Summer
I can’t wipe the grin off my face—not when I leave the club, not in the Uber back to campus, not even once I’m back in my gloomy room.
In all honesty, I didn’t expect the night to go this well.
Atlas wants me in his bed, but I want inside his head.
And I’m already cracking that door. I dangled the bait long enough for him to bite.
Literally. I have both his attention and desire, yet it’s his turn to make a move now, and I’ll wait for mine, ready to claim his paper-thin control.
That kiss, though . . .
Closing my eyes, I plunge headfirst onto my bed.
Did it feel this good for him, too? He didn’t want to let go of me.
But was it because I lit a match to his pride by not wanting him, or because he’d been dormant, and I managed to awaken his true desires?
A need for the chase. For real, raw passion he can never get from his hookups.
I force myself off the bed, leaving a trail of my dress and underwear all the way to the bathroom. I’ll need a cold shower to kick him out of my mind, but I bet his would have to be way colder than mine.
I’m tempted to touch myself even under the icy water at the memory of tonight’s escapade.
Though I don’t, the temptation lingers once I’m out, droplets gliding down my skin, mocking how the cold can’t erase his rough touch.
But at least his scent no longer torments me.
Pretending it doesn’t affect me is a whole other circle of hell I’ll have to visit frequently, until the fires there no longer burn me.
As I move my hair aside to dry it, his mark catches my eye in the mirror, and my skin prickles at the ghost of his teeth.
I’ll have to toughen up. I’m not some primitive creature.
Pulling on my panties and a crop top, I look around with one concern in mind. If he breaks into my room, which I’m certain he can, is there anything here I wouldn’t want him to see?
Trent dealt with the roommate issue, as I played my cards well, exploiting his guilt.
The same guilt that made him secure me this translating gig, and go above and beyond, pulling all kinds of strings to set me up with a scholarship, to offer me a life, while the Bureau didn’t give a shit about any of it.
I wish I could find it in me to be grateful to him, but I still can’t shake the feeling he could’ve done a better job of protecting my family, arranging another safe location faster, especially with the power his father holds at the FBI.
He leveraged it too late by faking the report of that blood-soaked night, adding one more female cadaver on paper.
According to the files, I died that night, and my brother was the only one who got away.
How I wish that were the case!
But guilt isn’t the single driving force behind Trent’s actions. I’ve seen the way he stares at me, unable or unwilling to hide how he drinks me in. Though I’ll never give him what he wants, he’s still someone I should keep on my side.
But not on my phone.
The only traces of my past now live on it in the form of pictures and my ex’s texts. An OopsieDaisyKill&Run duffel stuffed inside the carved out mattress of my former roommate is the single trace of my future. Neither of the above should be things Atlas can get to.
And here I am wondering if my target had enough for the night, or if he’d visit my dorm.
If I were expecting any other intruder, I’d have ensured he couldn’t get through my door.
I might’ve even set a shotgun, just in case.
But allowing Atlas inside my room is part of the game.
My guess is he’ll look around, familiarizing himself with what he considers his prey.
If only he knew!
On second thought . . . I jump off my bed, grab a piece of duct tape and place it on the lower corner of the door, making sure it catches the frame too. If he comes tonight, leaving no explicit traces, I’d still have a way of knowing whether I’ve had company.
I fear my nightmares, because my mind relives how I lost everything so vividly that I wake up smelling blood. But sleep is also the only place I still get to be with my brother. I see Milo a lot in my dreams. That’s what makes me want to close my eyes at night.
For those few hours when sleep takes over, the future has no hold on me.
But for the first time, that dormant time, which shouldn’t matter, matters the most.
Are you coming, Atlas?