He looked up at her as she served pancakes. Normally he would have taken his food and gone to sit on the counter across the kitchen. But if Bex was talking? Nothing was going to tear his ass from this barstool.
“I got my GED about two years ago though. I’ve been hoping to go back for my associates. But—” she cut herself off and stuffed pancakes in her mouth.
“But…” Atlas prompted.
“Life gets in the way,” she eventually said after she’d swallowed her food.
Atlas figured that he could ask and get shot down, or he could not ask. Not asking was safer. But asking proved that he wanted to know about her life. And he wanted her to know, without a doubt, that he wanted to know about her life.
“Bex, was there anything that you actually liked about stripping?”
She stiffened for a second, but when he kept eating like normal, taking a sip of his coffee and looking up at her in what he hoped was a friendly, curious way, she seemed to actually consider his question.
“At the places with good security, where I felt safe, every once in a while, there were these moments.” She took a long sip of coffee, her eyes latched on to some point over Atlas’s shoulder. She was looking into her past. “There’s something really intense about being someone’s entire focus. And when I’d dance for a man, especially a lap dance, sometimes I felt like the only thing he wanted.”
Atlas leaned forward, unable to keep eating while she was spinning this tale for him. He felt like he was caught in a cloud of her making. He was picturing Bex giving him a lap dance. He couldn’t picture her with any other dude or else he was going to rip the countertop off and karate chop it in half. But picturing her with him? Yeah, he could do that.
“I would look down,” she said. “And see his hands on the arms of the chair, his knuckles white from wanting to touch me so bad. But he couldn’t. Sometimes they beg. I always liked that. They’d make promises. And in those moments, they’d be genuine. I knew they weren’t promises that they’d keep in the morning. But some of those men? If I’d agreed to let them touch me, they would have handed over the keys to their cars, or bought me a weekend in Paris. They’d want me so bad. But they couldn’t have me. And I liked that part too. I was everything to them. And then I’d walk away. And take it all away from them.”
“You’re talking about power.”
Atlas found himself leaning across the table toward her, completely taken in by the light in her eyes, the color in her cheeks. She looked positively electric. And he could see he was right. She was talking about the moments that she’d been in charge. The moments that she had power over these men. He could also see that it had revved her up to talk about it. She had a sexy energy about her. Something magnetic and intimidating all at once. At that particular moment, his normally shy Bex suddenly looked like she could talk a man into going to war for her.
Hell, she could have crooked her finger and had Atlas crawling if that’s what she wanted.
Just sitting across the breakfast table and talking and Atlas could recognize the fact that she had a very intense sexual charisma. And she was sitting there in oversized clothes, with a crease from a pillow still on her cheek. He could only imagine what she’d be like in lingerie, dancing, dead set on turning someone on.
He was grateful he hadn’t stayed and watched her dance even more. He probably would have turned into a walking, talking erection. Two arms, two legs and a boner. That’s all that would have become of him.
“I guess power is what it all comes down to,” she replied after a thoughtful moment. “And it makes sense, I guess. That the least powerful take it wherever they can get it.”
“Are you one of the least powerful?” he asked quietly.
She scoffed at her plate, her eyes avoiding his at all costs. “You have to even ask?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m asking because it’s important to ask.”
She took a deep breath and spoke to her pancakes, as if she were trying to get all the words out at once. “You want to know where I got those bruises? Who beat me up? Two women at the shelter on the 59th. Why? I have no idea. But there you are. There you go. You want powerless? That’s me. Homeless, nameless, starving, small. You name it.”
Atlas buried his face in his hands and imagined himself hugging her. “God. Bex, I’m so sorry. I wish like hell I could go back in time. I wish I could take all that away. Banish it from your life. Just— God.” He dragged a hand over his face, messing with his trimmed beard and eyeing her. He knew that he had to go for broke. There was too much at stake to stay quiet.
“Bex, there’s nothing I like more than sitting at breakfast and having you tell me about yourself. Because all I really want is to know you. But more than knowing you? Is me wanting you safe. So, I’m gonna risk screwing up our sharing mood and ask you one more time to come meet Rook with me. Tell him your story, and see if we can’t work out some way to keep you safe. Please. Whatever this is that has you running so fast you end up in a shitty homeless shelter, please let me help you fight it. Let me make you safe.”
Her mouth went mulishly thin as she pushed her plate away. Her face turned to the side and Atlas could practically see her slamming down barred windows around her heart. Just enough for her to see to the outside, but never enough to let someone in.
“I don’t want to put anyone in an awkward position,” she said.
“What?”
“If I go and talk to Rook, tell him my story, he’s going to do about two seconds of research and pull up my rap sheet. The—” She dropped her face into her hand and spoke so quietly that Atlas had to strain to hear her. “Please just trust me when I tell you that it’s so much better if no one knows who I am. I’m as safe as I will ever be, Atlas. I’m disappeared from my old life. No one will think to look for me here.”
She seemed to be convincing herself as much as she was convincing him.
“I’m Bex now. There’s no more Rebecca B—”
She cut herself off before she said her last name.
“Please,” she pleaded with him, her eyes huge and glassy. “Please just let me be Bex.”
Atlas gripped his fork and his knee jounced where his leg balanced on the lowest rung of the barstool. He ground his teeth together as his blood pressure steadily rose up and up. She was demanding promises when he couldn’t give them. She thought she knew best. But the fact was, she was scared and on the run. There was no way that she actually knew what was best for herself legally. If she hadn’t spoken to a lawyer, there was no way to know what the best move was.
Atlas was positive that running was only making things worse for her.
So, he didn’t promise.
“I need a fucking hug.”
She recoiled from him, confusion in her eyes. “What?”
“I need a damn hug, Bex. I’m stressed and worried and I need reassurance, all right?”
Still clutching the fork and knife, he eyed her across the counter. He was certain that his gaze was electric because she was stiffening and needling her bottom lip between her teeth, eyeing him like he was a wild animal. She certainly would not be doing that if he were looking like a teddy bear over here.
“I don’t like hugs,” she whispered.
“Well, make your peace, then.” He stood and she jolted, glancing around the kitchen like a scared rabbit. It stopped him in his tracks. Made him so damn sad. Even with ample warning, she was acting like he was hunting her. Like when he got to her, he was going to peel her like a banana, eat all the fruit she was protecting on the inside. She didn’t know yet that he wasn’t a taker. He was a giver. But she’d learn. Soon enough, she’d learn.
His eyes on hers, he stopped halfway around the counter, a heavy sigh on his lips. She looked terrified of him. But they’d hugged before. What was so different about that time? Oh. Right. He remembered. She’d been the one doing the hugging. And his hands had been planted on the wall, where she could see them. She didn’t like to get touched.
Slowly, his eyes on hers, Atlas lifted his hands up next to his face. For a moment, he grinned at her, giving her spirit fingers. Her brow furrowed. Then he slowly and intentionally stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his slacks. His eyes still on hers, he backed up so that his back was against the fridge, his ass pressing his hands into the fridge door, for all intents and purposes pinning them there. “Come gimme a hug. Please?”
She stared at him for another long minute and Atlas nearly wilted under the pressure of his want for her. She was swallowed up in clothes, her eyes big and her face still slightly pink from sleep. Her hair was as messy as such short hair could be. But she wasn’t gaunt like she’d been a few weeks ago. The dark circles were gone from under her eyes and her face had filled in a bit. She was his gorgeous little elf with the ears that stuck out just a centimeter too far. He didn’t think he’d ever had eyes on a more beautiful woman. Or one he wanted more.
She rose up and quickly walked toward him. Like she was trying to take the gravity out of the moment. She marched up to him, her eyes on his chest, and looped her hands around his back, over his arms, pinning them as much as he was. Just like before, her hug was hard and rigid as she basically slammed their bodies against one another, her head turning to one side, her cheek pressing against his sternum. He felt that same lemon-bright surge of want for her. An almost painful current of desire that she awoke with such a basic touch between two people.
He felt her arms lift and fully expected her to release him and spring away. But her hands found one another against her chest, against his belly. Her cheek stayed against his chest. And for a moment, she just leaned her weight against him.
Looking down, barely breathing, Atlas could only see the top of her head. But he would have given a pinky toe to know whether her eyes were closed or not. She held there for five long seconds before she heaved a great sigh and stepped away.
She walked all the way back to her stool and sat down. “Better?”
“Much.” He moved his hands from his back pockets to his front pockets, hoping to obscure the ridge in his pants that she’d called forward unintentionally. “You like leaning more than hugging,” he observed. “I’ll make a note of it.”
When he left for work, she was still sitting at the breakfast bar, quiet as a mouse.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later that day, Atlas found himself in the doorway to his brother’s office. They all had private offices in the Rook Securities bunker, but Atlas never used his. He was either on duty, shadowing a client, or he was in the game room, gym, or kitchen of the bunker. What did he need a desk for?
Sequence, however, never shadowed clients. His entire job description was inside the many computers scattered across his desk.
Atlas privately thought his naturally talented brother should go back to school for coding, invent an app, and become a kajillionaire. But then that would mean they didn’t get to work together every day and that would have bummed Atlas out. And this way, he could ask his brother to do semi-illegal things for him in the name of personal security.
“What.” Sequence said the one word without looking up from his computer screen. He wasn’t a fan of people lingering in his doorway.
Atlas didn’t say anything.
Sequence sighed heavily, his fingers whipping over the keys of a keyboard. He growled low in his throat. “Asshole,” he called to Atlas. “What the hell are you doing in my doorway?”
Atlas gripped the doorjamb and leaned his weight back. “Need a favor.”
“I have a full-time job, a baby, and a wife who wants a dog. I’m fresh out of favors. Do yourself a favor.” Sequence turned back to his screen but Atlas wasn’t discouraged. He knew his brother well enough to know that no was always going to be his first answer. Atlas leaned forward and used his nail to scrape some errant caulk off the doorjamb. Approximately forty-five seconds later, Sequence grumbled and shoved the keyboard away from him, leaning back in his chair. “What’s your damn favor?”
Grinning, Atlas came into the office, slamming the door behind him and collapsing into the desk chair across from his twin. “How did you know you were in love?”
“Oh, Jesus.” Sequence buried his face in his hands.
“No. I’m serious. When did you know you were in love with Naomi?”
“Atlas, brother, I’m going to save myself the heart to heart. You’re in love with Bex. The end.”
Atlas jolted up. “What? How did—?”
“Because I saw you with her. I’ve heard you talk about her. I can see the look on your face. My wife is perceptive and she told me. Take your pick. I don’t need to tell you my whole story just so you can come up with your own dumb ass hypothesis on what this is that you’re feeling. Trust me. I’ve known you our whole lives. You’re my fucking identical twin. I know what I’m talking about. You’re in love with her.”
Atlas studied his fingernails and grumbled, “I haven’t even kissed her yet.”
“Then go home and kiss her and get the hell out of my office. I have shit to do before I go home.”
“It’s not that simple. And will you quit being an obstinate skidmark for like three seconds and let me ask you the favor?”
Sequence glared at Atlas for three full seconds before both of them couldn’t help but chuckle at the skidmark comment. It’d been funny enough to warrant a lip twitch from the brick wall of Sequence’s demeanor.
“Fine. Shoot.”
“I’ve got my hands tied with Bex. If I look into her past, I’ll be breaking trust. Trust that I’m really, really trying to build here. But I know that she’s in danger.”
“Danger?”
“There’s someone after her. She won’t tell me who. She won’t tell me shit. She doesn’t even want me to know who she really is. She’s done some shit in the past. Gotten in trouble with the police. She’s got somebody after her and I need more information.” Atlas leaned forward and jammed his fingers into the ache behind his brow bone. Saying all this out loud made him both more and less relieved. He let out a long sigh. “But she’s let some things slip recently. Things that, when put together, might mean that someone could figure out who she is and what she’s running from and thus, how to protect her.”
Sequence eyed him for a long time before he nodded. “And what’re the things she’s let slip?”
Atlas let out a long breath and tipped his head back to the ceiling. This was a shitty loophole and he knew it, getting Sequence to look her up so that Atlas didn’t have to. There was no question that Bex would view this as a betrayal of trust. But Atlas’s hands were tied. He had no idea what else to do. “First name Rebecca. Last name is something that starts with a ‘B’. Twenty-six years old. East Coast accent. High school dropout, but got her GED in the last two years. Huge crescent moon tattoo on the small of her back.”
“Stripper,” Sequence added.
Atlas’s head snapped up. “How the hell did you know that?”
Sequence shrugged, a small smile on his face. “Naomi came home last night with some interesting new skills that Bex had taught her.” His eyes flicked back to his computer screen as he typed some things in. “I was considering sending Bex a fruit basket.”
Atlas laughed and let his head drop back to study the ceiling again. “Lucky bastard.”
“Found her.”
“What?” Atlas scrambled all the way to his feet, his hands clutching at his hair. “Already? Are you serious?”
“Atlas, this is my job. Digging up dirt on people.” His face was turned toward the computer screen.
Only Atlas could have seen the subtle changes on his twin’s stoic face. The slight tightening at the mouth, the extra blink of his eyes. Whatever he was reading about Bex was not good.
It was enough to have Atlas lowering himself into his chair again, his heart doing a hummingbird impression in his chest. “How bad is it?”
“Not good. How much detail do you want?”
“Tell me everything, I guess. Except her name. Do
n’t tell me her real name.”
If Sequence thought that was weird, he didn’t comment on it. “Looks like she’s from Jersey. Been living in Atlantic City for at least the last two years. She’s got a pretty big rap sheet. Two separate counts of petty theft. Shoplifting, it looks like.” He scrolled. “Shit ton of speeding tickets. Got her license suspended a time or two.” That part made Atlas smile a little bit. Sequence scrolled more. “She’s gotten picked up for working at illegal strip joints.” Sequence’s eyes shot to Atlas. “Charged with solicitation. But it didn’t stick.”
Atlas felt sick. Bex? A prostitute? Sadness swamped him that she’d ever been in circumstances that had put her in that situation. He felt certain that it wouldn’t have been a choice she would have willingly made. He was a let-live type of guy, and he certainly didn’t look down on sex workers. But Bex didn’t strike him as someone who would have stumbled into prostitution because it called to her. She hated being touched. It would have been torturous for her.
“Atlas.” Sequence crossed his arms over his chest and gave Atlas one of the kindest looks in the history of Sequence’s face. “She’s wanted for questioning on two separate murder cases.”
***
Bex met with May later that day to sign some paperwork and get her schedule hammered out. A half an hour later, she was back in the apartment, her fingers shaking, as she called the maid service to quit.
They weren’t sorry to see her go, but they did tell her that the job was hers anytime she wanted it, considering how good her reviews had been.
With a ton of nervous and excited energy, Bex set to cleaning Atlas’s house. It took her less time than normal, probably because she only gave her room a cursory clean, instead of the deep clean that she normally did.
When she was done, she surprised herself by knocking on Naomi’s door. It wasn’t the first time in Rebecca’s life that she’d needed someone to talk to, but it was the first time she was 100 percent sure she had someone who would listen.
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