Atlas
I smile when Summer flips me off, despite the pain in my foot. She hides herself so she won’t have to deal with the likes of me? Eclipsing the sun with her personality is what gave her away. But why is that exactly what draws me most?
In a sloth-like amble, I head back to the guys, turning every few steps to watch Summer disappear, dreading the growing distance between us.
“Did that girl stomp on your foot and give you the finger?” Link asks when I’m a few feet away.
“She waved goodbye.”
“She flipped you the finger.”
Killjoy!
“She waved a minimalistic goodbye.” With one very opinionated finger.
Those slender fingers . . . I’d like to see them wrapped around my—
“Ace . . .” Link interrupts the dirty thoughts running amok.
That’s what they’ve called me ever since we were kids. I used to cheat while playing cards and literally had an ace up my sleeve. I’ve never cheated since then, but the nickname stuck.
“She’s just a girl. She doesn’t know who you are,” Link adds.
“Oh, she knows. And I told you, she’s no girl. She’s a demon.”
“That’s Summer?” Link remarks, sounding underwhelmed.
“Wait until you see her face and what hides underneath that bulky sweater.”
Now I have everyone’s attention.
“What are we missing?” Dean asks, tilting his head to where my Succubus went.
“A freaky little demon that’s been tormenting my mind ever since I met her last week.”
“Is that the chick you were stalking?” Connor asks.
I nod. No need to justify myself. Not when they are even worse in that matter.
“You, chasing after a girl—now, that’s worth seeing. What makes her so special, anyway?” Dean’s attention still points at where I last saw Summer.
“The fact she should be in a straitjacket, yet I’d still love to peel it off her body.”
“Come on! How bad can that nerdy girl be?”
Link is obviously not going to believe me until he sees for himself.
“You have no idea.”
“You can tell us all about it when we get to the gallery. Felicity Stone wants to meet the people she will be working with.” Dean prompts us to go, and I glance back at where Summer went, hoping to catch another glimpse of her.
“Give me everything on her by tonight,” I tell Link as we head for the cars, and he nods.
He never comes empty-handed when I need information.
No matter how hard I try to have my head in the game today, it’s a certain redhead who keeps popping into my thoughts, shifting my focus. Thank fuck nothing can distract Dean, and he’s the one I can delegate the handling of the negotiations to.
Laundering my father’s money isn’t the end goal. It’s step one in getting out from under his thumb. Luckily, my brothers can keep our well-oiled machine running when my mind’s scrambled eggs with blue balls on the side.
While Dean and Carter talk to Felicity, Link retreats to the small room at the back with the sole intent of digging up everything he can on Summer.
I’m sure he’ll give me plenty, because tonight I plan on making my move and showing her exactly whose attention she managed to attract, whether she likes it or not.
Less than an hour later, Link jerks his head to the side as a signal for me to join him.
“I’ve got what you asked for, but we’ll talk when we get back home.”
“Why?”
He knows damn well patience might be a virtue, but it’s not my virtue.
“Because I say so!”
Link doesn’t yield, and I have no idea how I’m gonna wait until we get back to the house. More importantly, what is it he had uncovered that has to wait? Is she an ex-juvie, a cop, a man?
Fuck that!
He passes me by, and all I can do is take a seat away from everyone, drumming my fingers against my knee, trying to bend time to my will and force it to move faster with every heartbeat.
When Dean signals he’s done, I’m in the car in a blink of an eye, speeding all the way back to the house.
Connor and Carter make an excuse, probably up to no good, concerning the girl they are both chasing, while Dean and Link return home with me.
“Talk!” I roar, slamming the door behind us.
“Sit!”
Reluctantly, I take a seat at the dining table, while Dean leans against the fridge. Link sits across from me, not giving off the vibe to be particularly eager to tell me what he found on Summer.
“She’s an orphan. Her whole family—mother, father, and a twin brother—all dead. Nine and a half months ago. Car crash. No living relatives.”
My gaze drops to my hands, clenched into fists until they crack.
“She’s here on a scholarship. No friends.
Nobody in her group knows anything about her.
She goes in for the classes and is out the minute they’re over.
Most of the people there don’t even know her name.
No social media presence whatsoever. I can keep digging, but I guess this is more than enough.
” Link pauses. “Do you know what I think?”
“That she’s hiding something?” Dean hijacks my cue to answer. Is he right? There’s never been an instance he hasn’t been so far.
“No.” Link pulls my attention back to him. “That you should leave her the fuck alone. We are assholes, and we take whatever we want. But everything has already been taken from this girl. We’re not those kinds of assholes.”
“What Link says . . . and she’s hiding something,” Dean repeats. “Only psychopaths don’t have social media these days.”
“I don’t have one, and you don’t either,” I say, throwing up my hands in a what-the-fuck gesture.
“My point exactly.” Dean smirks.
“She’s not a delicate little girl.” I push back on Link’s words, though I do feel bad for Summer.
“And what exactly is it that you plan to do with her?”
“Why do you care?” I push myself off the table, taking a few steps back.
It’s not because he’s so righteous. Under that do-the-right-thing exterior lurks a psycho, matching my own. But I bet the word “orphan” messes with Link’s head, because he’s one.
“It’s called having a conscience, Ace. Playing sick and twisted games is what we do, and we’re the furthest from saints when it comes to girls.
We do things that are beyond fucked up and depraved, but some things should be off-limits.
Like fucking over the life of a girl who barely has one.
Pull your shit together and take your head out of your ass! ”
My teeth grind so hard, I’m on the verge of breaking every single one of my molars.
“I’m not talking to you about that. You don’t know her. She can handle me.”
“Nine months, Ace. That’s how long she’s had since everyone she’s loved has died, and now she’s alone. Need I remind you how you were nine months after what happened to your mother and brother? And unlike her, you still had plenty of people around you to call family.”
I can’t believe Link would dare to bring this up. But his tirade doesn’t stop there.
“Maybe she’s tough. Maybe she can handle a lot. Are you sure you want to be the one who tests that?”
“There’s a party tonight that an acquaintance of mine is throwing.” Dean slaps the back of my head. “He’s from Pittsburgh University. We’re going. You’re getting some pussy there and purging the redhead out of your system.”
I want to argue with them, tell them it won’t work like that. Summer has embedded herself too deeply into my mind for me to be able to give her up without having her. But they keep staring at me like I’ll push an already fragile girl to suicide. That’s not her.
“Fragile” is not a word anyone could use to describe Summer. “Feral,” on the other hand, suits her impeccably.
Still, I nod, hurling insults under my breath.
I stride for my room, waiting for the night to come, hoping it brings short-term amnesia along with it, because otherwise I’d still know with absolute certainty it’s my redhead I want and not some random chick.
I’m an asshole, selfish, and cruel, and so many other awful things, which after the hell Summer’s been through, she doesn’t deserve, but she’s too much of a demon to even like a good guy.
If she doesn’t want the attention of the likes of me, then why did she get rid of everyone at the club who tried to approach her, and in the end kissed the man who choked and bit her?
And no, it’s not because she’s self-destructive.
She’s purely destructive. Summer doesn’t need a gentle touch, nor does she offer it.
She’s not a delicate flower but a carnivorous one.
Those assholes mean well, but they don’t know her. I see her. And I like every twisted part.
But how much more of it is there?
I want to know.
I want her.
Four hours later, a brunette is plastered on my face, and I’m absolutely numb to her kiss.
It sparks nothing but apathy for me. I have a subzero desire to fuck her, though physically she’s nothing but sex on top of sex, yet nowhere near the beauty my demon possesses.
I’ve never before been indifferent to a pretty girl.
Nonexistent eagerness to even let her suck my dick.
That Succubus broke me.
The brunette, I didn’t care to remember the name of, rises on her tiptoes, trying to kiss me again, but I pull away.
Link looks up at me from his phone, which I bet he uses to stalk the only girl who’s ever captured his attention. And he dares lecture me on who I go after!
“Want me to fuck you?” I drawl. The girl bats her lashes, raising her eyebrows at my candid approach, but still nods with a coy smile. “Go upstairs and find a room.” I point up, and she obeys immediately.
Climbing those stairs enthusiastically, she keeps turning to look back at me while doing so.
A minute or two later, I leave my drink on a nearby table and head after her. Three steps up, I halt.
Why the fuck would I go against myself? I don’t want the brunette upstairs.
I want my demon. Those last two days she stayed in her room, the sun felt too bright without her to cast a shadow .
. . and I love the darkness. I want to see her now.
I want her sweet scent to fill my lungs, to taste her, to kiss her, to fuck her, and repeat that until my cravings are no longer tied solely to her.
Both Link and Dean are eyeing me from across the crowded room, and all I can do is flip them the finger and dart for the door.
My friends follow outside just as I pass them by with my car, and the phone starts ringing, but I have no intention of picking up, nor checking the texts that keep piling up for the next few minutes.
I’ve done terrible things in my life, horrible really, so much so that a special place in hell must be reserved for me.
Still, what I’m about to do now feels like I’ll plummet a few levels deeper into my own private ruin.
I keep telling myself she’s not fragile.
She can handle anything. And I’ll make her want me the way I want her.
I might have to tie her down, but I’ll leave her feeling so good she’ll thank me for it. That counts as me playing nice, right?