Page 5 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Loxley

Eleven Years Ago

It’s just my luck to make my first friend, and he’s suspended for three days for fighting.

Why aren’t you afraid of me?

Atlas’s words circle my mind again as I stare out the window of my algebra class. Mr. Brum drones on at the head of the room, boring everyone around me to sleep.

But pitch black shaggy hair preoccupies my brain, piercing blue eyes, and tattered loose-fitting clothes.

When I first noticed the large boy sitting on the bench outside of the principal’s office, I thought he was a senior or a teacher. He looked far too tall and filled out to be my age.

But as I got closer, I saw the blood on his face and knuckles and the faraway look in his eyes. I couldn’t resist the pull that tugged me closer to him.

I had never seen someone so… beautiful .

That may be the wrong word to use, but it’s how I perceived him—hauntingly striking.

Seeing his wounds and the pain on his face made my heartstrings tug. Mom calls me an empath, highly sensitive to how others feel, and I don’t disagree with her. She and dad raised me to show kindness to everyone.

And that kindness extended to Atlas. He was suffering on that bench, bleeding and looking beaten down. He needed a friend, and so did I.

Something about him just seemed so inviting and I couldn’t leave without trying. Even if he refused to speak to me, I would feel satisfied with extending my olive branch and slowly wear him down.

But when I crouched down, it was like both of our worlds stopped.

He mesmerized me, but I was also worried about his bloodied lips.

He had cuts and bruises all over him, and yet he never complained they hurt.

When he caught me just before I kneeled down, I gasped at the sudden electricity that rocketed through my system.

His hands were big, calloused, and strong as they gently guided me up.

At that moment, I made a rushed decision and quickly sat down beside him. I didn’t want our time to end. It didn’t matter that I was out of class on a timed hall pass. It was just the two of us.

Then his dad showed up, and it was like a switch flipped in him. He was stern, commanding me to go back to class, but I could see the pure fear in his eyes.

Something was going on there, and I planned to get to the bottom of it. I didn’t want to leave him, but I also knew there wasn’t much I could do without evidence.

Now, I miss a boy I don’t even know, worrying about his home life and if he’s okay…

The bell rings, jolting me in my seat. Mr. Brum announces a quiz for tomorrow, much to everyone’s dismay, and we all shuffle from the room.

I’m a social butterfly by nature, but even I can’t combat the awkwardness of trying to find my place in a new school.

I’ve tried to incorporate myself into different circles, and everyone has been nice enough, but nothing has stuck yet.

I feel like my social battery is overflowing, pushing for a chance to talk and build friendships, but I can’t find what I’m looking for.

Students move quickly through the halls, the sounds of lockers slamming and backpacks rustling touch my ears as I race quickly to the gymnasium on the other side of campus .

Gym isn’t my favorite, but it’s a credit I need, so I tolerate it. There’s only so many times you can run laps around the track or play some generic sport before it grows tiresome.

The gym is relatively empty when I get there. Coach Andy wheels a basket of dodgeballs to the center of the court and I groan.

Of course today’s sport is dodgeball.

I duck off into the girl’s locker room, changing out of my clothes and putting on my black gym shorts and the god awful orange shirt with the school’s mascot stamped over the chest.

I love bright colors, but the rust orange clashes with my hair horribly.

It’s just gym. I’m not trying to impress anyone.

I store my clothes and backpack in a locker before walking out to the court. Most of the class is gathered now, everyone mingling as they break away and go to the locker rooms. I always try to finish dressing first so I don’t get lost in the crowd.

“Always on time,” Coach Andy smiles as he tosses me a ball. “Get your head in the game, Bennett.”

I give a faux saccharine smile, hating that the coach uses last names. He never refers to anyone by their first name unless they’re in trouble. It’s annoying, but I grin and bear it.

I roll the ball in my hands, peering around the massive gym and studying the banners of football and basketball players. I’m not really interested in sports, but it’s giving me something to do while I wait for this class to start.

As my eyes skim, I look over at the boy’s locker room by chance and stop rolling the ball in my hands.

Atlas emerges from the doorway, towering over my other classmates in his matching black shorts and burnt orange shirt.

He’s here.

In my class.

Wait, he didn’t have this class before… did he?

His gaze scans the court, looking for someone in particular. When piercing blue eyes find me, he wastes no time taking long strides right towards me.

He looks exhausted, dark bags under his eyes and his skin flushed, but that doesn’t seem to deter him.

“Hey,” I say, giving a little wave.

Oh, my god. I’m a fucking loser.

“Hey,” he responds, taking the ball from my hands.

I blink down at my empty palms. “Did you just come over here to steal my ball?”

A devilish smirk tugs at his lips and the breath leaves me. I thought he was beautiful before, but now he’s dangerous. “Maybe,” he says, tossing the ball from one large hand to the other.

“Well, that’s not very nice,” I say, trying to keep my tone playful, but it still sounds as breathless as I feel. “I haven’t seen you in this class before.”

He shrugs, “I had to switch electives.”

My eyes narrow. That’s oddly suspicious considering all electives had plenty of space two weeks ago when school first started.

He spins the ball on his finger and I get a look at the treated cuts on his knuckles. They’re still open, but they look much better than they did three days ago. His lips aren’t swollen anymore, but his face is still bruised from his fight.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice low so no one can hear us. “Your wounds are looking better.”

He seems surprised by my question, blinking before he continues to spin the ball. “I’m fine.”

I purse my lips, reading his boundary, but not liking that he won’t divulge further. He’s a tough nut to crack, but that only makes me more interested in finding out what he’s hiding.

Coach Andy blows the whistle, gathering everyone’s attention as he announces the dodgeball game. He chooses two captains, Trevor, a tall and slender guy who plays junior varsity basketball and Dalton, a short, dark-haired boy who’s on the debate team.

“Pick your teams and their replacements,” Coach Andy says as he steps off the court.

Dalton’s eyes scan the crowd and I flinch when they zero in on me. He’s tried to hit on me a few times in the last week, following me after Home Economics since the debate team’s practice room is right across the hall.

He isn’t a bad-looking guy. I just really don’t want everything I say to lead to an argument. Dalton is strict with his elective. He basically breathes debate, down to the free-time he spends doing mock trials… with himself .

“Loxley!” He shouts. “You’re on my team.”

I grimace, but plaster on a smile. Until a wall steps in front of me. I look up at Atlas, a questioning brow quirked.

He peers down, his glacier eyes intense. “Is he bothering you?”

I get so lost in the roaring oceans that stare back at me I forget all about Dalton. “Who?”

The boy before me scowls. “Don’t pretend. If he’s bothering you, I’ll handle him.”

Handle him?

“Wait, what are you going to do?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t think you would like it if I told you.”

I softly gasp.

He’s going to fight Dalton?

Over me?

A strange mix of emotions blossoms in me. One is anxiety. I’m a pacifist and don’t believe situations should be handled with fists. But the other is… satisfaction.

This boy, who I met three days ago, would hurt someone who’s bothering me. He’s angry on my behalf, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that before. It feels good to know someone has my back since I have a hard time sticking up for myself.

But that doesn’t make fighting right.

Atlas turns, his expression deathly calm as he finds Dalton in the crowd.

Oh, crap. Do something, Loxley!

I quickly reach out, grabbing Atlas’s bicep and falter in my scolding at the muscles I feel under my fingers. He looks big and imposing, but he’s still growing into his height, making his arms and legs seem thinner than what they are. But there’s no mistaking what I feel under my fingers.

“No more fighting,” I rush. “If we’re going to be friends, you have to stop getting into fights. I don’t like it.”

His brows lift, and for a moment, I think he’s going to laugh at me. Then he does the complete opposite.

“Sure,” he nods. “So, we’re friends then?”

“I guess we are,” I smile.

Atlas untucks the ball from his arm, tossing it back and forth again. “I haven’t seen you around before. Did you just move here?”

“I did. I lived in Manhattan.”

He hisses, “Manhattan? That sounds like a nightmare.”

I scoff. “I’ll have you know I love the city. It has its own gems.”

He snorts, tossing the ball high in the air before catching it. “Yeah. Like big fucking rats that could carry you off into the sewers. Or was your favorite part the pickpockets?”

I playfully push his shoulder, a face splitting smile upturning my lips as he laughs at his own joke.

“If you ever develop some taste, let me know and I’ll show you all of my favorite spots in the city.” I say, my voice sassy.

He stops tossing the ball, his hands slamming against the leather as he smirks. “Are you offering to bring me to New York, Short Stack? Seems a little forward.”

My face heats, and I quickly deflect. “Short Stack? Is that the best nickname you can come up with, beanpole ?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m far from a beanpole and you know it. I called you Short Stack because you’re short and you have little cakes on the sides of your shoes. I was thinking of cake layers stacked on top of each other.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at the embroidered cake patterns on my high-tops. “That makes sense, but it could easily be mistaken for pancakes.”

“Then I guess it’s good the nicknames are for us and no one else,” he rolls the ball, using the back of his hand to keep it steady.

Only for us…

I like the sound of that.

“So,” he begins, “do you like cake—”

“Loxley,” Dalton interrupts us. We were so engrossed with each other, I forgot all about the dodgeball game. “We’re starting.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say.

Atlas rolls his eyes and Dalton looks between us, like he’s trying to piece our relationship together.

“Anyway, do you like to eat cake—” Atlas is interrupted again and I feel my cool mask slipping away.

“You need to get ready for the game. Everyone is waiting for you.” Dalton says, his tone a little more impatient.

I hold back a sigh. “I’ll be there in just a second.” I turn back to Atlas, giving him an apologetic look.

“So, the cake thing—”

“Loxley, the game—” Dalton is cut off mid sentence as a dodgeball slams into his face with a sharp slap. He staggers back, cupping his nose as blood trickles from it.

“We’re fucking talking,” Atlas snarls. “Put her substitute in, and if I catch you around her again, I’ll break more than your nose.”

I’m stunned, my mouth hanging open as the boy nods before hobbling over to the center of the court. There’s a tense pause between us and I remain frozen where I stand.

Atlas waves a hand in front of his face. “He forgot to block.”

I snort, but quickly stop myself as I point a finger at his chest. “No. That’s not funny. I’m not laughing at that. You said no more fights.”

He blows out air as he looks around the court. “That wasn’t a fight, Short Stack. Trust me, you’ll know when it’s a fight.”

“Atlas Kingsley!” Coach Andy bellows across the gym. He has a hand on Dalton’s shoulder as he presses a paper towel to the boy’s nose. “You’re on the bench for the next hour!”

“Fuck me,” Atlas groans before giving me a shit-eating grin. “I’ll see you later.”

Later?

“What do you mean by later?” I call after his retreating form, but he doesn’t answer as he plops down on a bench.

I suffer through gym without my new friend, but my neck prickles with his intense eyes on me. Through the whole hour, I don’t think he looked away for even a second.

For the first time in my life, there’s a swarming sensation in my gut and I smile to myself.