Page 77 of Princes of Carnage

“Vicious—”

“Don’t. Call me. That.” I hold up a hand to cut him off, somehow even more irritated at the sound of the nickname he’s given me. I don’t like the way it sounds coming from his lips. Or rather, I’ve been starting to like it too much, and I hate that. “In fact, don’t call me anything at all. Just fuck off. Go stick your dick in your ex-girlfriend and leave me alone.”

I hurl the last words at him like daggers, then spin on my heel, turning back toward my bike.

But Atlas doesn’t let it go. Instead of backing off, he shoves his way between me and the motorcycle, physically blocking me from climbing onto it.

“Move,” I bite out, gritting my teeth.

“No.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he fires back, his eyes flashing. I can smell whiskey on him, mixing with his woodsy, citrus scent.

“You’re the one standing in my way, not letting me leave. I’m not trying to do this with you,” I hiss. “I have nothing to say to you, Atlas, so you’re wasting your time.”

“That’s too bad.”

I make a noise of frustration, my hands curling into fists. I’m tempted to throw a punch, to lash out and fight him the way I would’ve done before this fucking alliance—before we were supposed to be anything but enemies. But although our raised voices aren’t enough to draw the attention of everyone inside the clubhouse, I know we’d attract an audience if we got into a brawl out here. And for some reason, I don’t want that.

As furious as I am at Atlas, this feels… private, somehow.

Personal.

That thought makes my stomach tighten a little, my pulse picking up, and I feel a sort of fight or flight instinct rising in my chest. I feel raw and exposed, as if every scrap of armor I usually wear around the Princes has been stripped away by the shock of seeing Atlas with Zoey on his lap.

I can feel emotions bubbling up my throat, and if I let them escape, I don’t know what I’ll end up saying… or doing.

“You’re an asshole,” I rasp through clenched teeth. “Get out of my way.”

He shakes his head stubbornly, the drunken haze clearing from his gaze a little as he stares down at me. “Not until you tell me why you’re so pissed at me. Why are you so fucking angry, vicious?”

That damn nickname.

I don’t know if it’s hearing him call me that name again in his deep voice, or if it’s the undercurrent in his tone that sounds almost like a plea, but something inside me snaps. All the wild, chaotic, illogical emotions I’ve been trying to hold at bay burst out of me, and I shove his chest—hard.

“I’m angry because you’ve invaded my fucking life!” I yell. “Maybe my house was empty before the three of you showed up, and maybe I was fucking lonely, but at least things made sense then! At least I didn’t have you messing with my head every day, running hot and cold, being an asshole one minute and then feeding me at one in the morning the next.”

Atlas takes a half step backward, and I know it must be because I’ve caught him by surprise. Otherwise, it would take more than the shove I gave him to knock him off balance.

“I’m messing with your head?” he asks, his voice low. “That’s what you think is going on here?”

“I thought you and Zoey broke up,” I say, even though it’s not exactly an answer to his question. The knots in my stomach twist even tighter as I shake my head. “Unless Nico was lying when he told me that. Or did the two of you get back together? And if that’s the case, shouldn’t you be in there with her instead of out here with me?”

Atlas swallows, the corded muscles of his neck tensing. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” I snap, feeling as if an electric current is crawling through my veins. “I don’t give a shit. You can do whatever the hell you want. I’m just making conversation, since you’re suddenly so goddamn desperate to talk to me.”

My words seem to spark something inside Atlas. Now he looks angry too, his firelight eyes flashing as he leans down to get right in my face. I stand my ground, my chest heaving as I breathe hard, each inhale filling my nostrils with whiskey and citrus. I know he’s been drinking tonight, and I vaguely wonder if I’ve somehow absorbed some of that alcohol into my system, because I feel almost drunk too.

I feel unhinged.

Reckless.

“Good,” he growls. “Because I’m not the one who’s married to you, am I? It’s not my ring you’re wearing. So you can’t tell me who I can fuck.”

It should piss me off even more, the way he’s talking to me, standing so close that our bodies are almost touching as he looms over me. Instead, my stomach drops, something inside me twisting up tight.

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