Page 148 of Like Grim Death: Part One
But in this moment, he feels incredibly more dangerous.
“I could really hurt you right now, Ella.” He glances down at the blade to my skin. “I could slit your fucking throat and watch as you bleed out.”
My breaths are shallow, my hands shaky as I keep them held up, like I could stop him from doing what he’s saying.
“I could fuck your corpse.”
A whimper leaves my lips. “That’s not you.” I whisper the words as he drags his gaze back up to mine.
A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.
I hate how I have to lookupat him.
“But you know all of my secrets, Ella. Like this one.” He glances up at the high ceiling, the recessed lights.
The Madilyn, Atlas calls this place.
The first night he told me about it was all those weeks ago at Rain’s party. It’s his playground.
“Why not a Latin name?” I hiccup, the vodka in the cup he gave me getting to my head as I lean against his shoulder, our arms touching.
He smiles, rolling his eyes. “When you know who you are, you don’t need to scream about it. It sits quietly.” He touches his fist to his heart. “Here.”
How cute. “Latin isn’t who you are.” The words come without thinking, and I take another drink from my cup, wincing as it burns. But my face is feeling numb. It won’t burn much longer.
“No,” Atlas agrees, turning his head so he’s staring at the weight benches in the basement gym. “Demons don’t need dead languages, do they? They speak in horror.” He laughs then, like it’s nothing. “Anyway, it was my great-great something or another’s first name, and I like it.”
Again, I think about him sucking my saliva off of his fingers. About when he and Cain broke in. Things have escalated in ways I didn’t expect when he agreed to teach me how to fight.
I have truly miscalculated all of this.And I never once factored RC into the equation, not when it comes tome.
Atlas leans down close, his lips over mine, the knife still between us. I smell spearmint as he speaks. “And you’re not paying me. You’re not fucking me. And you’re not family.” That last one hurts the most. I know he doesn’t mean his blood relatives. He meant the Unsaints. The 6. I’m not one. I might have the scar on my palm, but I haven’t been initiated. There are so many things I don’t know. I never even got to meet Maverick’s mom, something that gets under my skin despite the fact I never heard a single nice thing about the woman. Maverick doesn’t talk about her, won’t share his grief with me, and it fucking eats at me.
“Why, exactly, am I keeping your secrets, Ella? It would be so much easier if you were only a lifeless little doll at my feet.”
I clench my teeth, narrowing my eyes as I stare at his, so close to my face. “Because now, they’re your secrets too. Killing me won’t erase your disloyalty.”
He smiles at that, humming softly. “Won’t it though? Two can keep a secret if… you know the rest.”
I flick my gaze past him, into the living room. I stare at the ornate baseboards of the black walls. This place is cavernous. But on the outside, it looks like nothing at all. The Madilyn. Crumbling and derelict, it’s only inside you experience the grandeur. Black and white marble tile floors upstairs, white wainscoting, arched doorways.
It’s opulence.
I’ve never even been inside his actual house, but I can’t imagine the interior could be better than this.
Architecture distracts me from the sting of his cryptic words, but it’s more than that. It’s like it emboldens me somehow, to not be looking directly at the monster.
“You saw something in me, you just said yourself. And you wouldn’t teach me all of this if you wanted to kill me.” I say it with conviction, and it’s not to talk him out of doing it. It’s because I know it to be true. Being Maverick’s girl isn’t always easy. He’s moody and broken and brooding. He’s older than me and he’s seen more of the world and his moral code is so far off from mine, it’s laughable. I slept with my mom’s boyfriend before. Maverick wouldn’t count that as a sin. In his world, transgressions are deeper and darker and usually, far bloodier.
But I’ve learned how to hold my own in the almost year we’ve been together… at least with people who aren’t him. I’ve learned to see what it is theyaren’tsaying, and Atlas doesn’t want me dead.
Seconds pass, maybe minutes.
Then he steps away so suddenly, I feel like I’m falling. My breaths come in pants as I press my fingertips behind me, to the counter, bowing my head. A sound of relief leaves my mouth as I close my eyes tight. I hear Atlas stepping further back, putting more distance between us, but I know he still has the knife.
“I wouldn’t,” he finally agrees.
I shake my head, still panting, and I don’t look up. “Then why are you being like this? Why are youtellingme this?”
