Page 8 of Equilibrium
Uh-huh, keep lying to yourself.
“Argh.” I took a step back. “You know what? I don’t need him because you are going to tell me what I’m doing here. And don’t even try to get out of it.”
“Listen, sweetheart—”
“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me, asshat.” I pointed a finger at him. “You wanted to show me something, then let’s go. But after that, you and your merry band of leather-loving fuckers are going to tell me everything.” He grimaced again. “And I mean, every single thing.”
“Leather-loving fuckers?”
“Well, you’re definitely not wearing plaid.”
Instead of glaring at me or yelling, Atlas almost howled, bending at his knees. His shoulders shook as he laughed, while I stood gawking at him, impatient to get this over with.
“I swear—”
“Oh. My. God.” He started laughing again. “You are my favorite right now.”
“Shut up.”
He straightened up, still fucking laughing, and something pulled at me, seeing him like this. When was the last time somebody laughed like this with me? He placed one hand around my shoulders, steering me further down the hallway.
“You fucking crack me up, sweetheart. Leather-loving fuckers.” He snickered again. “That makes me think of some BDSM shit.”
Great, just fucking great. Now my head was filled with images of Storm in leather pants and a whip in his hand. I wasn’t even into whips, for God’s sake.
“Just.” I took a deep breath. “Shut up and lead the way.”
“Wait ’til I tell the guys about it. Oh God, Felix is going to love it.”
“Who’s Felix?”
I was curious. Sue me. I didn’t really think he would tell me, but as words rolled off his tongue, I realized that maybe he was telling the truth. I wasn’t a prisoner unless I made myself one.
“Felix is one of our enforcers.”
“One of them.” I craned my neck to look at him as we took a right turn in the hallway. “So, there’s more than one?”
“Mhm.” He steered left.
“Who is the second one?”
“I am,” he answered proudly.
“You’re an enforcer?”
“What?” He looked down at me. “Why do I hear doubt in your voice?”
“Because, well,” I stammered. “You don’t look—”
“I don’t look like an enforcer?”
“Well, no.” Not that I knew how they usually looked, but the stories I’ve heard, enforcers were scary fuckers. They even made me look like Tinkerbell.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he winked, “some of us have pretty faces.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I could almost see the back of my skull. The ego on him.
It baffled me though. How could he live with himself if he did the dirty work for the club? The Syndicate loved me when I had to do their dirty little deeds. When there was a person that needed to be killed, a man that had to be tortured, I was their go-to person for those things. But as soon as the stage lights turned off and I returned to Croyford, they expected me to hide who I was. They expected me to be somebody else—a happy, calm, and collected person.
