Page 78 of The Bonds of Indigo

Oh my Gods!

“You… fucking asshole!”

“Three… two…”

“Wet! Ten out of ten super-soaker!”

It’s like I can hear the grin in his words. “How does it feel to know your pussy weeps for a man you hate?”

“I absolutely despise you. Good-fucking-night!”

I hear his thunderous laugh, and I immediately slam my walls back into place. My hands fly up to cover my face, and I let out a muffled scream of pure, exhausted frustration.

Chapter 21

Istroked out an incredible orgasm with the thought of her touching herself and being angry about it. I left quite a mess when I was done, and ended up stripping the bed because of it.

It’s the next morning, and I’m standing outside Atlas’s door. I’d knocked on Amarah’s first, but she told me—quite literally—to fuck off and that she’d meet me downstairs. So, naturally, I came to retrieve my friend instead. No point in being alone just because she woke up with a stick lodged somewhere unpleasant.

Leaning against the wall across from his room, I watch as Atlas steps out wearing jeans and a winter coat. I give him a lazy wave.

“Good morning, Atlas.”

“Oh boy.” His eyes dart down the hall as he shuts the door behind him. “You’re in a good mood. Where’s Amarah?”

My laugh echoes down the corridor. “Still getting ready. She told me to fuck off, so… here I am.”

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “And what did you do to her?”

Pushing off the wall, I clap a hand onto his shoulder and steer him toward the stairs. “I didn’t do anything. Stop defending her.”

He clicks his tongue and pulls away. “You’re such a liar.”

I shrug, unbothered. I didn’t really do anything, unless forcing her to give me answers counts. At this point, I’m not above flustering her to get what I want. She hates the attention I give her, and I have a feeling that if I keep it up, she’ll spill every dirty little secret just to keep me out of her space.

Though, selfishly, I kind of hope she keeps fighting it. I’m enjoying this little push and pull far too much.

Downstairs, the free breakfast area reeks of overly greasy sausage and eggs that have definitely been sitting out too long. Atlas heads straight for the coffee machine, and I slide into a booth tucked off to the side, far from the morning crowd.

The space is basic. Bright blue carpet patterned with little gold stars every foot or so. The walls are stark white, decorated only with a few sparse paintings of Ambarka: its lively downtown, the old coastal train cutting straight through it. The furniture is all simple wood, maybe forty percent of it occupied. Mostly families with loud kids shrieking at their parents for more syrup.

Atlas returns with a mug and slides into the booth across from me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” I lean back, draping my arm over the seat.

“Who are you trying to find?”

I sigh and wet my lips. “Someone important.”

He raises the mug, watching me over the rim, waiting.

“Does it matter who they are?” I continue. “Just that they’re extremely vital to me.”

One corner of his mouth curves up. “I suppose it doesn’t.” He takes a sip, settling deeper into his seat. “Did they die?”

I shake my head. “No… no, he didn’t.”