Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ATLAS
Fingers drumming against the steering wheel, it’s almost impossible to keep my Gift in check.
I love this car way too much to risk damaging it, even though it’s easily replaceable.
Besides, I don’t exactly have time to waste, and getting caught by my father’s goons before I even make it out of the city just because I can’t keep my temper in check? Absolutely fucking not.
Despite my resolve, the anxious energy writhing under my skin might just send me off the deep end.
I shouldn’t be feeling like this right now.
I’m finally on my way to my Bond and yet my head is full of ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’.
It’s not hard to figure out the problem is how little control I have right now over anything, something I’m way too familiar with, so I mess with the shit I can change.
There’s nothing I can do about the glare of streetlights but I can cut the music off.
I can’t stretch my legs, but I can turn the air up until my skin is ice.
I can remind myself I’m alive, that I’m doing something right now, that I didn’t just follow along with my father’s sickening plans.
This works for about three seconds, until I check my mirrors and find no one behind me—just like the last thirty times I’ve checked. The frustration comes back with a vengeance, bubbling up inside my chest until I’m choking on it, and that stupid light is still red.
No amount of rage or cussing will change that fact, either; I’ve already tried it all. The night’s sky is clear overhead, the rumble of my car is tuned to perfection, and what few possessions of mine that are worth holding on to are stowed safely in the trunk—but none of that helps a single bit.
The problem is that red light, because it’s been like that for at least ten minutes, despite the fact I’m the only car on the damned road.
I was lucky to get away from my parents’ manor without being caught by one of my father’s loyal lapdogs, and if that red light gets me killed…
well, fuck. I’d be dead and unable to rage about it but I can rage about it right now.
The light finally changes to green and it’s like an entire day’s worth of dopamine hitting me at once, my blood practically singing in my veins.
Instead of cutting onto the highway to get on with the long trek across the country I have ahead of me, I take the exit down to the docks as though I’ve done it a thousand times before, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
I try not to think about it too much, following the directions I’d memorized months ago until I’m pulling into a parking lot and killing the engine.
I get out straight away, not giving myself the chance to back out now, but the moment the eerie silence of the night hits me, unease pools in my stomach.
The dread only gets worse as I look around.
I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I’ve also never stepped foot in a shipping yard before.
The giant, metal containers are stacked six high and lined up in long rows that stretch out as far down the coastline that I can see.
It’s all neat and tidy, far cleaner than I was expecting, but the ominous feeling doesn’t lift and sweat beads across my forehead at the feeling of being boxed in on all sides.
My mom used to warn me to keep me away from here.
There are very few rules I was given in childhood that I still follow even half-heartedly and there’s only two that I’m militant about.
That has nothing to do with familial obligations or any respect I might still have for that woman; I do it to protect my Bond.
I’ll never have a conversation with my Aunt Athena without a Null present.
And I never thought I’d come down here to where you can buy the use of any Gift in the country— but only if you can afford the price.
All of these Gifted are rarities, born into Lower Tier families but with abilities far stronger than their bloodlines should’ve been able to produce.
At least, that’s what the Top Tier Gifted preach.
I’ve met plenty of Top Tier Gifted who may as well be non-Gifted.
Not that knowing that helps me out at all. No matter how much I might hate my father, he’s the real protection I have down here, and my Bond’s life means more to me than my own comfort or pride, so until I cross state lines, I’m still a Bassinger.
I force myself not to think about it.
Falling into a writhing pit of self-loathing over the fucked family I was born into could easily get me killed down here.
Or, worse, it could risk my Bond’s safety.
I know the type of Gifted who come down here, and I know what they’d do to her if they ever found out about what she’s really capable of… or the bond who lives within her.
The loose gravel crunches under my sneakers and makes it impossible to arrive in front of the office building here without the Gifted there knowing.
I’m sure there’s a Neuro somewhere keeping tabs as well, but, either way, the door is already open when I round the corner and a set of glowing eyes stare back at me from an old, homeless-looking guy.
“You said you were comin’ but I still thought you’d wimp out. I lost money on that one.”
There’s jeering from behind him, but he’s not bothered by it. It’s clearly all at my expense anyway, and when I finally stop before him, the guy gives me a slow look, up and down with a smirk.
“Crazy to think a kid like you can bench press a bus. I guess size ain’t shit to a Bassinger, though, is it?”
I’ve spent my whole life playing these sorts of games, the push-pull of dominance that Gifted can’t seem to get enough of, but tonight I’m so fucking over it. I just want to leave this place and never look back.
I’m ready to be someone else, with my Bond, and fuck everyone else.
Without bothering to respond to his shit-talking, I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope packed full of hundred dollar bills.
His eyes light up at the sight of it, practically snatching it out of my hands, and my stomach tightens at the almost manic sheen to them.
I ignore it and remind myself that this is all for my Bond.
As he opens it with a low whistle, he practically bounces on the spot like some giddy preschooler and the rowdy crowd behind him quiets down, as if the presence of money has subdued them.
There’s a shuffling noise and then another guy appears in the door frame.
He looks like he’s in his forties, shorter than I am but at least six feet tall, and there are oil stains on his jeans that are probably older than me.
There’s nothing threatening about him but there’s a gleam in his eyes that predators have when they’re sizing up their prey.
I’d bet double that envelope’s worth of cash that he’s a Shifter, without hesitation.
As he stares me down with a look on his face that’s as dumb as rocks, I only get more sure I’m right.
I’ve never met a Shifter who isn’t a brain-dead fucking idiot.
He sneers at the look I’m giving him. “I can’t believe that blue-blooded fuck allowed his kid to wander down here to play with us plebs… or does he not know? Oh, what a naughty boy you are, Bassinger, to come looking for Maxim without your daddy knowing about it.”
Yep, he’s an absolute dumbass.
There’s a chuckle around the room in response. I raise my eyebrows at the Shifter as he smirks at his own joke, like he’s some genius. Maybe he doesn’t understand what he’s implying, or maybe his life is that shit that he can’t afford pride.
As he takes the envelope from the first guy, it’s clear his morals already have a price.
My gaze drops down to watch as he starts counting the money, right there in front of me. No Top Tier Gifted would openly paw through a bribe like that, no matter the circumstances, and it’s just another reminder of where I am and what I’m doing.
When I don’t give him an answer to his bullshit probing, the asshole’s smirk only grows wider. “So this is the kind of trouble Top Tier brats get into these days? Fuck, we used to run riot way back when, but I guess it’s nothing on the shit you Tops are capable of.”
It’s not hard to look down my nose at this asshole, but it’s got nothing to do with the Gifted community’s obsession with Tier systems and family names.
It’s the sadistic glint to his eye that’s impossible to miss, familiar to me in a way that burns the discomfort from my gut until I forget I ever felt it in the first place.
With an arrogance that only a Bassinger could wield as though it was a Gift, the tone I level at him can only be described as ‘too affluent to care’. “I’ll see Maxim now.”
No question, no biting back, no request that gives them even a drop of autonomy, just what I’ll have.
It lands like a blow; manic eyes glowing brighter, a ripple of disbelief working its way through the rest of the Gifted if the gasps and unhappy murmurs are any indication.
Then, there’s the sound of another door opening and everything freezes in place.
It’s creepy as hell, the way there’s suddenly complete silence, it’s as if the entire shipping yard stops breathing, stops existing, thanks to whoever the hell just walked into that tiny office.
It has to be Maxim, the Neuro I just paid a king’s ransom to.
After a moment of this terrified standstill, just long enough that I’m certain he’s doing it on purpose and getting off on it like a sick fuck, the newcomer speaks.
“Move, Ivan. He’s paid his price and you should’ve known better to play with a blue-blood like him.
Age has nothing on legacy and birthright, does it, Bassinger? ”
My body turns to stone as my instincts scream at me to run.