Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
ATLAS
“If I have to sit through another one of Emmerson’s speeches about ‘Gifted tradition’ and ‘power birthrights’, I’m going to vomit.
The carpet here is tragic, so no loss there, but I hope your shoes aren’t heirlooms or something, Bass.
I know your mom likes you in that shit. Fucking hell, when did these parties get so boring? ”
Kyle shoots a look at me, constantly begging for my approval, and the smirk I’m forced to give him in return as I pull my phone out of my pocket to play along is enough to have him practically squirming in his seat with pride.
It’s fucking pathetic.
Glancing at my phone, I instantly hate every person in this room a thousand times more than I did before and, fuck, I didn’t know that was possible. I turn my body away from my friends, shielding the screen as much as I can.
The photo my Bond has sent through is a selfie, nothing particularly suggestive or even staged about it, but it only takes a glance to have my knees buckling underneath me. Bond or not, she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Gorgeous, perfect, stunning; nothing even comes close to describing her.
Her silver hair now has a purple tint to it, the simple curls falling on either side of her face making her skin glow, and the cerulean depths of her eyes look even more intense now. That gaze of hers could trap my soul without her Gift coming into play, and I’d be on my knees begging for more.
I want to know what she tastes like, how her lips move against mine, what sounds she makes when she’s writhing underneath me and begging for more.
Is her skin as soft as it looks? Does she blush easily or am I going to have to work for it?
Shit, I don’t know which one I’m hoping for more, but I know with every fiber of my being that I’m going to love it.
I already love her.
God, I’m desperate for this girl, and I can’t have anyone finding that out.
Shaking myself out of that thought, I look across the dining room to find my father tipping back the last drops of bourbon in his glass.
Then, without breaking eye contact with the Gifted he’s speaking to, he holds out the glass arrogantly.
Without pause, one of the servers rushes to his side to refill it, and a shot of adrenaline spikes in my blood, waking my bond in my chest.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting all night for, enduring hours of bullshit with a smile fixed on my face that even my mother hasn’t been able to see through.
That’s my father’s sixth refill; the cunning look in his eyes grows sharper now that he’s too inebriated to hide it properly, and he starts calling out to some of the other Resistance leaders to gloat about their latest conquests together.
He has always loved these sickening circle-jerks, their own little celebrations as if there’s something to be proud of about the violence they're responsible for. The important part is that while he’s busy getting his ego stroked, he won’t be keeping tabs on me.
The perfect cover for what I need.
Smirking, I take a glass from the server who passes by us all, watching as the woman opens her mouth to protest but almost bites her own tongue off when she realizes it’s me.
Kyle laps that up as well, snickering under his breath as he slings an arm around Walker’s shoulders.
Zariah isn’t here, a small mercy, but only because I told my mom I’d stop the small amount of compliance I’m allowing her now if she forced me to be around her.
With the way my mom’s mind works, it was so obvious to me that she’d try the easiest solutions first and would shove me at my previous hookups as a Bond deterrent, regardless of how gross that sort of manipulation is.
Both to me and the girls in question, but my mom doesn’t care about any of that shit.
Threatening her with outing my Bond Group to my father stopped her in her tracks, but only enough to be spared spending the evening with Zariah.
The dinner party is being hosted by my mother, with all of my father’s closest friends on the guest list. The way she plucks at the strings of her puppets to invite my so-called friends here, all but throwing them at me in an attempt to shove me back into my subservient role as the perfect Bassinger son and heir, is insulting at the very least. As if I’m so fickle, so weak-willed that all it would take to forget about my Bond is alcohol and pretentious gossip with these bottom-feeders.
I tip the entire drink back in one go, turning to leave the empty glass on the cabinet behind us as I drawl at Kyle and Walker in a low tone, “Fuck my shoes and fuck my mom’s party; let’s find something worth our time.”
I have Kyle’s attention already, but surprisingly, Walker’s head jerks over to me as well. “Fucks sake, Bass, don’t tell me you want to bail out already just to find some ass for the night? You’re going to catch the clap at this rate.”
No matter how much of a ball-less wonder Kyle is, Walker actually has a spine. I can’t imagine being stuck in a Bond Group with someone so polar opposite to me, not in the ways that count at least, and if Walker deserved my sympathies, he’d have them.
As it is, being a child born into the Resistance with no signs of complaint or question for their existence, he has none.
I shrug at him, sliding my hands into my pockets as I take a step away from them both with a deceptively nonchalant smirk. “I said ‘worth our time’. I’m not going to risk my parents bitching me out just for that.”
Kyle grins, tugging Walker along with him as he follows me obediently. “You’ve already bagged all the best, I guess it would be boring for you now. Condolences to your dick, Bassinger.”
Fuck, I wish they’d stop talking about my dick and all the—stupid, regrettable, immature, the list goes on—shit I pulled the last few years. It makes it so much harder to pretend I’m having the night of my life over here while my guilt and fury eats me alive inside.
With the music and laughter ringing in my ears, I send another smirk over my shoulder at my so-called friends as I check if they’re still following my lead as I make my way through the house, dodging the drunk idiots and servers littered all over the place.
I don’t bother keeping an eye out for who’s watching us leave, the bigger Resistance names are attending tonight, and it’s not until we make it to the servant’s stairs that we’re somewhere we’re not technically supposed to be.
When I slide the panel out of the way and duck into the windowless, dark space, Kyle finally realizes what my plan is and groans dramatically.
He’s quiet about it, having been down here enough to know how much shit we’ll be in if we’re caught, but he’s not going to just acquiesce quietly, fuck my life.
When we’re far enough down that there’s no chance of someone at the top overhearing us, he all but hisses at me, “What’s your sudden obsession with your dad’s files?
I really don’t need my parents finding out I’ve been helping you and taking away my allowance.
Not all of us have trust funds to splash around, you know. ”
My father doesn’t just keep the archives for the Resistance, he also collates information.
Mostly for Davies, specifically, but many of the other high-ranking families as well.
He’s a middleman, but he’d never admit that.
He’s the go-between for a dozen different factions who either refuse to cooperate with each other or are in deep-cover positions.
He has his own team, of course, and pet projects to keep himself busy, but this is the real reason my mother has been so successful in keeping my Bond out of Davies’ hands.
My father knows everything.
He also has no fucking idea that the people in his house, living under his rule, are actively siphoning that information out for their own purposes.
If anyone found out, he’d be ruined. If Davies found out, or my aunt Athena, Jesus fucking Christ—biblical.
His death would be like something you only read about in old and forgotten textbooks.
He deserves worse.
Chuckling at Kyle, I don’t pause for a second in taking the steps two at a time, but if I thought he was just going to drop it at the derision in my tone, I’m sorely mistaken.
When we reach the computer in the middle of the room, the stacks of files lined up are a last resort for me, he hesitates at taking the seat, even after I gesture at him to sit.
He’s the only person I know who can get into the network without detection, who won’t run his mouth about it. I can’t do it without him.
Sharing a look with Walker, Kyle blurts out, “You’ve been acting fucking weird about this sort of thing lately, Bass. I’m starting to worry about you.”
This asshole doesn’t worry about anything but himself, and maybe Walker, but if I don’t give him something to pin this on, they’re both a liability to me.
A gaping hole in my security, a leak waiting to rip open and drown me.
Glancing around as though there’s any chance someone has followed us down here, I make a big fuss out of getting them both to crowd closer, like it’s a huge deal I’m telling them.
Then I peg Kyle with a serious look. “Look, man, I don’t want this shit getting out.”
And just like that—hook, line, and sinker—he’s too fucking easy to catch. Eyes lighting up, he’s leaning in and practically shaking with excitement. How did I never see this side of him before? Guess I was far more complacent than I thought.
“Look who you’re talking to, Bass! We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers, I’d never rat you out.”
Walker huffs, side-eyeing me because we both know he would. They both would, in a heartbeat. As furious as I am with her, my Mom is the only person who would actually do anything to protect me.
Her and my Bond.