17. Atticus
Chapter 17
Atticus
I feel the rustle of sheets beside me, a soft disturbance in the warm bed. Lemon shifts, her leg brushing against mine. The smooth skin sends a jolt straight to my groin. I'm instantly awake, and my arm whips out, snaking around her waist with a firm grip, pulling her back against me.
"Where do you think you're going?" My voice is a low growl, possessive edges with the sharp tang of jealousy. I didn’t tell her she could leave.
"Atticus," she murmurs, voice half-asleep yet still managing to sound like silk slipping through my fingers. "I'm just getting a drink. I'll be right back."
"Yeah?" I mutter, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. My hand tightens its grip, as if I can physically tether her to me through sheer will alone. "Be quick about it."
"Promise, back in a sec." She peels my arm away before sliding out of bed. Her absence leaves a cold void where her warmth was just seconds ago.
"Two minutes, tops," I say, more to myself than to her retreating form. She pads softly across the bedroom, her hips swaying in a way that has my fingers itching to pull her back into bed. An image flashes in my mind—Lemon, bent over the kitchen counter, her lush body mine to claim. Fuck, this girl does things to me without even trying.
The darkness swallows her up, but I'm wide awake. Sleep is the last thing on my mind now as I sit up, the city lights flickering across my naked chest, muscles rigid with anticipation.
I look over at Ezra as he lays there dead to the world, long dark lashes resting against his cheeks.
He looks so beautiful and serene, almost angelic. My mind flashes back to earlier tonight, when he was anything but angelic. The hungry look in his dark eyes when I commanded him to kneel and pleasure me with that wicked mouth of his. No, my Ezra is no angel. He's a devil in disguise, a perfect counterpart to my own.
I let my eyes linger over Ezra's sleeping form, tracing the inked lines of the koi fish tattooed across his ribs. Even relaxed in slumber, his athletic frame seems to ripple with a restless energy just below the surface. He's a powerhouse, my Ezra—quick to ignite and impossible to resist. I've got years on him, yet he still manages to keep me on my toes, always hungry for more.
The sheets are tangled around his waist, the sharp V of his hips drawing my gaze lower. I know every hard plane and angle of that body, have memorized each spot that makes him gasp and shudder when properly handled. We've explored the depths of depravity together. Ezra and I pushed each other past conventional pleasure into something raw and primal. He gives himself so freely to me, yields control in a way few men can. I've rewarded that surrender by awakening things in him he never knew existed. Taught him the exquisite joy that comes only through submission.
My cock stirs as I picture those plush lips yielding to me, brown eyes watering as I use his mouth. He'd let me take whatever I wanted from him and thank me for it afterwards. And I would. I'd use him thoroughly until we were both spent and aching.
I check the clock, and it’s been almost two minutes since she left. Thirty seconds more and I'm going after her.
"Jesus, Mary, and all the saints," I mutter as Lemon's scream sounds through the entire penthouse. I'm out of bed in a heartbeat, my heart pounding. "Ezra! Up! Now!" My voice cuts through the lingering haze of sleep.
"Shit, Atticus, what—" Ezra grumbles, his words slurring from whatever dreamland he's been yanked out of. But there's no time for explanations. I grab his arm, hauling him up with urgency.
We collide in the narrow hallway, two bulls in a china shop, tripping over each other's feet as we sprint toward the sound of Lemon's distress. It's chaos, driven by the singular need to reach her. Fuck, do not let either one of us fall down these damn stairs.
"Move your ass, Stratton," I bark, shoving past him as we round into the kitchen.
And then we're there, in the kitchen, and the scene slams into me like a physical blow. Lemon stands frozen, her frame quivering, her hand clamped over her mouth as if she's holding back the tide of horror threatening to spill from her lips. Her eyes are wide and haunted, fixed on the bloodied body sprawled across the tiles.
"Jesus Christ." The words are a visceral reaction, guttural and raw, as my gaze locks onto the butcher knife from my own goddamn kitchen set, its blade crimson-soaked and gleaming under the kitchen lowlights sticking out of a woman’s chest.
Blood everywhere in my goddamn kitchen.
"Fuck me," Ezra breathes beside me, his voice a low whistle of disbelief. But my focus is solely on Lemon.
"Who...how..." Lemon's voice trembles, barely audible through her fingers, and I can feel the pull of her vulnerability.
"Look at me, Lemon," I command, my tone demanding as I step closer, blocking her view. "Don't look at her. Look at me." My hands itch to touch her, but I keep them clenched at my sides.
"Atticus..." she whispers, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.
"Who the hell is she?" Ezra asks, inching closer, his eyes darting between the dead woman and Lemon, confusion warring with concern. His usual demeanor is stripped down to raw bewilderment.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is you're unharmed," I tell Lemon, ignoring the way the corpse seems to stare sightlessly back at us. It may sound callous, but it’s true.
Ezra slides behind her, his arms snaking around her waist like he’s been doing it all his life. She melts back into him, her tension ebbing away under the weight of his embrace. There’s something almost poetic about the way he cradles her, whispering promises in the chaos. I catch snippets of his voice murmuring quietly. His touch is gentle, grounding her in a world that's tilted off its axis.
But fuck if I can stand still. My blood's pumping like I've just ran a damn marathon. I release Lemon’s hand and start moving through the penthouse with all the finesse of a goddamn steamroller.
"Stay put," I throw over my shoulder, though it's more for Ezra than Lemon. He knows the drill. Watch her, keep her safe while I do my best rendition of a one-man SWAT team.
The air feels different now, thicker somehow, as I prowl through each room. My footsteps are heavy on the floor, a deliberate thud-thud-thud that announces my presence to any unwelcome guests—if there are any left breathing, that is. Every corner, every shadow gets scrutinized under my watchful gaze. Bedrooms? Clear. Kitchen? Well, aside from the obvious fucking mess, also clear.
The den, the pool, the bathrooms. All clear. Not a single thing out of place except for the deceased.
"Atticus, you find anything?" Ezra hollers from where I left them. His voice carries an edge, but there's no panic.
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the familiar tug of frustration.
"Not a fucking thing," I report as I circle back toward the main area, my eyes darting around one last time. Paranoia’s a bitch, but right now, it’s like my best friend.
I step back into the kitchen, avoiding the pool of blood as I make my way over to Ezra and Lemon. She's curled into his side, face buried against his chest. I feel a pang of some unnamed emotion clawing at my ribs. No time to examine that shit right now.
I crouch down beside the body, grimacing at the way the congealing blood sticks to the flooring. I grab a towel off the oven door and gingerly push the woman's left arm since it’s oddly placed, as if it was staged.
The sleeve of her shirt moves to reveal the underside of her forearm.
And there it is. A symbol etched into her skin, the flesh around it red and inflamed. A circle within a triangle, bisected by a single straight line.
It can’t be. I haven’t seen this since I was a young boy and there’s no reason why I should be seeing it now. On this body.
"Well, what is it?" Ezra prompts.
"Nothing," I lie smoothly. "Just some random tattoo." I straighten and turn my focus back to Ezra and Lemon. "Go get her dressed and yourself and take her back to your place. Keep her there while I handle things here."
"Atticus..." Her voice is soft, like silk brushing against bare skin. Vulnerable and exposed. She's all that and more right now, standing there in nothing but trembling skin. We’re all fucking still naked as the day we were born just hanging out.
I don't have time for tenderness, nor do I particularly care to.
"Go, Lemon," I say, my tone firm. "Ezra will keep you safe."
"Alright, alright," Ezra says, flashing me a quick grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We'll head out. Call me if you find anything or if you don't. You know how I worry."
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, watching him usher her toward the door. "Right now, just listen to me and get the fuck to your place."
Ezra's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't argue. Just guides Lemon from the room as I stand watch.
There are phone calls to be made.
Arrangements to clean up this little mess and not a single one would be to anyone law-abiding.
I glance down at the body one last time, jaw tightening. Whoever the fuck she was, she wasn't a coincidence. Between this and the goddamn note from earlier, someone is taunting me.
Once the door clicks shut behind them, the weight of the situation crashes back over me like a tidal wave. I lean against the wall, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Time to get my shit together. No room for mistakes. Not when there’s blood on the floor and questions clawing at my mind.
I grab my phone off the counter from where I left it when we came in tonight and snap a few photos on my phone, then dial my private cleanup crew, my tone clipped and businesslike as I give instructions for disposal. Standard protocol, except for one new requirement that shouldn’t even need to be said. "And for fuck's sake, be discreet about it this time."
After ending the call, I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly.
I walk back into my bedroom and quickly throw on a t-shirt and jeans. My mind is racing, but I try to maintain my composure.
I head to her room and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in leggings and a hoodie. Her eyes are wide and frightened. Ezra is packing a small bag for her. I walk over and tip Lemon's chin up gently so she's looking at me.
"You're going to go stay with Ezra tonight. His place should be safe. I’ve sent someone over there to do a sweep. I'll come by as soon as I'm able."
She nods, her lower lip trembling. I smooth back her hair in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. Inside, I'm seething. Whoever did this is going to pay.
I turn to Ezra and fix him with a hard look. "Take care of her. And keep your eyes open." He gives me a strange glance, not fully understanding.
I drag him to me with my hand around his neck and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face into his neck and hair, breathing him in and trying to get back some of the control I lost.
He gives a short nod and moves to guide Lemon from the room, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. She glances back at me once more before they disappear down the hall, her eyes brimming with emotions I can't quite decipher.
I trail after them and then grab my phone to call my driver to make sure I know when they are safely in the car. After confirmation from Henry, I end the call before starting another.
"Hello brother, never thought I'd hear you ring this line." That familiar, smooth voice slides through the receiver like silk dipped in venom. It’s been too long, yet hearing him feels like slipping into an old habit. One that is dangerous and I don’t want to get sucked in like quicksand.
"Yeah, well, don’t get used to it," I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Got a situation that needs your particular expertise."
"Ah, Atticus, always so cryptic," he chuckles, the sound grating yet somehow comforting. "Tell me what you need."
“Someone used your emblem on a note to me tonight, and then just about twenty minutes ago I woke up to a dead body. That’s not even the best part. The body had the mark of The Onyx Dominion etched into it. Last I recall they were dismantled and eradicated decades ago.”
He’s quiet on the other line before finally saying, “I see. Well, that is a problem. Have the crew I have no doubt you already called bring the body to one of our outposts. I’ll personally look into it. You should come. We miss you, Atticus. You always have a place here.”
“Mm, keep me informed, Bastian.” I hang up on him as I’m alerted the crew has arrived.
Six men dressed in dark clothing enter the penthouse and get to work, their movements precise and efficient.
Two of them bag up the woman's body, not even flinching at the gruesome sight. Another wipes down every surface and object in the vicinity, removing any traces of evidence. The remaining men scan the space, checking for any additional clues or security breaches. Within fifteen minutes, it's as if nothing ever happened.
I stop Andre, the leader of the group, with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Take her to the old tannery on the east side docks," I mutter. "I'll be in touch." The man gives a curt nod before disappearing down the hallway and into the service elevator with the others.
Whoever dared use that sigil to threaten me has clearly bitten off more than they can chew. The Onyx Dominion was ruthless once, but ultimately devoured by its own hubris decades ago. For someone to invoke their name now means they're either arrogantly overconfident or have a death wish.