Summer
I grip the couch with shaky hands, clawing at it, fighting for survival, or rather, the right to keep my ability to walk, as I try to pull myself up.
A loud thud comes from behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I spot Atlas grinning atop the remains of the wooden coffee table, which I have no idea how it didn’t give out earlier, during his overzealous attempt to fulfill my terms of fucking me on every square inch of this house.
A giggle escapes me, but it fades quickly when he shifts, clearly intent on getting to me. Again.
“Where do you think you’re going, my little Succubus?” he rasps, a hand gliding down my naked back. It’s been three days since my body last saw any clothes.
Am I sore?
Everywhere.
Do I want more?
My masochistic cunt practically jumps at the thought, volunteering herself as a tribute.
“To find my phone,” I say between breaths, pulling myself up, exhaustion turning the task into climbing Everest.
“Wanna call 911?” Atlas chuckles from behind me as his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back down onto the soft white carpet.
“I’d love a record of that call,” he continues.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” he botches my voice, turning me to face him like I’m some rag doll he can toss around.
“My boyfriend’s trying to kill me . . . with too much sex. ”
“I want my phone so I can Google if anyone has died of excessive fucking.”
“Well, you were much more likely to get me to my grave while choking me, tied back in my room, than what I’m doing to you.”
“I might need a safe word, after all.”
“Too bad, because I’ve reconsidered and I’m not giving you one. You can handle everything.”
“But I think I already have a safe word.” He stills, every ounce of his attention fixed on me. “Please,” I purr, batting my lashes.
I say it like a plea, but it rolls off my tongue even softer than one, and the gleam in his eyes tells me I do indeed command his world with a single word.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you when you ask so nicely.” He pulls me closer, sealing his lips on mine, making my heart cease in surrender, stealing the air from my lungs and replacing it with his own.
This thing between us impedes my plan, because my willingness to take Atlas’s love and use it is all gone. I’m taking his love and giving him mine in return.
My strategy for killing Mason and Gabriel employs a flawless scenario for a getaway, meaning they drop dead after I’ve left the place. But such a scheme won’t ward off the blame from landing on me.
Plans change. Evolve. Or more like mutate.
Two men can’t drop dead of a heart attack at the same time without it looking ridiculously improbable. I’ll take out my targets one by one if need be. I have more than one poison up my sleeve.
But how do I build a life with Atlas on a lie like this?
I lay my head on his chest, his heartbeat luring me into closing my eyes, letting my own pulse anchor to his, syncing as perfectly as our natures do.
“Go out on a date with me,” he croons.
Really? We’ve been all over each other for three days, and now he wants to take me on a date?
“And here’s the proof of what too much sex does—brain damage.”
“I’m serious. I want to take you out properly.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say with mock seriousness, and he pokes under my ribs, making me squirm against him. “Lunch?” I offer as a distraction, to wash away the bitter taste of the contrast between his thoughts being centered around me, and mine—around betrayal.
“Honey, if I ever refuse your food or your pussy, shoot me on the spot. That would be an evil twin with zero taste for the most exquisite flavors one could experience.”
“Help me get up, and let me enchant all your senses with a delicious lasagna. You know, just to keep up the streak of you being fed Italian.” I wink.
Atlas presses a soft kiss on my forehead.
“Would you mind if we invite the guys for dinner? We can order takeout. My friends are family, and I would love for you to get to know them better and vice versa.”
He asks for my permission, like this really is our place now.
“We need to get the house in order because it looks like there’s been warfare in here.”
Atlas chuckles and gets up. With my shaky legs wrapped around him, he carries me to the kitchen.
“We should wear the destruction like a badge of honor.”
“I’m cooking tonight, so I’ll order a few things that I’ll need.”
He stops in his tracks like he got struck by lightning and stares at me, perplexed.
“What about your rule?”
Is he worried if what I told him about cooking only for the people I love is true? How cute!
“It still stands.” I kiss him, but he’s so stiff, like he has a stick up his ass. “The people you love get my cooking by extension.”
He cracks a smile and proceeds with his stride.
“I’ll grab some of your stuff from your dorm, and I’ll get the house in order later.” Atlas inspects the ground beneath my feet before lowering me down. “Don’t order. I’ll grab everything you need for tonight. Let’s keep this place off the map.”
Off the map . . . or off Mason’s radar?
“Only your friends know about this place?”
He nods.
Seems he really doesn’t like his father. Maybe he’d understand why I’m doing all of this. Maybe he wouldn’t even hate me for it if he ever found out.
Atlas heads for the first-floor bedroom, and the shower hisses on.
Minutes later, he comes out fully clothed while I’m leaning over the fridge to check what’s left.
He grabs me from behind, turning me to steal a kiss, and his grip on me turns savage.
“Down, boy!” I command against his lips, and amusement pushes aside the animalistic desire in his gaze.
Atlas takes a couple of steps back, running his fingers through his wet hair.
“A fair warning—Dean has a hard time accepting the fact I shared certain information with you, but I’ll keep him in check.”
“It’s okay. I’m not a fragile thing.”
He snorts out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and taking in the redecoration we caused in the last few days.
“You most certainly are not.”
The door closes behind Atlas, and I grab onto the kitchen counter, trying to resist the insistently strobing idea my vengeful mind dictates.
Atlas doesn’t want his father to know about this place. Our place.
But if this is mine too now, then I’d like to invite Mason and Gabriel here. Or at least offer a twisted version of an invite.
I rush for the bedroom, which is now a forensic’s worst nightmare, in search of my bag.
Dragging it from under the bed, I take out my phone and pause. I sit there, naked on the cold wooden floor, clutching the device, as I keep asking myself if I can really pull this off without Atlas suspecting me. I’ll have to. I can’t lose him.
Opening the messaging app, I drop my location, but then I pause.
My thumb hovers over the screen long enough for me to try to justify myself. But not long enough for me to not realize how full of shit I am.
I press send with a whisper of “I’m sorry,” no one’s there to hear.
Confucius says you should dig two graves when you embark on a journey of vengeance. Before, I would’ve said I plan on neither being mine. Now . . . this text feels like one grave is for trust, the other for love, and I’m right there digging a third—my own.
Trent calls before the phone’s screen has turned black.
“Summer?”
“This place belongs to Atlas Holt. Mason doesn’t know about it. I’m sure you can use that information as a bargaining chip or whatever.”
The front door opens, and I’m scrambling to my feet and rushing into the bathroom before the drumbeat of my pulse gives me away.
“Forgot my phone,” Atlas shouts outside the room, but I hear his footsteps approaching.
“Who’s that?” Trent asks.
Turning on the shower to avoid being overheard, I whisper, “Right back,” and hang up.
The bathroom door swings open the moment I tuck the phone behind the shampoo bottle, and I almost yelp when a hand wraps around my throat and pulls me in for a kiss.
“One more for the road.”
“I’m gonna get you wet,” I protest, trying to push him out of the shower.
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
“Get out!”
“Oh, you’re gonna eat your words tonight, honey, when you’re begging me to get in.” He slaps my ass. “Text me a list of everything you need.”
Atlas leaves the bathroom, and I stop the water so I can hear when the front door closes.
Taking the phone back in hand, the weight of my actions presses down tenfold with his kiss still warm on my lips.
“Trent?” I say in a shaky voice.
He doesn’t answer, and I check if I’ve even dialed his number.
“Trent, are you there?”
“So you’re screwing his son.”
I swallow the confession. It’s not needed.
“My father was right about you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you really think I’m that incompetent to not know why you wanted to be relocated to Pennsylvania? To enroll in that particular university?”
He knew and still helped me?
It takes a single empty heartbeat. Then another, before the realization hits me.
It’s like a hammer shattering the mirror of my fake reality.
“You’re using me.”
The Feds can’t afford to get their hands dirty and anything leading back to them. But I’m fair game, I guess.
“Maeve . . .”
“No such thing as a free lunch, right?”
I was foolish enough to believe Trent was protecting me out of kindness. Or guilt. Or lust, maybe. I never considered . . . this.
“Intel on Mason as leverage or his head on a platter, so you can work with someone more agreeable? Like his son. What are you after?”
“Either.”
I’m the puppeteer who’s only now noticing the hair-thin strings that turned me into a puppet.
Looking back, I can see how all the pieces fit into place. My grief blinded me enough to miss the bigger picture, and my rage didn’t help either.
“Those shrinks and the people you made me talk to after what happened to my family . . . They weren’t there to help me, were they? They were evaluating me.”
“You scored higher than any recruits we’ve ever had. But you weren’t recruitable. Yet our agendas aligned. You just weren’t ours on paper. Maeve—”
“And those times you kept telling me to stand down? To stay away from Atlas? What was that? Reverse psychology?”
There’s shuffling on the other side of the line.
“No. I care for you. And I never wanted you to follow that path. Tell me to get you out of there right now, and I will. For me, you come first.”
Through blurred vision and a racing pulse, I see clearly now.
“It’s okay to use each other.” I gulp down the sting of the betrayal.
It’s nothing compared to what I’m doing to Atlas, and I deserve every bit of what’s hitting me now and more.
“Find a way for Mason to learn this location. And bury Vanguard Horizon. Or at least give them enough hell, so they start losing clients. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. ”
I close the line, delete the calls and the text to Trent, and leave my phone on the nearby counter. Then I turn the water back on. Cold. As cold as my skin will allow for my mind to freeze off all thoughts of doubt.
Pull yourself together, you little shit! This changes nothing. Focus.
One hell of an evening awaits.