“What now?” I whisper, swallowing my fear. Because for the first time ever, my life feels like it’s in the hands of its creator.
“Now, you go to the ball, and when you come home, we can talk.”
“Okay.” I nod, but KJ stares at us both with confusion. There’s no time. No fucking time.
“Trust, Atlas. You’re my map for a reason.”
Not understanding her reference, I nod. She comes to me and kisses my forehead, hugging me like it’s the last time. Then she does the same to KJ and leaves.
“What the fuck was that about?” he questions as soon as she leaves.
“We’ll talk tonight,” I repeat her words and head for the closet, ignoring the foreboding gliding through me.
I stand above Sam James—the fucker who thought touching my cousin Elena without consent was okay. It’s not. She banged him up a lot, there’s blood, it’s dried and caked on, along with sweat, dirt, and piss. But there’ll be more bloodshed. Removing my suit jacket, I unbutton my cuffs and roll them up my elbows. KJ stands near me, his face unreadable in a way. It seems almost awestruck or proud, with a hint of confusion. I’ve had Sam locked in the boat house for two weeks while getting everything in order for the end of his story.
“So, this is what you do?” he questions, folding his arms across his chest. I pull a joint from Sam’s pocket—knowing where he keeps them—and grab his lighter too, bringing the smoke to my lips. This wasn’t planned or intentional; the Reapers haven’t even approved of this killing, but fuck it, Sam hurt one of ours.
Lighting the end, I take in a long inhale, enjoying the burn as it bubbles inside me. Usually, I’d bring my own shit; it calms me when I’m forced to dismember the body. It’s not my favorite type of disposal tactic, but it gets the job done.
“Don’t ignore me, Atlas,” KJ mutters, closer to me now. He takes the joint from my fingers and takes a long drag. I wasn’t ignoring him, more so in my thoughts than present.
“Yes, this is my Grim duty,” I answer softly, not wanting him to change what he thinks of me. My phone rings in my pocket, and I pick it up.
“Kinda busy, Tris,” I say to Tristan as he lets out a heavy breath on the other side of the phone, like he’s fuming, wanting to kill this fucker himself.
“He fucking tried raping her, Atlas. He needs to be gone.” The calmness while I know he’s furious is almost scary. He knows Sam has been gone from school since the party, but he must know without a confirmation from me or The Reapers, Sam isn’t dead.
“We protect our own. I’ll handle it,” I hiss to Tris. “Consider him buried.” Sam lies motionless—getting hit over the head with a crowbar would do that to a person.
“What are you going to do?” Kenji asks as I take my smoke back. His face doesn’t tell me much, but that’s why I protected him.
“Kill, clean, make him vanish,” I mutter absently, kneeling down to see how best to take this course of action.
“Why do you do this?”
“Business, KJ, just drop it, okay?” I turn to look back at him, show him it’s not up for discussion. He needs to stay away from this shit, be himself, go places, and not be bloodied by our family legacy. Instead of listening to me, he closes the distance, crouching near me. His hands cup my face, stubbornness lacing every inch of his face.
“What are you hiding, Atlas? Is this what the Society is? What we are meant to do?” Nodding, I take another drag and blow it in his face, wanting to bring our lips together as he breathes heavily. “Talk to me.” It comes out more of a plea than a demand, and I find it more convincing than anything.
Unable to resist, I place a small kiss on his lips before standing, hoping he’ll take this better than I did at fifteen. “The Grim legacy isn’t exactly wealth and power. It is, but that’s the veneer.” He stands a moment later, and we’re face-to-face, so close we’re sharing oxygen.
“Tell me. I’m a grown boy.” He tries to lighten the mood, rolling his eyes.
“It’s not that,” I argue softly, shaking my head. “For years, I took on doctorates, to help you avoid the darkness that plagues me.”
“Is that why you stopped being my best friend?” His question comes out much sadder than I wish it did.
“No,” I deny, biting the metal in my lip, tugging until it hurts, allowing myself to feel anything. “I fucked up, daring you to do shit, not being honest about how I felt about you and us. It fucking scared me, Kenjington.” His eyes darken, heating with that intensity he’s only ever shown me.
“I’d have been yours,” he bites out harshly. “Fuck, Atlas, I’ve always been yours.”
I nod sadly, bringing the smoke back to my mouth to get so high in hopes that maybe the pain isn’t so present underneath my rib cage. “And I’m yours, but this—this fucked-up legacy—you don’t need any of it. We kill, we destroy evidence, and when we’re done? We wipe them off the earth like they never existed. It’s messy, insane, and sullies the soul. I don’t want that for you.”
His hand reaches for me again, cupping my face harshly, the darkness in his eyes—the one that seems to grow more and more intense—it’s harrowing, troublesome even. He’s supposed to be safe from this shit.
“Anywhere you are, I want to be. Anything you do, I’ll be right by your goddamn side, and Atlas—” He bristles. “—I’m not giving up on this thing between us. After the
