Chapter 32 Atticus
Atticus
I’ve spent my entire life studying people—reading their tells, finding their weaknesses, exploiting the cracks in their armor. It’s what makes me good at what I do. Dangerous, even. But Lexi Kane? She’s a fucking puzzle I can’t solve, and it’s driving me insane.
She’s attracted to me. I can see it in the way her breath catches when I get too close, the way her pupils dilate when I hold her gaze just a second too long. But she has self-control—iron-clad, maddening self-control—and she refuses to lean into it. Refuses to give me what I want.
And what I want is to break her completely.
That’s why we moved her. The mansion was too comfortable, too many eyes, too many potential interruptions. This safe house is different—isolated, anonymous, buried deep enough in the woods that no one will find us here. No one will interrupt what needs to happen.
The sedan crunches over gravel as we pull up to the weathered cabin. It’s nicer than it looks from the outside—some Reaper safehouse bullshit that we can use at our disposal. I watch Lexi’s face as she takes it in, looking for fear.
Instead, I see calculation.
“Where are we?” she asks, her voice steady despite being forced in the backseat for the last forty minutes.
“Somewhere you can think about your choices,” Revan says, killing the engine.
I get out first, circling around to open her door. She doesn’t wait for me to help her out—just swings her legs out and stands. Defiant. Always so fucking defiant.
“I’m not caging you,” Revan says. “Yet.”
Her eyes snap to his. “Yet?”
“You try to run, and that changes.”
We follow him to the cabin. I guide her. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
I whisper, “Don’t make me chase you, Lexi.”
“Would you like it if I did?” she challenges.
I lean down until my lips nearly brush her ear. “Don’t tempt me.”
Inside, the cabin is sparse but functional. Kitchen to the left, living room straight ahead with a worn couch facing a stone fireplace, hallway to the right leading to bedrooms and a bathroom. Revan immediately pulls out his phone, pacing near the windows.
I position myself between Lexi and the door. Not obvious about it, but enough that she knows.
Revan’s been working his contacts all morning, desperate for information about her brother. Axel Kane. Maybe he’ll know more about their father than Lexi is claiming.
His phone buzzes and he answers immediately. “Yeah?” A pause. “Where?” Another pause, longer this time. “You’re sure?”
I watch Lexi watching him, trying to read the conversation from his end. She’s smart—too smart. She’s bound to catch on.
Revan looks at me and nods. I follow him out the door.
“I need to take off,” he says. I glance at Lexi through the window. She’s staring at me like always.
Revan faces his back to her and whispers, “The brother’s in fucking rehab. I’m going to get him before anyone else can.”
I nod, licking my lips as Lexi rolls hers at me.
Revan pats my shoulder. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”
I smirk. “I got her.”
He smacks my cheek this time. “It’s that pretty fucking face of yours. Get her to open up.”
I meet his eyes and nod once. “I’ll get something out of her.”
He nods. He knows what I’m capable of.
He walks to the sedan and I walk back in the cabin.
Lexi’s still staring at me, and I see her swallow hard. But when she speaks, her voice is steady. “Can I have my phone?”
I shake my head slowly, deliberately. “No.”
“Why not? I’m not going to call the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No,” I repeat, taking a step closer. “You’re not getting it back.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath, running her hands through her dark hair. It’s still damp from the shower she took this morning. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized Blackridge University hoodie, looking like any other college student except for the fear and fury warring in her eyes.
“What about a snack?” she tries, changing tactics. “Chips?”
I gesture toward the kitchen. “Check the cabinets.”
She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious of the easy permission, but moves toward the kitchen anyway.
I follow at a distance, leaning against the doorframe to watch as she opens cabinet after cabinet.
Most are empty or contain ancient canned goods.
Finally, she finds something—a bag of potato chips, already opened.
“Score,” she mutters, reaching in.
I watch as she pulls out a chip and takes a bite. Her face immediately contorts in disgust.
“Ack. Stale.” She spits it into the trash bag with more force than necessary. She slams the cabinet door shut.
Then she turns and walks straight toward me, and I see the shift in her energy—fear converting into anger, helplessness into rage. It’s beautiful.
“What the hell am I doing here, Atticus?” she demands, stopping just inches from me. Close enough that I can smell her—woodsy. She used our soap. “Don’t you fuckers have classes and hockey and a real fucking life? Like what is this bullshit!”
“You come first,” I say simply.
Her eyes flash. “I am on scholarship. I can’t miss a single thing, or I lose it, and there goes my entire future! My brother already fucked up the first two days, and now this!” She pushes her plam into my chest. “I will fucking kill you if I have to.”
Arousal hits me like a freight train. The threat, the violence in her eyes, the way she’s not backing down even though she should be terrified—it’s everything I’ve been waiting for.
“Is that a threat, Lexi?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.
“It’s a promise.”
I grab her wrist—the one that’s still pointed at my chest—and slowly, deliberately, move her hand up to my throat. Her eyes widen in surprise as I wrap her fingers around my neck, applying just enough pressure that she understands what I’m offering.
Power.
Control.
Everything she’s been denied since we took her.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, her fingers tighten experimentally, testing.
The pressure sends electricity down my spine, makes my pulse thunder in my ears.
I watch her face as she realizes what this means—that I’m giving her the ability to hurt me, to dominate me, even if it’s just for this moment.
Her eyes are gleaming now, bright with the rush of power I’ve handed her. She squeezes harder and I let her, let the oxygen thin out just enough to make everything sharper, clearer. My vision tunnels to just her face, her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest.
She stands there with her hand on my throat, and I wait for her to break. Wait for fear or disgust or uncertainty to make her pull away.
She doesn’t.
So I lean down.
And she doesn’t stop me.
When my lips meet hers, it’s like completing a circuit. All the tension, the fear, the want—it all ignites at once. She kisses me back immediately, needy and shaky, her hand still on my throat.
I walk her backward until she hits the kitchen counter, never breaking the kiss. She gasps against my mouth and then suddenly the dynamic shifts—she’s pushing me now, reversing our positions until my back hits the counter and she’s pressing into me, kissing me harder.
Her hands slide up my chest and I help her, grabbing the hem of my t-shirt and pulling it over my head. The cool air hits my skin for only a second before her hands are on me, exploring the tattoos that cover my torso and arms.
“What’s with all the skulls and flames?” she asks, her fingers tracing the design that wraps around my ribcage.
Instead of answering, I grab her hoodie. “Why don’t you have any?”
“I do.” She reaches down and hooks her thumbs into her leggings, pushing them down just enough to reveal her hip. “White ink. It’s a magnolia flower for my mom.”
I drop to my knees without thinking, needing to see it properly. She’s right—the ink is white, barely visible against her pale skin except where it catches the light. It’s delicate, beautiful, the petals detailed and realistic. It looks like a scar, which makes it even hotter.
“Hidden,” I say, then lean forward and press my lips to it.
She flinches, gasping, and her fingers immediately tangle in my hair. I use my tongue, tracing the outline of the flower, tasting soap and skin.
“Because...” Her voice breaks as I kiss higher, my hands gripping her hips. “Because I don’t wear anything on my sleeve. This is private. Just for me.”
I pull back just enough to look up at her, her fingers still in my hair. “And your boyfriend…”
She shakes her head, and the admission does something dark and possessive to me. I’m seeing something he hasn’t. Touching something he doesn’t even know exists.
“What is your accent?” she asks, breathless. “Where are you from?”
I stand, reaching for my back pocket. “London.”
I pull out the condom I’ve been carrying since we left the mansion—hoping, planning—and her eyes track the movement. She doesn’t say no. Doesn’t pull away.
So I tug her pants down the rest of the way.
She holds onto my shoulders, letting me peel it away. I grab the hoodie and remove it for her. I don’t need to even force her thighs open, my captive is fucking me willingly.
I stare at her naked body. “Sexy.”
She pushes me and steals the condom from my fingers. “Your turn.”
I take my clothes off as she removes the condom from its wrapper. We’re both standing naked in this freezing fucking cold cabin, but I’m hard as a rock. So are her nipples.
She slides the condom on, staring at my dick. And I know that look. She won’t be able to get enough. They never do.
I stand, waiting to see what she does next. She starts pumping my dick with her hand as I just watch.
Shit’s boring, so I nod at the cabinet under the counter. “Chips are in there.”
“Asshole,” she bites out and bends over to look. Just like I said, bags of chips are under there.
She turns to say something, but I cover her mouth with my hand and lower her to all fours. “Just like that, sexy. Now grab your bag of chips.”