Fated To The Lycan Brothers
Chapter 11

Atlas Wolfe

"Harder!" The voice demanded. I did as told.

“f*****g harder!" I rolled my eyes before increasing my force.

"Are you a f*****g pussy, Atlas? Is that all you've got?" That pissed me off greatly and before I could think of the repercussions of what I was about to do next, it was too late.

My gloved right hand swung to the back for more momentum and in a millisecond, it hit the boxing punching bag with so much force that the man standing behind it to keep it in place flew back, hitting his head on the wall behind him. "Ow, motherf*cker!" He cursed loudly as I stepped to the side of the bag to look at him.

He had his hand over his shoulder as he stretched it, but his eyes were glued to mine with an angry glare.

"Not that f*****g hard, you d i c k." He complained.

I shrugged my shoulders at him. "Well, next time let me know how hard you can take it. You're the one who asked for it in the first place."

I took off my gloves and grabbed my water bottle, chugging all of its contents in one go, but still feeling thirsty. I've been in the boxing gym for about two hours now and my energy is still high.

My trainer, Vincenzo, gently pats me on the back before looking at me with a raised brow.

"What do you want?" I asked impatiently.

He gave me a sly grin. "It's not what I want, but what you want."

I raised up my other hand that was still gloved as a threat. "You know I f*****g hate your bullshit riddles so just say it."

"Okay, okay, alright. God, you are one impatient man, Atlas Wolfe." He lets out a sigh of defeat.

"Don't I know it?"

He shakes his head with a soft chuckle before clearing his throat and looking at me seriously. "You're thinking of something. You're not distracted, per se, but it's in your head and it's bugging you. What is it?" Fuck. I came here to get my mind out of that one thing and now this idiot was interrogating me about it. Adults were such nosy fuckers.

"It's none of your business, old man." I told him and he coughed up a fake offended gasp.

"Who are you calling old? I just turned thirty five last week and I can still beat your a*s on the ring." He started doing hopped movements and swinging at the air like he was Michael B. Jordan on Creed. "Stop or you'll break a bone and I'm not dragging your a*s to the emergency room," I joked and we both laughed.

"Seriously though. You know I'm here for you, right? Like I have always been. Don't think you can't tell me everything. I may beat your a*s up from time to time, but I give pretty damn good advice. I'm all ears if you need me." Vincenzo flashed me a friendly smile and a small part of me wanted to tell him. It really did.

But the bigger part, the one winning, remained closed off and had no intentions of sharing its thoughts and feelings.

I gave him back a small smile before I stood up and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it, V. It's all good. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a shitty fourth of July party to get ready for."

"You say shitty, but it's the most anticipated party in this town every damn year," he shakes his head like he's sick of my antics, but I know he'll never get tired of me. "Tell your father I said hello!" He shouted just as we were waving goodbye to each other.

I didn't bother to acknowledge it as I wasn't in the mood. My father, Mr. Keith Whitford of the Fortune 100, had been pissing me off immensely these past few days, which is exactly why I've been doing my best to avoid him in the house and for a damn huge place, somehow I still end up bumping into him.

What's worse? Another guest has arrived that I'll need to try and avoid. Something tells me that she's going to be much harder to stay away from than my father though, and I did not appreciate that.

I let out a frustrated groan as I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I remembered our interaction earlier this morning by the pool lounge and every part of me just felt... triggered.

I told her not to follow the letter. I told her not to contact Keith. I told her not to leave that shitty town and what did she do? The opposite of all that.

God f*****g damn it.

Well, she's the one who signed her death certificate, and I already warned her so whatever happens from now on, I absolve myself of any responsibility.

Suddenly, my brain thinks of the way her eyes looked at me, and my heart unwillingly skips a beat. The image of her lips that turned wet when she licked them and the sound of her soft moan when my lips touched her ear was engraved in my mind. "Mm..." I cracked my knuckles right before doing the same to my neck and adjusted myself on my car seat.

Another memory popped up in my head and it's of her and Devon wearing almost the same identical clothes. That f*****gi dio t. I knew that he would be the one to get sucked in by her instantly. He was always the softest one amongst us and I can't believe she managed to already slither her way towards him.

I don't know what she's up to coming all the way here, settling in the room right across mine, and sucking up to Keith, but I need to protect my brothers.

Suri Nightingale may have come into our home and our lives, but I'm not letting her stay. I'll make sure she knows her place and it's definitely not f*****g here.

I pushed her out of my thoughts before letting my car engine roar and I stepped on the gas pedal.

"Hey Siri, play Collard Greens."

The song starts to fill up every inch of my car, its loud and bassy drum beat getting me in the mood as I forget anything and everything.

Oh, oh, luxury

Chidi-ching-ching could buy anything, cop that

Oh, oh, collard greens

Three degrees low, make it hot for me, drop that

Oh, oh, down with that s**t

Drink this, smoke this, get down with the s**t, aye

Oh, oh, down with the s**t

Cop this, pop this, down with the s**t

I drive past the route I usually take going to the academy and I remember I'm going back there soon. Specifically two days from now.

I also kind of can't believe it's going to be my last year though a part of me is still thankful that it is.

I may love the power I yield amongst the people there and the attention I receive from them wherever I go, but it does get pretty old after three long years.

Frankly, I don't even remember where it all began.

We had just moved here after-

"f**k!" The stoplight suddenly turned red and I didn't notice, making me step on the brake pedal hard.

My body jolted forward and some dick head behind me started honking.

And just like that, all my restraint is thrown out of the window.

I unlocked my car, stepped out, and started walking to the f*****g idiot that dared to honk at me.

His car is a Plymouth Volare Road Runner. Basically, a complete Mustang ripoff. It's been made simply for power and men-no, boys, buy this car because they can't afford a Mustang, but want to seem like they do.

But a Volare is just a shameful, bland, and powerless attempt to hide their small egos and even smaller di c ks.

Not to mention, the tacky paint job. What person in their right mind would think a smoking fire that took up more than half of its space would look cool?

"What the f**k do you think you're doing? Get back in your goddamn car! The light is green!" The guy shouted at me with a thick Southern accent from his window while he honked even more.

The accent plus the boxes scattered on his backseat tells me that he's not from here. He's a passerby. Traveling this road to get somewhere else. That means he likely doesn't know anyone around this place.

I grinned. This just got a whole lot easier for me.

"Get out," I ordered him.

There's a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it turns into confidence and not a second later, he's stepping out of his car as well.

I come face to face with somebody taller than me by a good three inches. He's also visibly much more muscular. A burly man with ink all over his body, not an inch of his actual skin visible. I'm quite certain he's using the tattoos to distract people from the fact that he's balding.

I would say he's in his mid-thirties, but he looks to be forty plus. That's what happens when you don't use sunblock.

Bald man cracks his knuckles and stretches his neck left and right as if to make me fear him. News flash, Baldie, you should be the one scared of me.

"You want to fight, kid?" He threatened.

I f*****g love it when they think I'm just this rebellious teenager. It gives me an upperhand-not that I need it-because they never think that someone smaller or less experienced could beat the s**t out of them. Little do they know that I've probably shed more blood and cracked more bones than they ever will in their entire life span.

I don't bother to respond. Any minute now, another car might come and that will be harder to cover up. I need to get this over with, get my anger out while I can.

"Shut up and hit me."

He scowled, but that was all it took for him to try and take me by surprise, his fist reaching up to my face to hit me.

Emphasis on 'try' because I saw his movement seconds before he even made it.

I dodged his punch easily and this obviously makes Baldie shocked. I saw the contortion on his face before l-satisfyingly-punched it out of him.

"Motherf*cker!" He screamed as my fist landed square on his nose, breaking it instantly.

The fact that I didn't even use more than ten percent of my strength there says a lot. Satisfaction flooded my face.

This fucker honked at the wrong damn car, and I'm going to make sure he knows that. Well, that he feels that.

I might knock him out quickly, but I'm going to make sure it's painful as hell and that he wakes up in the emergency room screaming bloody murder. And then I realized.

Maybe that's exactly why everyone feared me when we moved out here. Maybe that's why I became King of Thorne Academy not so long after we arrived.

It's because I don't f**k about. What I want, when I want, I get it. Even if it means using brute force to attain it.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry! f**k, I'm sorry, alright?! Stop-stop hitting me!"

I roll my eyes at him uncaring and unbothered, before landing another punch, knocking him cold on the ground.

That will teach him.

I wiped some blood from my knuckles on my shirt, pissed that it got dirty, but it's not like I had a choice. The idiot was a bleeder.

When I got back to my car, I let out a deep breath before stepping on the gas pedal and continuing my drive back home, annoyed that I missed out on half of the songs in my playlist because of that detour.

I hate distractions the most.

My jaw tightened as her name flashed in my head, at the same time her face taunted me.

And Suri Nightingale... She's one annoyingly good-looking distraction.