Page 189 of Like Grim Death: Part One
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“What was that?”
Atlas doesn’t look up from his phone as he sits, and now he has a hood pulled over his hat, on the right way for once, from a hoodie he snatched out of his closet when we walked in here a minute ago.
“What was what?” I see him try to fight his smile though, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he types with one hand. His other is curling and unfurling from a fist and back on the sleek wooden table in his room at Liber.
It’s in a different hallway than Luce and Mavy’s rooms.
North wing. It’s a testament to the amount of money these boys have that there are directional wings.
And islands.
Places where childrengo to die.
I lean against Atlas’s locked door, knocking my head back on the wood as I sweep my gaze up to the high ceilings. I think of Lucifer stalking off. My phone hasn’t buzzed in my pocket again, which means Mav is fighting with Luce, or they’re all fucking each other.
“Who was at The Madilyn?”
Atlas is silent.
“What did you want to warn me about? You can tell me now, you know. What was so fucking important.”
More quiet.
“What happened to Samson? Why did Lucifer ask you about him?”
He looks up, but only for half a second, before he’s back on his phone. He doesn’t answer me.
“What the fuck is happening?” There’s a whine to my voice I can’t quite hold back.
He smiles a little but doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I inhale his scent in this room. He’s so fuckingclean,for such a dirty boy. I shiver, thinking of his fingers in his mouth, with my saliva on them. It replays in my head, over and over, but I push it back. “Don’t play stupid with me.”
There’s a tense silence. I don’t breathe, and I don’t open my eyes.
I hear the thud of his phone being set against the table. The chair legs scraping over hardwood.
His footsteps.
I feel him when he’s close. When he stops. When his hands come to either side of my head.
I keep my eyes closed. My throat is bared to him, but I don’t care.
My heart disagrees and my pulse is almost painful. Still, I keep my arms over my chest.
“Don’t be what?” he whispers. I feel his breath on my neck.
“Stupid.” I sound braver than I feel.
His lips press against the hollow of my throat. “My dad used to call me that. My mom too.” His mouth grazes my skin with every word.
My mom did too.
Stupid. Worthless. Piece of shit. Fat ass.Bitch.
Maverick calls me the last one sometimes when we’re fucking. A sense of unease twists in my gut as I realize why I like to hear it.
