Page 16 of Atlas
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says. “Maybe book something for next week?”
“Sure,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He waits for me to go inside before returning to his car. I watch him drive away, the lights vanishing into the city.
Inside the lift, I stare at my reflection in the polished steel walls. Lipstick barely smudged. Hair still perfect.
Everything in place.
Third date,I think,and already he’s choosing restaurants, destinations, future weekends. Already he’s nudging me away from my postcode and into his world. Already I’m being reshaped.
And still, somehow,he fits the brief.
But all I can think about is how Atlas kisses me with his whole body. With his hands, his teeth, his damn heartbeat.
And this one barely grazed the surface.
I press the button for my floor, pulse oddly steady. Safeisthe right choice.
So, why does it feel so damn suffocating?
Chapter Four
Atlas
I wake up to the smell of burnt toast and cheap coffee drifting through the thin walls. Light filters in through the grimy curtain, casting a weird yellow hue across the room. Kasey’s already up, sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling her phone like she didn’t just spend the night in a damp room with a stranger.
“You sleep?” I ask, rubbing a hand over my face.
She shrugs. “Enough. You snore.”
“You hungry?” I ask, standing and stretching. My spine cracks like a firework.
“Yeah. But if this place serves real tomatoes over tinned, I’m out.”
We head down to the dining room. The wallpaper’s peeling and the chairs wobble when we sit, but the coffee’s strong and the toast looks edible. Kasey stabs at her breakfast with her fork like it insulted her.
“Where’re we going today?” she asks, not looking up.
“Clubhouse. Straight through.”
“And then what?” Her tone’s light, but her grip on the fork tightens.
“You stay under protection until your sister figures out what’s next. That’s all I know.”
She nods slowly. “You always do what you’re told?”
“No,” I say, sipping my coffee. “But this time, yeah.”
She chews in silence, then glances over at me. “My dad used to be in some crew. Nothing official. Small-time. Then he got into the harder shit. Smack. Trafficking. All of it.”
I watch her closely, letting her speak at her pace. “He used to lock me in my room when he had ‘visitors.’ Told me if I came out, I’d end up like my mum.”
I clench my jaw. “Where’s he now?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. But someone’s been asking for me, someone he knows. Saying I stole from them. I didn’t. I swear.”
“I believe you,” I say, and mean it.
