“Well, let me know what you’re thinking, and we can look into getting whatever gear you might need.” I pull up in front of the school and wait in the drop-off line with the other parents.
Noah gathers his backpack and holds up his empty coffee for me to take. Thank God, he only got a small one. “They’ll make me throw it away anyway, but at least this time it’s empty,” he jokes, pulling his backpack up from the seat beside him. “See ya later, Cora.”
He gives me a small wave and puts his strap over one shoulder. I reach over to ruffle his light hair a bit.
“Hey!” He swats my hand away. “Don’t do that.” I laugh as he gives me a dirty look.
“Don’t worry, champ. Your hair still looks like you don’t own a comb.” I pull up further in line and put my car in park. “I’ll see you later. Make good choices, and for the love of everything, don’t give anyone any trouble today. I don’t want a phone call.”
“No promises, Cora Bora.” He dashes out of the car before I can respond. I watch briefly through the window as he sees one of his friends and joins him on their walk into the building.
“Cora Bora.” I snort. He might be on to something.
Chapter Two
Atlas
“Can I get an iced white chocolate mocha latte, no whip. Oh, and a cranberry orange muffin. Please,” I tag on.
The girl behind the counter stares at me for a moment, then grabs a cup with a sigh. “Name?” she asks with an added huff.?
“Atlas,” I huff out in return.
She gives me a disinterested look, then my total. Tapping my card, I decide against giving her a tip. Making someone’s day a little better isn’t really my thing. If the guys were here, they’d be laughing anyway. I can already see it. They’d poke fun at my drink choice and baked good, but there is no better combo than cranberry and orange. The latte and muffin are the only things I treat myself to—well, besides the occasional book or vinyl, but the guys all know about those addictions. This one is the one forme.?
Once a week, I stop at the local coffee shop, Twin Roasts,for my fix. The place smells of coffee and vanilla and has a decent vibe; plus, it is quiet. It is my reward for not only putting up with my three brothers but also the general population. I don’t really like people. Idiscovered at an early age that people are ugly, and inherently selfish in nature—yeah, it was a great way to start life.
Grabbing my drink and muffin, I find a booth that’s furthest away from everyone. Pulling out my laptop, I settle in and wait for the screen to load. I wish I didn’t have to interact with anyone some days, but that doesn’t pay the bills.
My parents gave me up, and then I spent a few years bouncing around different homes, being someone’s paycheck. It was all fun until one of my foster parents beat me so badly that I was hospitalized. A broken arm, a few busted ribs, and miscellaneous cuts and bruises were enough for them to get a few years in prison. They went to jail, and I went to one more home. I’ll never admit it, but that beating may have been the best thing to happen to me. It gave me Emma and my brothers.
They aren’t really my brothers, not by blood anyway. Emma took all of us in, and we created our version of a family. She taught us that family doesn’t always include people who share blood with you. Sometimes, it means making a bond with another person and building a foundation of your own. We all came from different beginnings and backgrounds, but were able to find peace with each other. Mostly.
Our tattoo shop,Exiled Ink, was a dream that we turned into a reality together. The name felt fitting for four guys who had been rejected by the system yet formed their own family. We each have our own specialties but currently lack a receptionist. The reminder sends a surge of annoyance through me all over again.
Bri, our most recent front girl, quit after mybrotherbroke her heart. Why some women think they’ll be the one who can change a man, I’ll never understand. Kash isn’t a bad guy. He just leads with his dick more than his brain. She thought he was in love, and he thought she was okay with just having fun.
Shaking my head, I begin clearing out messages and responding to emails. I despise this part of the job. It’s a combination of fan mail and offers to exchange ink forservices. I don’t even respond to those.They just get deleted. I try to be nice and respond to the comments and messages from people who seem to appreciate what we do, or need a consultation, but it’s a hard pass on ink in exchange for sex. I’d rather stick my dick in a blender and hit puree.
Snagging a piece of muffin, I toss the chunk in my mouth and chew slowly, savoring the flavor. This place has some of the best coffee and baked goods. I’m contemplating getting another one to take with me, but I pause when I notice a commotion at the front.
Some guy in a suit is screaming at a girl by the counter. Her back is to me, but I can tell she’s on the smaller side. She’s got to be maybe 5’5” with dark wavy hair, jeans, and high-top sneakers. He’s got a few inches on her, and judging by how loud he is, their conversation isn’t going well.
“Do you have any idea how much this shirt and shoes cost?” he sneers. “It’s dry-clean only.”
“I told you I was sorry. It was an accident,” her soft voice replies.
My body freezes when I hear it. I imagine it’s what being struck by lightning feels like. Her tone is soft-spoken, and there’s a gentleness to it. Even though he’s yelling at her, she remains unbothered. No one is saying anything to him or trying to stop it. The girl behind the counter stares at him in anger, and if looks could kill, that guy would be a goner.
“Right, you’re sorry.” He laughs sarcastically, brushing some of the liquid off his shirt. “Maybe instead of being sorry, you should try not being so stupid.”
The statement leaves his mouth, and I’m on my feet and across the room before I realize it. I fucking hate people sometimes.
“You should try not being anasshole,” I sneer, inserting myself between them. He might be taller than she is, but he’s got nothing on me. My six-foot-two frame towers over him, and I see a brief flicker of fear cross his face. The change in his demeanor is enough to give me whiplash.It’s not so fun when someone bigger stands in front of you, is it?
“Piss off, kid. She should have paid attention. It’s not my fault she’s too stu—” I don’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence.
My fist snaps out and connects with his jaw. I can’tstandbullies. The only way to get them to stop is just to silence them yourself. Some people will never learn there’s a limit until they step over it and get put back.
