20. Atticus
Chapter 20
Atticus
I lean back in my chair, take a sip of my coffee, and let the bitterness roll over my tongue. Ezra and Lemon are across from me, finishing up their breakfast like some cute little domestic couple playing house. The whole scene's got this strange vibe, like I'm watching a rerun of a sitcom where everyone knows their lines but doesn't quite fit their roles.
"Pass the cream?" Lemon asks Ezra, her voice all sweet and earnest, and I almost choke on my drink. This girl's got a way of making the ordinary seem sexual, even if it's just crepes and whip cream.
"Everything is always better covered in cream," Ezra replies, pushing the porcelain dish across the table with that lazy grin of his.
I set down my cup, letting it clatter onto the table with purpose, just to remind them I'm still here.
Watching.
Lemon shoots me a look before pouring a bit of what I assume is almond or oat milk into her own coffee and then taking a sip. "I'm doing the dishes," she announces, pushing her chair back with a scrape that echoes through the room.
Well, I guess she won’t be eating the rest of the crepes on her plate then.
"Domestic goddess in training, are we?" I quip, arching an eyebrow. But she doesn't flinch, just gathers the plates with a kind of stubborn grace that makes you wonder what the hell she's trying to prove.
"Someone's gotta do it," she retorts, heading for the sink.
"Knock yourself out," I say, leaning forward with my elbows on the table, enjoying the show. It's not every day you see someone so determined to scrub my attention away with soap and hot water.
Ezra watches her too, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and bemusement. He glances at me, and there's a flicker of tension in his eyes, like he knows I’m about to ruin everything. And he’s right, I am.
"Want some help?" Ezra offers, half-rising from his seat, but Lemon shakes her head, wisps of her hair falling out the up-do she has it in.
"Got it covered," she insists, turning on the tap with a flourish. I watch her dive into the monotony of suds and plates.
She bustles around, playing housewife. I can practically see Ezra's ego inflating.
My jaw clenches. This little domestic fantasy they've got going needs to end.
Now.
Getting up from the table with a screech that cuts through the running sounds of water, I down the rest of my coffee, letting the bitter edge sharpen my senses. My gaze locks onto Ezra's, and he sighs .
"Let's go," I snap, grabbing Ezra by the arm. There's no room for protest; my grip is ironclad, and I haul him up like he's weightless. The clatter of porcelain being washed fades behind us as I drag him through the brownstone, our footsteps echoing off the polished floors.
"Atticus, what the hell?" he asks, but there's an undercurrent of excitement in his voice. He loves this as much as I do. The push and pull, the chaos we create together.
"Shut up and keep moving," I growl, shoving open the door to his office.
I release him, watching as he rubs his arm, a smirk playing on his lips. "You always know how to get me hard," he teases, but he knows better than to think this is just foreplay right now.
I advance on him, backing him up against the mahogany desk. My hands brace on either side, caging him in. "Listen up, playboy. While you've been playing house, I've been cleaning up messes and I’m feeling a bit out of control."
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. "I’m just doing what you asked. I would have stayed and helped you do clean up."
I lean in closer, my breath hot against his ear. "The penthouse is secure. Called in every favor I had and ones I never wanted to collect on. You know I fucking hate relying on anyone else, but now it’s a necessity."
"Who exactly is fucking with you and who owes you favors?" he asks, leaning against the table, trying to appear casual.
"Does it matter?" I counter, unfolding myself from the wall to stride closer. "Point is, it's done. No one gets in without us knowing."
Ezra smirks, that cocky little grin that usually makes me want to fuck him senseless. "Someone already did while we were sleeping, remember?"
I grab his chin, forcing him to look me dead in the eye. "No, they fucking didn't. You think I'm some idiot? It’s one of the first things I made sure to find out. The time of death on that poor bitch in my kitchen was hours earlier, shortly before we all stumbled back to the penthouse."
“But how the fuc—” he trails off, trying to make sense of how that happened.
"We were too fucking worried about getting to the bedroom to turn on any lights," I spit out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Christ, Ezra, we were so damn caught up in getting into her pussy that we walked right past a corpse and didn't even notice."
The realization hits him like a freight train. I watch as the color drains from his face, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turn white.
"Jesus," Ezra whispers, running a hand through his hair. "So when we woke up and found her?—"
"She'd been there the whole time," I finish, my voice hard. "Lying there in a pool of her own blood while we fucked like rabbits down the hall."
"Fuck," he whispers, the word barely audible.
"Yeah, fuck is right," I growl, running a hand through my hair. “She’s already a bigger problem than I anticipated, and neither of us have even gotten our dicks wet. You know where you belong, Ezra. Don't let her presence confuse you."
"Not confused," he says, still defiant, but there's an edge now, a vulnerability peeking through his cracks.
He tries to pull away, but I grip his chin tighter. "She's a toy, Ezra. A pet. Nothing more. Don't forget that while I'm trying to figure out what the hell to do about her daddy dearest and this whole clusterfuck we've found ourselves in."
Just as I'm about to lean in and claim his mouth, I hear a sharp intake of breath from the doorway. Spinning around, I see Lemon standing there, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. Damn it all to hell, this girl's got a knack for being in all the wrong places at all the wrong times.
"Well, well, look who decided to eavesdrop." I stride over to Lemon, the distance between us shrinking with each step.
"Come here," I command, jerking my head toward the interior of the room. My hand finds her arm, not rough but firm enough to remind her just who's in charge. She lets out a small sound—half gasp, half protest but follows without resistance. Once inside, I release her, letting the door click shut behind us and cutting off any possible escape route.
"Stealthy little thing, aren't you?" I remark, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall, letting her stew under my gaze. "Tell me, did dear old Dad teach you those tricks? Or is it something you've picked up all on your own?"
"Uncle Atticus, I—" she begins, but her voice falters, replaced by the nervous tugging of her lower lip.
"Spit it out, Lemon," I press, my tone laced with mockery. "Or maybe you're just naturally sneaky. It'd be a shame if you inherited more than just his looks."
Her cheeks flush, a pink hue spreading across her skin as she wrings her hands together, fingers twisting like they're trying to wring out an answer. There's fear there, anxiety curling its tendrils around her, but beneath it lies a stubborn streak she can't quite hide.
"Don't mess with me, Lemon," I warn softly, stepping closer, crowding her space. "You've got no idea what kind of world you're stepping into, or how deep the shit really goes. "
She swallows hard, casting a quick glance toward Ezra, who remains silent, watching, waiting. The weight of my presence presses down on her, making her shoulders sag slightly. I can practically taste the tension in the air, thick and ready to snap.
"Say something," I urge, my voice dropping lower, challenging her to respond. "Don't be shy," I taunt, watching her eyes flit between me and Ezra like a trapped bird. She's got that deer-in-headlights look, and damn if it isn't pitifully endearing.
"Atticus, enough," Ezra chimes in, his voice trying to gain some of the control in this room. He steps forward, that boyish bravado of his charging headfirst into my space.
"Ah, here comes the knight in shining armor," I drawl, turning my gaze to him. "Come to rescue the damsel, are you?"
"Back off," he snaps, his tone lacking the bite I'm used to. There's a flicker of warning in those brown orbs, but it's not enough to stop me.
"Brave words for someone who's about to get real familiar with how gravity works," I retort. My hand finds its home around his throat, fingers pressing just enough to make things interesting.
"Shit," he rasps, instinctively clutching my wrist, his pulse thrumming beneath my grip like a caged animal. His boldness flickers, momentarily snuffed by the seriousness of the moment.
"Easy there, playboy," I murmur, pulling him closer until our noses nearly touch. His breath fans across my lips, warm and ragged. "You forget who holds the leash."
"Atticus," Ezra croaks, trying to sound authoritative.
"See, this is where you both learn your place," I whisper, my thumb brushing along the column of his neck, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. "Lemon watching, helpless, while her gallant protector gets punished."
Ezra shudders, and I can see Lemon trembling in the periphery. Her hands twisted together. She looks like she wants to melt into the floor.
"Let him go," she finally manages, voice small but plaited with unexpected steel.
Admirable, if futile.
"Or what?" I chuckle, loosening my grip ever so slightly, just enough for Ezra to gulp down air. "You'll pout at me? I've seen scarier threats from a kitten."
"Atticus, you're an asshole," Ezra wheezes, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips despite the situation.
"That's why you love me, isn't it?" I reply, meeting his gaze head-on.
I release Ezra's throat, shoving him back against the desk. He coughs, rubbing his neck, but there's a glint in his eye that tells me he's not entirely displeased. Lemon's still frozen, her eyes darting between us like she's watching some fucked-up tennis match.
"What the hell did you mean about my dad?" she finally blurts out, her voice cracking. "You said he…he stole from you?"
I turn to her, drinking in the fear on her face. It's almost cute how she thinks she can demand answers from me. "Oh, lemon drop," I drawl. "Your daddy dearest did a lot more than his little racketeering charge. He fucking double-crossed me."
The color drains from her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. "No," she whispers, shaking her head. "You're lying. He wouldn't?—"
"Wouldn't he?" I cut her off, advancing on her. She backs up until she hits the wall, trapped between me and the ugly truth. "Let me spell it out for you, you spoon-fed princess. Your father stole plans, client lists, sensitive information and fed it all to my biggest rival. He's guilty as sin, and I've known since the night you showed up on my doorstep looking like a lost little lamb."
Lemon's eyes widen, realization dawning. "But…but you promised to help him," she stammers, her voice small and broken. "You said you'd do everything you could."
I can't help but laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Oh, Lemon. I lied." The words hang heavily in the air. "Welcome to the real world, girl. Where promises are just pretty words, and everyone's out for themselves."
She crumples, sliding down the wall until she's huddled on the floor. Tears streak down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. It's almost beautiful, in a twisted way—watching her innocence shatter like fine china.
"Why?" she chokes out, looking up at me with those big, wet eyes. "Why would you do that?"
I crouch down, getting eye-level with her. "Because that's how the game is played. Your father knew the risks when he decided to fuck people over. And now?" I reach out, brushing a tear from her cheek with mock tenderness. "Now you're collateral damage."
Ezra shifts behind me, clearing his throat. "C’mon Atticus," he starts, but I silence him with a look.
"No, Ezra," I growl. "She needs to hear this. She needs to understand exactly what kind of world her father forced her into." I turn back to Lemon, drinking in the devastation on her face. "Your father's going down. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."
"You're wrong," she says, her voice steadier than I would've thought possible. "My father wouldn't do that. He's not perfect, but he's not a traitor."
I close the distance between us and loom over her. "Oh, you sweet, na?ve little thing," I murmur, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. She flinches at my touch, but doesn't move away. "Your father sold us out for a quick payday and a chance to climb the elite ladder. He thought he could outsmart me, but he forgot one crucial detail."
I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear as I whisper, "I always win and the hounds of hell in my playground are much bigger and much scarier than his."
Lemon's shaking now, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. I can practically taste her fear. It’s sweet and tangy.
"Atticus Reid, that’s fucking enough," Ezra interrupts again, his voice strained. "You've made your point. Let's just?—"
I whirl around, fixing him with a glare that could melt steel. "Did I fucking stutter, Ezra?" I growl, my voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that I know makes him weak in the knees. "Get. On. The. Floor. Where. You. Belong."
For a moment, I think he might actually defy me. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white with tension. His jaw clenches, a vein pulsing in his neck. But then I see it—that flicker of submission in his eyes, the slight softening of his posture. He knows his place, even if he sometimes forgets.
Slowly, gracefully, Ezra sinks to his knees. The sound of fabric rustling against the hardwood is deafening in the silence. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he settles into position.
"Good boy," I murmur, before turning back to Lemon. She's still huddled against the wall, her eyes darting between me and Ezra like she can't decide which of us is the bigger threat.
I crouch down in front of her, close enough that I can see the small flecks of gold in her green eyes, smell the lingering scent of her shampoo. "Now," I say, my voice deceptively soft, "what am I going to do with you?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibility. I can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out if there's a right answer, a way out of this mess.
But there isn't.
Not really.
She swallows hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I-I don't know," she whispers, voice barely audible.
My hand slides down to her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my palm. "It's just you and me now," I continue, my voice low and hypnotic. "And Ezra, of course." I gesture to where he kneels, still and silent, waiting for permission to move.
"This isn't a game," she says, tremors still in her voice.
"Everything's a game," I reply, brushing a piece of lint off my suit. "You just need to learn how to play. Now, lemon drop, tell me, are you going to play or are you going to crumble?"