Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Atlas
“Can I get an iced white chocolate mocha latte, no whip. Oh, and a cranberry orange muffin. Please,” I tag on.
The girl behind the counter stares at me for a moment, then grabs a cup with a sigh. “Name?” she asks with an added huff.
“Atlas,” I huff out in return.
She gives me a disinterested look, then my total.
Tapping my card, I decide against giving her a tip.
Making someone’s day a little better isn’t really my thing.
If the guys were here, they’d be laughing anyway.
I can already see it. They’d poke fun at my drink choice and baked good, but there is no better combo than cranberry and orange.
The latte and muffin are the only things I treat myself to—well, besides the occasional book or vinyl, but the guys all know about those addictions. This one is the one for me.
Once a week, I stop at the local coffee shop, Twin Roasts, for my fix.
The place smells of coffee and vanilla and has a decent vibe; plus, it is quiet.
It is my reward for not only putting up with my three brothers but also the general population.
I don’t really like people. I discovered at an early age that people are ugly, and inherently selfish in nature—yeah, it was a great way to start life.
Grabbing my drink and muffin, I find a booth that’s furthest away from everyone. Pulling out my laptop, I settle in and wait for the screen to load. I wish I didn’t have to interact with anyone some days, but that doesn’t pay the bills.
My parents gave me up, and then I spent a few years bouncing around different homes, being someone’s paycheck.
It was all fun until one of my foster parents beat me so badly that I was hospitalized.
A broken arm, a few busted ribs, and miscellaneous cuts and bruises were enough for them to get a few years in prison.
They went to jail, and I went to one more home.
I’ll never admit it, but that beating may have been the best thing to happen to me. It gave me Emma and my brothers.
They aren’t really my brothers, not by blood anyway.
Emma took all of us in, and we created our version of a family.
She taught us that family doesn’t always include people who share blood with you.
Sometimes, it means making a bond with another person and building a foundation of your own.
We all came from different beginnings and backgrounds, but were able to find peace with each other. Mostly.
Our tattoo shop, Exiled Ink, was a dream that we turned into a reality together.
The name felt fitting for four guys who had been rejected by the system yet formed their own family.
We each have our own specialties but currently lack a receptionist. The reminder sends a surge of annoyance through me all over again.
Bri, our most recent front girl, quit after my brother broke her heart.
Why some women think they’ll be the one who can change a man, I’ll never understand.
Kash isn’t a bad guy. He just leads with his dick more than his brain.
She thought he was in love, and he thought she was okay with just having fun.
Shaking my head, I begin clearing out messages and responding to emails.
I despise this part of the job. It’s a combination of fan mail and offers to exchange ink for services.
I don’t even respond to those. They just get deleted.
I try to be nice and respond to the comments and messages from people who seem to appreciate what we do, or need a consultation, but it’s a hard pass on ink in exchange for sex.
I’d rather stick my dick in a blender and hit puree.
Snagging a piece of muffin, I toss the chunk in my mouth and chew slowly, savoring the flavor. This place has some of the best coffee and baked goods. I’m contemplating getting another one to take with me, but I pause when I notice a commotion at the front.
Some guy in a suit is screaming at a girl by the counter. Her back is to me, but I can tell she’s on the smaller side. She’s got to be maybe 5’5” with dark wavy hair, jeans, and high-top sneakers. He’s got a few inches on her, and judging by how loud he is, their conversation isn’t going well.
“Do you have any idea how much this shirt and shoes cost?” he sneers. “It’s dry-clean only.”
“I told you I was sorry. It was an accident,” her soft voice replies.
My body freezes when I hear it. I imagine it’s what being struck by lightning feels like.
Her tone is soft-spoken, and there’s a gentleness to it.
Even though he’s yelling at her, she remains unbothered.
No one is saying anything to him or trying to stop it.
The girl behind the counter stares at him in anger, and if looks could kill, that guy would be a goner.
“Right, you’re sorry.” He laughs sarcastically, brushing some of the liquid off his shirt. “Maybe instead of being sorry, you should try not being so stupid.”
The statement leaves his mouth, and I’m on my feet and across the room before I realize it. I fucking hate people sometimes.
“You should try not being an asshole,” I sneer, inserting myself between them.
He might be taller than she is, but he’s got nothing on me.
My six-foot-two frame towers over him, and I see a brief flicker of fear cross his face.
The change in his demeanor is enough to give me whiplash.
It’s not so fun when someone bigger stands in front of you, is it?
“Piss off, kid. She should have paid attention. It’s not my fault she’s too stu—” I don’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence.
My fist snaps out and connects with his jaw. I can’t stand bullies. The only way to get them to stop is just to silence them yourself. Some people will never learn there’s a limit until they step over it and get put back.
Her gasp of shock registers behind me as he crumples to the ground. Instead of yelling, he’s now cupping his jaw and moaning. Reaching down, I grab his damp shirt at the collar and yank him up.
“It’s time to go.” Shoving the door open, I toss him out into the street. As I let go of his shirt, he knocks over a garbage can, spilling its contents. “Make sure you clean that up. It’s rude to litter.”
“I’ll sue you for this!” he shouts, cradling his jaw as he struggles to get up.
“Good luck with that.” I laugh and head back inside.
There’s a small crowd chatting in the lobby, while some patrons choose to stare from their seats. Avoiding their watchful eyes, I make my way back to the booth without saying anything. Pausing, I realize it’s now occupied with a body. Damn it.
Reclaiming my seat, I wince when I see a spot of blood on my hand.
Biting back a curse, I quickly wipe it on my dark jeans.
Glancing up, I prepare to get rid of my new guest but freeze.
It feels like I’ve been kicked in the chest, and I briefly wonder if I’m actually dead and somehow made it to heaven, because there’s no way the girl sitting in front of me is real.
I didn’t get a good look at her earlier, but holy shit, she’s beautiful.
Dark wavy hair, light blue eyes, and a small nose hold my attention hostage.
Her dark locks skim past her shoulders, kissing the top of her chest, and her eyes?
God, they’re so blue, they remind me of ice, even though she looks anything but cold.
I stare at her for a moment, cataloging the rest of her features.
There’s something different in the way she’s looking at me.
Women staring isn’t new to me. Kash says I’m too mysterious and pretty with my dark hair or whatever, but this is different. It’s like she’s trying to figure me out. Tell me what you see, pretty girl, I silently beg.
I probably shouldn’t have hit that guy in front of everyone. She probably thinks I’m a lunatic, but something in me just snapped when he started shouting at her.
“Well, that was entertaining. Can I buy you a fresh drink? Yours looks a bit watered down now.” She gestures toward my cup. I sigh, noticing the watery layer that’s now at the top. She’s not wrong.
“No,” I grit out.
“Why not?” she asks, seeming genuinely confused.
“Because I don’t want you to buy me one.” I’d never want her to spend her money on someone like me. I’m the last person who deserves it. I don’t know her yet, but I know that.
“Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
She looks so cute and confused. Her forehead wrinkles, and for some reason, I find the expression incredibly adorable. Part of me wants to stay and talk to her, get to know her, but I realize we’re still getting some looks. I wonder if she’d be willing to go somewhere else.
“You don’t have to be rude. I’m Cora.” She acts nonchalant as she offers her hand, but I just stare at it.
As much as I want to feel if her skin is as soft as I hope it is, I refuse to touch her with these hands.
Not when I know I just hit someone with them.
She doesn’t deserve to be touched by violence.
“Well, Cora, you really shouldn’t let people talk to you like that,” I blurt before I have chance to think about my words.
“You mean like a jackass? Kinda like you are right now?” She gives me a pointed look, lowering her hand.
Enjoying her sassy response, a genuine smile spreads across my face. “Exactly like that.” I point and nod.
She huffs out a sound that seems like annoyance. I don’t want to cause her any grief, but people can be really shitty. “Okay, so I’m going to go. Thanks for handling that guy. I appreciate it.”
“Wait.” My hand shoots out, grabbing her arm lightly. A jolt of awareness courses through my body, and my eyes fly to hers. I catch the way she flinches and quickly drop my hand. What the hell? “I’m sorry. Why don’t you stay?”
Her eyes avoid mine. “It’s fine. I have to go. Thanks again.” She turns to walk away from our booth, leaving me confused. I didn’t mean to spook her or cause any harm. I just don’t want her to leave yet.
I watch as she stops to talk with the barista. A warm feeling settles in my chest when she laughs, and the sound hits my ears. She’s so fucking pretty when she smiles like that.
My phone chirps, stealing my attention. I quickly grab it to silence it, but when I turn back, she’s no longer at the counter. She left. Shit. Quickly shoving my laptop into my bag, I toss my garbage in the trash and hurry toward the exit.
“Wait!” a voice shouts from behind me. Turning, I find the barista standing there with a drink in her hand.
Walking back toward the counter, I take in the curious look the girl gives me. She looks me up and down, then points to the bag. “She left this for you, and against my better judgment, I’m letting you have it. Consider it a thank you.” She gestures toward the items.
Grabbing the cold cup and bag, I nod and then rush outside. My shoulders slump when I realize she’s nowhere in sight. I don’t do relationships. In fact, I make it a point to avoid them, but there’s something about her that commands my attention. My very soul demands I find her.
Sitting in my car, I open the bag to see another muffin along with a small napkin. A smile splits my face when I see she’s left me a note.
To the jackass with advice,
Have another muffin and don’t be so angry.
-Cora
A sassy girl indeed. Resealing the top of the bag, I decide to let it be my treat for later. Setting it on the seat next to me, I pull out onto the street, and for once, I don’t fight the smile that spreads across my face. Now, how do I go about finding my girl?