Page 6 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Atlas

Eleven Years Ago

“How am I supposed to learn all of this before next period? It’s impossible.” I grumble.

“Just learn the basics,” Rowan says. “You won’t be perfect, but at least you won’t embarrass yourself two minutes into class.”

He reads through the basics of crochet, something I’ve never done before. I felt like an idiot when I said it was the same thing as sewing. Apparently sewing is different…

I peer across the cafeteria, my eyes transfixed on the empty table by the doors. Loxley sits with a thick book in her hands, slowly eating some fruit as she turns the pages, enraptured by whatever story she’s reading.

I wanted to join her, even if I was forced to sit quietly while she read. I’ve done more talking today than I have in the past two weeks since school started, but it’s not a bad change. As long as I’m speaking to her, I could talk all damn day.

But Rowan had pulled me to the side, convincing me it would be my safest bet to at least pretend there’s a reason I switched to her fifth period class.

I feel my brother lean closer before he speaks. “Why does Dalton Smith have a broken nose and wet hair?”

I shrug, flipping to the next page in the book. “He forgot to block during dodgeball, then slipped and fell headfirst into the toilet earlier.”

My brother snorts, “So, that’s the story we’re going with? You could have drowned him.”

“ He fell ,” I say slowly. “And I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Such restraint. Thank god you didn’t kill your classmate, Atlas. You know that’s where dad draws the line. He’ll have you withdrawn from school so fast if he thinks you’re a danger to the syndicate.”

I don’t answer him, letting his words sink in as I flip through the lessons.

“Just be careful,” he warns. “If you need help, let me know and I’ll do what I can.”

I nod, appreciating Rowan for his willingness to help. He’s always been a shoulder to lean on. Unlike Thalia, he doesn’t mind extending a hand when it’s needed.

We continue to review, my eyes peeking over at my friend occasionally. It’s hard not to stare at her. She’s so fucking pretty that seeing her makes my heart pang with longing.

And I get the whole school year to surround myself with her.

For once, I don’t mind that Home Economics has no appeal to me. Because as long as Loxley’s there, I’ll fake it until I make it.

***

Loxley

Eleven years ago

He’s here.

In my Home Economics class.

Atlas sits in the back of the room, leaning back in his chair with an arm thrown over the backrest of the empty one beside him.

I hate that he looks so good as he gives me a smirk before patting the empty chair, signaling that he saved me a seat.

My suspicions from earlier? They’re growing by the seconds, but the pleasure racing through me smothers it.

He’s here.

I walk over to his table, giving him an unimpressed look. “Are you following me, bestie?”

His eyes narrow when I say bestie, like the word itself is offensive. “I don’t know what you mean. I had to change another elective and Home Ec was right up my alley.”

I cock a hip, “Really? What’s a skill you have? Cooking? Maybe sewing? Or are you into finance, Atlas?”

His face falls as he thinks, “Uh, I’m learning how to crochet. Yeah. I love… making blankets and shit.”

I laugh and he seems to relax. “You don’t really know how to crochet, do you?”

“Not a single clue.”

“Alright,” I decide. “I’m going to help you get an A in this class and you can help me get an A in gym as long as you stay off the bench for the rest of the year.”

He gives me a lopsided grin, those blue eyes shining with excitement. “You got a deal, Short Stack.”

And that’s how I made my first friend in Columbus. Atlas and I hung out every day at school, helping each other study and just talking. We would sit together in our two classes, at lunch, and during study hall. We were practically inseparable.

I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, either. As the year progressed, he continued to grow into his looks, filling out and even growing facial hair.

Other girls noticed him, long lingering looks in the hallways that would make my blood boil, but he never even gave them the time of day. It was like he didn’t see anyone besides me at all times, and I loved it.

But my worry for him only grew as I divulged more about myself to him and he only stuck to telling me more surface level things about himself.

I told him I wanted to own a bakery when I graduated, and he told me he already had something set up for him after high school. He never told me what that occupation was, but I never stopped asking.

Sometimes, he would show up at school with fresh cuts and bruises and I would ask about them. It was always met with a casual shrug before he would change the subject.

I knew something was going on at home, but anytime I would try to entice him to tell me, he would get this guarded, faraway look in his eyes before demanding I drop it.

I was terrified for him. I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to help.

It’s hard to help someone when they treat abuse so lightly. To Atlas, it was just another day. But to me, my friend was hurting silently.

I offered to hang out after school countless times, but he told me his dad wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t even go to homecoming or prom because his dad forbade him.

My anger was reaching a tipping point at Atlas’s father. He seemed to enjoy controlling every aspect of his son’s life and treating him poorly at home.

It was fucking cruel.

I came up with a grand scheme to get my friend out of his dad’s house, but everything came to a standstill the last month of school. Mom finished training the staff at her new firm and she had to break the news to me during dinner one night.