match to a room full of petrol.
Omega—sweet and heady like airborne honey.
My lungs pulled it in before I could think, and for a second, I forgot every decent thing I’d ever learned about control. Rational thought frayed at the edges as I pictured running my fingers through her mess of curls and tilting her head back to bare her scent gland.
My head spun with wild thoughts, but I forced myself to be still and deny what my body wanted. She was a stranger, for god’s sake.
But… could a person’s scent be described as creamy? Because that’s what it felt like. Under it all was the primal-soft note of skin and the thrum of an omega nesting in her own den.
I didn’t miss the little spark of friction lingering in the air, the only clue that gave away her impending Heat.
“Oh, hello,” Jazmine said, a burst of red tinting her dark cheeks. “You’re early.”
Rosie’s gaze ping-ponged between us, her eyes wide.
“You mean…” Rosie said, pinning her mother with a look. “You have a date? You have a date and you didn’t tell me?!”
Before her mother could reply, she continued at a rapid-fire cadence: “Is that why you said I couldn’t stay for the weekend? You could’ve just told me the truth!”
She whirled around to face me again.
“How did you two even meet?”
“We, uh,” I paused, swallowing the stammer that was pushing to the surface. “M-maybe I should let Jazmine tell the story.”
“And I will,” she said, stepping down and taking her daughter by the shoulders. “When I see you next weekend.”
I stepped aside before Rosie could walk right into me.
Behind us, I heard the crunch of gravel as a black car pulled up the driveway.
“Your Uber’s waiting,” Jazmine said with a brow raised pointedly. “Text me when you get back to your dorm, okay?”
Rosie didn’t seem too happy to leave her mother with me. Her glare proved it.
“I promise I’m normal,” I said aloud, then regretted the words immediately. Normal people didn’t go around proudly proclaiming they were normal!
Fuck. My. Life.
I adjusted the glasses on my nose and cleared my throat pointedly.
Jazmine offered me a small smile.
“Why don’t you wait inside while we say goodbye? Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, stepping into the cottage and letting the door click shut behind me.
I heard whispers on the other side but decided not to pry… even when I heard the words serial killer plain as day.
I shook my head, trying to brush off Rosie’s suspicious glare. I wasn’t here for her, after all.
My backpack and helmet landed next to the shoe rack as I studied the small space. The living room bled into the kitchen, divided only by a narrow island.
Knitted blankets in mossy green and dusty pinks were folded over the back of a couch that sagged slightly in the middle. A wicker basket tucked away in the corner overflowed with yarn. Two knitting needles poked out of the top.
In the corner, a wood-burning fireplace sat cold, and I wondered briefly if the temperature had dropped enough outside for me to start a fire. Probably not. The cottage was warm enough.
I treaded into the kitchen. Copper pots hung above the stove, dark from years of use. A pink ceramic mixing bowl sat drying by the sink.