Page 26 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Loxley

Do something fun and stop worrying about the bakery. It’s your day off.

Addison’s words from earlier taunt me. After my numerous calls to Janette, who rudely hung up on me during our last conversation after declaring I was blocked until my shift started tomorrow morning, my best friend convinced me to get out of the house.

Logically, I know everything is fine with my store.

If Janette had any problems, she would have said something to me.

She isn’t one to keep secrets, but I still can’t trust myself with that knowledge.

I’m never going to stop worrying about it despite the wonder team I’ve assembled.

I’ve had this dream since I was a kid, and finally getting to see it take flight has made me a little overbearing.

Okay, a bit overbearing.

And maybe I do need to take a step back. My lead employee seemed rather peeved at me before she hung up.

So, I spent my day wandering around the supermarket in my neighborhood with the poor excuse of grocery shopping. Keeping myself occupied is proving to be a harder feat than I originally thought. Even as I pick up an avocado, testing the ripeness, I stop myself before setting it back atop the pile.

“I don’t even like avocados,” I groan, taking my sad basket to the check-out counter. I pay for my gum, bag of apples, and a few packs of meat before calling it a day and heading back to my apartment to switch things up .

I just started my gym membership last week and have yet to use the damn thing.

The sun is setting, meaning the afternoon crowds should be clearing out soon.

I have no issues working out in front of others, but sometimes it’s good to pop your headphones in and just be alone with your workout. This feels like one of those times.

I unpack my groceries, taking my time and letting the minutes tick away as I prepare a dinner to be reheated once I get back. It’s something simple and easy, giving me the time to change into my workout clothes before cutting the burner and plating everything to the side.

Once my apartment is locked down, I head to the first floor and almost bump right into Mrs. Olivia.

“Goodness!” She startles, holding a hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” I wince, shouldering my gear higher. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She waves a hand, “Nonsense. You must get it from that boyfriend of yours.”

I tense, my eyes widening on the old woman. “Boyfriend?”

She smiles, giving me a wink. “He’s a cutie. How’s that security system he set up for you working out?”

Of fucking course.

How else would he have remembered the password?

Through a tight smile, my molars grinding, I seethe, “Just fine.”

“That’s great news! I’ve been contemplating setting up something similar for my other residents, but haven’t had the time here lately.” she shakes her head before giving me a hopeful look. “Next time your boyfriend… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch his name last time.”

“Atlas,” I say on impulse, the sound of his name natural on my lips. I can’t ignore how right it feels…

“Oh,” the woman responds, quirking a brow. “That’s an odd name, but yours isn’t considered common either. Two unique names finding each other,” she shakes her head, “The world works in mysterious ways. Well, tell Atlas his help would be appreciated. I have no idea where to start.”

That it does…

“Will do,” I wave goodbye before heading in the direction of the gym two blocks away. It’s a small one, housing rows of treadmills and a few other equipment meant for building strength.

The boy behind the check-in counter, because he can’t be older than sixteen, rests his chin in his palm as he scrolls through his phone. I hold up my key card and he doesn’t even glance in my direction.

“Have a good workout,” he mutters, still scrolling.

I roll my lips in to hide my laugh before passing him and taking in the damage.

There’s one other person here, a jacked man with the world’s smallest tank top on, lifting the heaviest dumbbells the gym offers, off in the far right corner of the facility.

As he slams a weight down, finishing his current set, he lets out a loud groan and I quickly turn away so I don’t laugh.

He sounds like he’s having sex instead of maintaining the ridiculous muscle mass that must have taken him years to build.

I stick closer to the glass wall that gives an outward view of the street. The sun has set, darkness blanketing the sidewalks as street lamps provide minimal light.

I slide my headphones on, hitting the workout playlist that always gets my blood pumping.

As the familiar heavy metal riff blares to life, I feel myself transported back in time.

Atlas and I sat in the back of the school’s library, my head resting on his shoulder, one of my wired headphones in my ear and the other in his as he showed me the music he grew up on.

We couldn’t be more different. Where my parents pushed classical music and jazz to stimulate brain activity, Atlas’s parents had no such reserve.

The loud sounds paired with the aggressive vocals of metal were his comfort.

He was so proud I was listening to something that brought him joy, and I was enjoying it.

I had never heard such passion, dismay, and rebellion from music.

The greats had their own drive, but metal was so vigorous.

Where classical and jazz was about soul, harmony, and whispering the message, metal was boisterous and intimidating.

It was screaming to fuck the system— literally —and everything I dreamed of saying out loud to my straight laced parents.

I loved it.

And have since then.

I usually save my playlist for workouts because there’s nothing like lifting weights to the thick, monumental sounds and hearing the heavy screams gives me such a rush that I power through my sets.

I do a quick warm up and stretch, my sweatshirt rolling up slightly as I bend over. Once my legs are nice and limber, I start my cardio on one of the treadmills. I set a good pace, enjoying the burn in my lungs as the music thumps through my headphones.

As the song ends, my eyes widen at the masculine groan, long and rumbling, that comes from across the room. The Gym Bro slams the metal barbell loaded with weight down, the sound ricocheting off the walls as he whoops in exhilaration.

Jesus Christ.

I go through two more songs, letting the music drown out whatever the hell is going on in the far corner before I’m glistening with sweat and cutting the treadmill.

I think of removing my sweatshirt, but shake my head as I walk over to the racked weights near the window.

I have a yoga bodysuit underneath that leaves little to the imagination.

Usually, I wouldn’t mind the break from the smothering warmth wrapped around me, but with the level of testosterone in the corner, I think I’ll pass.

I grab the twenty-five-pound weights, drowning out everything as I stand in the wall-length mirror, ready to observe my form.

I nearly drop the dumbbell in my hand when my eyes lock with icy blues in the mirror. I whirl toward the window, a hand flying to my racing heart as I take in the figure just outside the glass.

Atlas stands there, his hands in his pockets and his balaclava pulled up as he watches me with an intense interest. His eyes crease in the corners before he nods his head in a subtle greeting.

I place a hand on my hip and push my headphones back, turning to face him. “What? Gonna stalk me in the gym now too?”

He lifts a shoulder, nodding as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’s the plan.’

I scoff, shaking my head as I set my weight down. “I’m onto you, you know. Don’t think I don’t know who you are.”

His brows lift, mirth playing in his stare. His eyes trail my figure, the perusal slow and almost sensual as he takes in my shapely legs and the flair in my hips.

I shift in place, the butterflies and warmth in my gut unmistakable at his devouring gaze.

Fuck me.

I look around, seeing if anyone has noticed the massive man outside the window ogling me. Gym Bro is starting his next set, breathing loudly and making sounds that should only be heard during private settings, and the kid at the counter hasn’t looked up once from his phone.

When I turn back to Atlas, he mimics lifting a weight before his eyes roll back in his head and his body convulses like he’s having an orgasm.

I snort, a hand flying to my mouth as I peer at Gym Bro over my shoulder, making sure he isn’t witnessing the man on the sidewalk making fun of him. When the coast is clear, I whirl back to my friend in the window, biting my lip to hold in my laughter.

His eyes darken as they snag on the movement, his nostrils flaring under the mask. Slowly, he tugs at the bottom of his shirt before imitating taking it off .

He wants me to take my sweatshirt off.

I’m not a bold woman by any means, but with the heated and hungry look in his eyes and knowing he can’t get to me in a public place, I feel powerful. I’m the one calling the shots and he’s just an onlooker in this game.

I grab the hem of my sweatshirt, slowly peeling it away from my body. The air hits my heated skin, but it does nothing for my pebbled flesh as it tingles with awareness.

The top of the green bodysuit is a tank top, showing my shoulders and part of my neck while the bottom flares around my calves. It’s one of my favorites and super comfortable to work out in.

But as I hold my sweatshirt out to the side, dropping it seductively to the floor, the workout gear feels more like lingerie.

Atlas puts his hands on his hips, lifting his head to the sky as his eyes close. He brings it back down before moving to the window and gently beating a fist against it as he shakes his head in an overly dramatic display of ‘You’re killing me.’

I roll my shoulders, lifting my chin and feeling far more confident than I usually would. “Now, I’m going to finish my workout and you can stay out there. Like a good boy.”