Page 4 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Atlas

Eleven Years Ago

My stomach gives another painful clench, the hunger becoming unbearable. My eyes droop with exhaustion, the darkness swirling around me. It’s hard to hallucinate when you’re not actively looking at anything.

Rowan has been down a few times to make sure I’m not sleeping for dad’s check-ins. During one of our visits, I asked him to look into Loxley for me and he gave me updates every time he came down.

She’s fifteen and new to Columbus. Her dad is a bank teller and her mom is a lawyer. They moved here over the summer for her mom’s new office she’s opening in downtown.

We share none of the same classes since she’s a grade below me, but I have a few electives I can switch. I convinced Rowan to help me out, and he still has yet to confirm it with me.

Just as I’m about to fall over from exhaustion, the hatch opens. I close my eyes at the harsh bright light, only relaxing when I recognize Rowan’s shoes on the steps.

“Punishments over,” he says casually. “Mom made pork chops.”

I hold a hand out to him and he grasps it, helping me stand on shaky legs. “Did you get to switch my electives?” I ask, licking my dry, cracked lips.

He laughs, “Three days with no food or water and you’re still worried about this girl?” He helps support me as we walk up the steps, keeping a hand centered on my back as I hobble up the stairs.

“Did you do it?” I ask again, ignoring his question. We make it to the top and I stretch out, releasing some of the tension in my limbs. My eyes adjust to the light and the shock to my system makes the hallucinations die down a little.

“Yup.” he pats my shoulder, a wide smile on his face. “I saw her in the hallway the other day. She’s cute. Didn’t think happiness and rainbows would be your type.”

I stop at his words, something nasty crawling in my gut.

Jealousy.

Rowan laughs again, the sound making anger rise as that clawing sensation spreads. “I’m not coming onto her. She’s fucking fifteen, Atlas.”

I nod, but his answer doesn’t seem to settle me. If he was anyone else, I would have beaten the shit out of him.

“Come on,” he wraps an arm around my shoulder, a stupid, smug smirk on his face. “Let’s get some food and sleep in you, then we can go over your new class schedule. You have two classes with your girlfriend now. Just don’t let dad find out.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I mutter quietly.

My brother raises a brow, his eyes knowing. “Do you want her to be?”

Do I?

I think of seeing her easy smiles and hearing her beautiful laughter every day. I imagine us sitting together at lunch, our sides touching, her bright doe eyes lit up with excitement as we talk casually. I even consider seeing her outside of school and maybe meeting her parents one day…

“Yes,” I answer.

Rowan slaps my back. “Hell yeah! Let’s get you a girlfriend!”

We walk back to the house together, Rowan talking a mile a minute as I linger behind him. He gives me dating advice, which is stupid considering he’s never had a girlfriend. But I listen, enjoying the company.

And I get to see Loxley tomorrow. My spirits are already much higher by the time I sit down for a silent dinner with my family.

Dad sits at the head of the table, already digging into his food.

Mom sits beside him, her eyes roaming over me for a split second before she cuts into a pork chop.

Thalia sits at the opposite end of the table, her thick black hair falling near her face, as she uses a knife to whittle a sharp point into a block of wood.

I sit beside mom and Rowan takes the chair across from me. The sounds of forks and knives hitting plates and Thalia’s carving fill the dining room.

“Thalia,” dad bites, shooting her a severe expression. “Put the fucking wood down and eat.”

She complies, slamming her supplies down on the table before digging into her food.

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but no one mentions my time in solitary. That’s how punishments go. After the act, no one speaks of it again and we go back to playing house.

I fucking hate it.

But tonight, I have something else to focus on. My thoughts stay on red-blonde hair and freckled cheeks.

And my fucked up reality doesn’t matter.