Atlas
I came in my pants.
That, after the chocolate bar fiasco, and my bad-boy reputation is officially in rigor mortis. To top it all, I’ll have to jerk off again to calm the raging hard-on that’s driving me insane.
Summer won’t admit she likes me yet, but we’ll get there.
Our back and forth keeps replaying in my mind on the way back to my place.
She got me with the whole “I’m a virgin.
” How foolish I must’ve looked that she couldn’t hold her laughter in.
That doll face can easily play tricks on me.
Summer can be sneaky and hard to read until she feels good.
Then neither her body nor her face can lie, hold back, or hide a thing from me.
Those fuckin’ raspy moans . . . it’s like she was singing for me, and my dick most certainly lost it for a moment. First time that’s ever happened to me.
The memory of her hands on my neck pops up, making me laugh. Neither my vastly superior size nor the fact she was butt-naked stopped her from trying to throttle me. That fire in her eyes? Teasing me, insulting me, coming on my fingers, with my name on her lips. It’s always there.
My name. She definitely likes me.
I pull up in front of my place, and by the time I reach the front door, I’m still smiling like an idiot.
Link’s in the living room, but I pass him by, heading straight for the stairs.
“Ace!”
“What?”
“What did you do?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap. “You know what, you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite!”
“How am I a hypocrite?”
“That girl you’re chasing after . . . her father died two or three years ago, right? He was her whole family, but that doesn’t stop you, does it? Yet you make me the bad guy for going after Summer.”
“That’s different.”
“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me! How’s it different?”
“Raven has a stepmother, friends, and money. She’s nothing like the girl you’re chasing. And above all, I really like her.”
“And I really like Summer!” I shout, more taken aback by my own words than Link seems to be.
Summer intrigues me enough to want to get to know her.
Is that what liking someone even means? Or maybe the fact that I’m more alive around her than ever before?
The answers to those questions might be left for another day, but what I need Link to get through his head won’t.
“That’s the last time I’m discussing this with you.
I’m not asking permission. I am going after her, and that’s final! ”
Turning my back on him, I take exactly two steps before he speaks again.
“Fine!” I look over my shoulder to find him raising his hands. “So how did it go?” His tone’s on a whole other plane from the one a second ago.
“Perfect! She threw a lamp at me,” I joke while he closes in and clasps my shoulder, the tension instantly gone. We’re like that with him—unable to stay mad at each other for more than five minutes.
“I can see how she’s already falling for you,” Link mocks me and gets a slap to the back of his head. But then his expression turns serious. “We have an issue at Warehouse 4. The guys are already there.”
Warehouse 4—that’s the one by the river. We have a whole network, and the numbering system serves us, so no actual location is being revealed in our conversations.
“I’ll tell you on the way there. I bet it’s Jacob again.”
That fuckin’ cousin of mine!
Hatred has been Jacob’s driving force for the last three years, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop and come back to us. At this point, it doesn’t seem likely.
Link briefs me on the way there that they’ve caught a guy snooping around, and it wasn’t random. The guards have spotted him multiple times over the last week.
When my cousin messes with my business, his attacks are usually on more than one front.
So maybe Thorne withdrew under pressure from him?
My aunt, who was best friends with my mom, wouldn’t approve of Jacob snitching on us to the cops, but my cousin seems to think sabotaging my workflow is fair game, to remind me how much he hates me.
At the warehouse, we enter the dimly lit and funny-smelling security guard’s backroom where that scout is held.
I bet Dean has already scared the shit out of him.
I could punch someone until they give me what I need, but Dean can get it without laying a finger on them.
It’s a talent that neither the rest of the guys nor I possess.
“He works for Jacob,” Dean states.
The man occupying the chair is more of a boy than anything. Skinny, scruffy guy, with a scar on his left cheek, and a funny haircut which looks like a five-year-old had given him while playing with scissors.
“Why were you snooping around, boy?”
“His name is Barry Johnson,” Dean adds.
The boy looks at Dean again, unaware I’m in control now. I give him a proper slap, pulling his attention to me. His face says it all—one second away from crying, two from begging.
“Eyes on me! If you make me repeat myself, the next time I hit you, it will hurt.”
I glance at Link, who’s already on his laptop.
When my gaze shifts back to the boy, he starts talking, or more like sobbing through his words, each syllable trembling like a leaf in a storm.
“Please don’t hurt me. I was paid to gather information about the guards’ schedule and if there were any trucks unloading art meant for this warehouse.”
He’s weeping as he watches my hand lift in a fist, ready to hit him again. I have to be sure he’s not lying to me, though, after Dean, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do so.
“I swear that’s all!”
I take a chair from next to Connor, who’s scrolling through his phone. If it were up to him, he would’ve beaten the boy senseless to make sure he wasn’t omitting anything.
Taking a seat, I cross my arms and lean back.
“Have you given any information to Jacob so far?”
The boy starts shaking his head like it’s about to fly off.
“No! I haven’t. He told me to do this for two weeks and then give him a detailed schedule.”
“Do I need to hurt you, Barry? Are you telling the truth?”
“I am! I swear, I am! Please, let me go! I’ll disappear. I’m not going to give Mr. Holt any information.” Snot runs down his nose.
Blood all over my hands—perfect, but snot—no, thanks!
“I believe you.” His sobbing pauses. “But you won’t disappear. You’re going to show me the list you’ve made so far, and my brothers and I will give you a new one. That’s what you’ll present to Jacob.”
He nods over and over again, looking like a fuckin’ bobblehead on steroids, making me dizzy just watching him.
“Give Jacob the real schedule, and we’ll skin you. Slowly. Piece by bloody piece. Weeks on end. Until you’ll be begging us to kill you.”
The boy’s gaze dips to his lap.
Swinging my foot, I kick his left one hard, leaving him whining in pain.
“I told you, eyes on me!”
He levels his gaze on mine, but when I glance at where he was staring, there’s a huge wet spot on his pants that keeps growing with rivulets of piss seeping down the fabric. Now I almost feel bad for this guy. Maybe I went too hard on the threats, but I have to be sure he’ll do as he’s told.
“Barry . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
Sir? Seriously?!
“What do you do for a living?”
“I was working in a candy shop . . .” He starts sobbing again, and it’s getting harder to decipher his words through the spluttering. “. . . t-to help out my mom with the rent, but . . . it closed, and that’s when . . . I took Mr. Holt’s offer.”
“I’ll pay you triple what he’s paying you, and you can keep the money he gives you, too. But there’s a catch. From now on, you report back to me every request he makes. If you do what I ask of you, you’re off the hook and with some good money to show for. Got it?”
He nods.
I glance back at Link, letting him know it’s his cue.
“He’s nineteen. Lives with his mother, who has an autoimmune disease. She got divorced five years ago. He also has a sister who’s four years younger.”
Link continues listing all the information he dug up, and I watch as the boy’s eyes widen even before he hears his own home address.
“See how easy it is for us to know everything about you? Do good with what I ask of you, and I’ll make sure your family has money by giving you a job with me—a legal one that pays well. Or, fail me, and you know what follows.”
“I won’t fail you! I-I promise!” He keeps talking, but all I can focus on is the snot that’s already at his chin. Adding that to the fact that he pissed himself, it’s safe to say we’ve done a decent job of scaring him.
“Anything to add, guys?”
Silence is the most atypical thing when both Carter and Connor are in the same room. I’ll have to figure out how to make them bury the hatchet . . . not in each other.
“You’ll come back in two days, and I’ll give you the list.”
Barry nods.
“Let him go!”
Connor pockets his phone and then cuts the zip ties on the boy’s hands. He rubs his wrists but doesn’t stand up.
“Is there anything else?”
“I’m not sure if it matters, but I wasn’t the only one hired by Mr. Holt.”
I lean in, while he wipes off the snot with his sleeve, waiting for him to spill it.
“I’m listening.”
“A friend of mine, who also worked at the candy shop, told me today he was hired to follow some redhead and report back to Mr. Holt if she’s seeing someone.”
The chair screeches back as I grab Barry’s shirt and haul him up.
“What the hell did you say?”
“S-s-some redhead h-h-he s-s-saw in a club. H-h-he wants to know if she’s s-s-seeing s-s-someone.”
Fuck! I broke him.
“Do you have a name?” I spit out with urgency.
“N-no.”
I let go of the boy before looking back at Link.
“You think he’s after your redhead?” Dean questions from behind me.
“For his sake, I hope not,” I grit through my teeth. “Go! If you find out anything else, I want you to report to me by leaving a note here for the security guards. And in two days’ time, come for the list. Got it?”
“Yes, s-s-sir.”
Hope that’s not a permanent stutter.
Jerking my head for the door, Barry disappears out of my sight.
It can be any redhead Jacob’s after, but when the boy mentioned the club . . . Was my cousin there to witness Summer in action? If he saw how she handled me, he’ll be after her because he’ll know I’ll be, too. The question is, will I have to beat the shit out of Jacob or straight up bury him?
The guys and I get back home past three in the morning, with a plan for distributing the art from Warehouse 4 to all the others. Whatever Jacob has planned, we’ll let it unfold with no real stakes for us.
Normally, my cousin’s attempts at sabotage wouldn’t disrupt my sleep.
But tonight, I’ve got two problems fighting for my attention: my tryst with the redhead, and the possibility that my asshole of a cousin hired someone to follow her.
Either one could keep me awake. Both problems have the same name.
Summer Night.