"No," he said with a laugh. "They went to pick something up for me."
I walked over to his desk where he sat at the computer. Papers and Post-It notes covered the surface. I had the strange urge to organize it for him. How could anyone get anything done in such madness? Behind his desk was a large painting, grabbing my attention. I had never really looked at it before.
A muscular man was crouched down on one knee, holding the world above him. Chains bound the man to a rock below him. The world was resting on his shoulders. It looked an image from Greek mythology. Atlas noticed me looking at the painting.
"It's the Greek Titan of strength. He held up the sky," he told me.
"I see where the saying 'holds the weight of the world on his shoulders' comes from," I said.
"The myth is that when the Titans went to war against the Gods and were defeated, Zeus sent most of the Titans to Tartarus," he explained. He pointed to another painting that looked like Hell.
"As punishment for leading the Titans in the war for the Heavens, Zeus chose one Titan to stand and forever be forced to hold up the Heavens, to make sure it never touched and mixed with Earth again," he explained. "His name was Atlas."
I turned and looked at him. He was watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction. A man stronger than human, but not quite a god. Someone punished and forced with the burden of holding the sky forever. Did Atlas feel he could relate to the mythology in some way?
"Over there," he said, pointing behind me to another painting of the night sky. It looked like a connect-the-dots between the stars. "The constellation of Atlas."
"Pretty full of yourself," I joked. He actually laughed, and I liked the sound.
"Interested in the family history," he said. "Without knowing your history, you are doomed to make the same mistakes."
I wondered what mistakes Atlas was trying to avoid. Being caught or defeated? Trying to wage a war against the ones more powerful than him? Atlas hinted that he was on some mission and that I was a part of it, but I didn't know his end game. I had a feeling the more I knew, the more likely I would end up dead. What I saw one night had already determined my fate.
Atlas went back to his computer and left me to entertain myself. I felt like a pet. His cat that prowled around his office. Company if he wanted it, but not really needed or desired. I almost felt like I should purr and rub against his leg. Asshole might actually like that though.
He made phone calls about websites and bank accounts. He arranged for new slot machines to be installed in Vegas. It actually all sounded legit, but I knew Atlas enough to doubt that. He argued with someone for a while about a gambling website being shut down. The more frustrated he became, the more buttons on his shirt came undone. His hair was becoming a mess from tugging and running his hands through it. It was barely noon and he already looked wiped out.
Anyone else, I might offer words of comfort. Like my mother, I was caring and nurturing. I might have tried to distract him and calm him down. I needed to remind myself we were not friends. He was the man who kidnapped me, threatened me, and kept me here against my will. When he wasn't directly mean or abusive to me, I tended to forget all that.
"You have a lot of books on art," I pointed out when I couldn't find a single thing I wanted to read.
"I was an art major," he explained.
"Really?" I was surprised. I couldn't imagine Atlas walking a college campus like a normal student.
"Well, yes. I didn't really need a degree for my line of work, so I chose something enjoyable instead."
"Makes sense."
Atlas watched me whenever he wasn't looking at his computer screen. I felt his eyes on me while I browsed the shelves for something to read or look at. Having him watch me so closely caused a strange combination of emotions. There was the fear of what he would do and what his intentions were.
There was also a feeling of being protected and safe with him around. The most disturbing emotion, though, was the excitement. It was a rush of heat and tingles because his attention was on me. It was how I had felt at the club when we had met, but everything had changed since then. Or maybe nothing had changed after all.
I pulled a book from the shelf and sat on the floor, careful to keep myself covered in the dress. It was an art collection with a naked woman on the cover. What drew me in was how beautiful she looked. Not in an overly sexy or pornographic way. It was the lines of her curves and the soft lighting on her stomach. The way her back arched was sexual, intimate, and gorgeous. I flipped through the pages, finding each photograph more intriguing than the next. I stopped on a naked woman with a rope wrapped around her body.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Atlas asked from behind me. I jumped when I realized he was right behind me. "The naked body," he clarified.
"Yes," I agreed, flipping more pages.
Every photo was in black and white. The naked torso of a woman. A man's hands on a bare back. A couple intertwined, bodies pressed together. They were classically erotic and enchanting. It made nudity and sex something brilliant and natural. There was nothing dirty or shameful about it.
"I love a woman's naked body," Atlas practically purred behind me. "The softness of her skin. The curve of her hips. The roundness of her breasts. The arch of her back."
I swallowed and tried to ignore his deep voice. It made me shiver, and I imagined what he would see if I was naked. Those were dangerous thoughts.
"My favorite," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders, "is the neck."
His hands came up and smoothed over my throat. I held my breath as his fingers glided over my collarbone.
"I love the way it looks when her head is thrown back in pleasure."
I instinctually dipped my head back, looking up at him.
"I love the way the muscles feel under my hands," he whispered, gripping my neck in a gentle choke. "That sensitive dip under your chin."
I gasped when he tickled over the mentioned spot. My body heated and I felt my pulse pounding against his hand. My own heart was betraying my reaction to him.
"Tell me, Little Star. Has anyone appreciated that body the way it should be?" he asked.
I shook my head but I didn't know what I was saying no to. No one ever touched me the way I want you to? No one made me feel like I'm sure you would? No, don't touch me? My mind was a hot, swirling mess and the room grew hotter.
Atlas came to kneel in front of me. His hand reached out and his thumb rubbed my bottom lip. He studied my face, almost like he was seeing me for the very first time. I watched him, fascinated with how expressive those dark eyes could be. They were deep and endless, but I could almost see the fear and anger burning in them. I could even make out the hint of want and need.
Atlas inched forward slowly, crawling over me. I leaned back as he came closer. Soon, I was lying back on the floor, looking up at him. His legs were pressed to mine and with each deep breath, my chest brushed his. His knee slipped between my legs and wedged them apart so I could feel how hard he was. I could feel him all over me now. My body was heating up and melting under him.
Atlas lowered his face but froze when a noise came from outside the door. The door flew open and slammed against the wall. Atlas jumped up at the bang and I hurried to sit up. With quick and trained movements, Atlas pulled his gun and aimed at the open door.
"Shit," breathed Sal, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't shoot, boss."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Atlas growled at him, lowering the gun. "You know better than barging in like that. Asshole."