Chapter 41 Atticus
Atticus
Isit on the couch, elbows on my knees, cigarette burning low between my fingers. The smoke curls up lazy and thick, filling my lungs with familiar poison. Across the room, Lexi stands at the window staring out at the forest—endless dark trees swaying in the storm.
She’s too calm for someone who’s been through hell.
Or maybe that’s what happens when you stop being surprised by it—when trauma becomes background noise instead of an event. When you’ve been drugged and kidnapped and betrayed enough times that rage becomes just another Tuesday.
I study her reflection in the glass. It looks softer than she actually is, the darkness and rain smoothing her edges.
But I know better. She’s the kind of soft that hides teeth, the kind of quiet that comes before violence.
I’ve seen her fight—nails and elbows and pure survival instinct—and it was beautiful in a way that made me want things I shouldn’t.
I’m not sure if I want to touch her or strangle the thought out of my head.
“You gonna keep standing there ignoring me?” I ask, ashing the cigarette into an empty beer bottle.
She crosses the room, slow and deliberate, each step measured. There’s intention in her movement. She stops a few feet away, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet her eyes.
Her glare could slice through bone—sharp and focused and absolutely lethal. I kind of like it. Most people look away when I hold their gaze too long, unsettled by whatever they see there. She doesn’t flinch.
I reach out, hand finding her waist, and pull her against me. She stiffens—every muscle going rigid—but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t slap me or curse or run. Just stands there in the cage of my arms, breathing hard, eyes defiant.
I need to fuck.
Something. Anything. Her.
The kiss hits like a match strike—sudden and consuming.
Raw, impatient, fueled by something darker than desire.
Her hands come up to my neck, nails digging in hard enough to break skin.
I taste copper and smoke and rage, and I don’t care about the pain or the blood or whatever’s running through her head.
I just pull her closer, one hand squeezing her ass, the other tangling in her damp hair. She kisses like she fights—no mercy, no retreat. All teeth and tongue.
When she pulls away, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and there’s blood on her lips. Mine or hers, I can’t tell.
“Are you going to sit there all night just staring?” she asks, but her voice is rougher than it was before.
I release her, lean back and try to look more composed than I feel.
Her eyes race up and down my face and then she pulls off her top. When she unclips her bra, her gorgeous tits fall out and my dick goes stiff.
“Or are you going to fuck me?” she whispers.
I tilt my head back and watch.
She pulls off her trousers and says, “I picked you tonight.”
Out of her options? I’d say I’m the best fucking one. But she doesn’t need to say more to get me going. I already planned out the positions I’d fuck her in.
I lift my hips to pull my dick out. I grab the condom burning a hole in my back pocket and tear the package open.
She kneels down and licks my shaft before I can roll the condom on. Her bare mouth needs more spit. It’s dry as fuck.
“I want you––” she mutters, sucking me. “I want you to do whatever you want with me.” Her tongue rolls on the tip of my dick.
Then she bites.
Fuck!
In a quiet sexy voice, she says, “I want you to give me your worst.”
I stare at her dilated eyes.
She licks me again, sucking. “I want you to make it hurt.”
I grab her neck, remembering that she’s drugged up. I press her against the wall and whisper, “Do you know what you’re asking?”
She nods rapidly under my hold. Her pulse picking up under my thumb. “I chose you, Atticus. I need this.”
I rip her panties off with one loud shriek of cotton and say, “Why?”
She pushes her ass out, desperate like a dirty whore. “Because…”
I slap her ass hard.
She whimpers. “Because after what happened tonight… I need––”
I whisper, “Get on your fucking knees.”
She hesitates and then drops down to her knees. When her eyes peer up at me, I nearly smirk.
“Open your mouth.” I grab her chin and spit in it.
Her eyes flare at me as she swallows.
“Now I’m going to fuck your throat until you pass out.”
I enter her mouth and push myself deep into that beautifully tight throat. She starts gagging, eyes watering, but I don’t give her air. I use her hair to push her head deeper, feeling my dick throb.
Tears fall from her eyes, and she’s trying to push me off.
I hold her there for a few more seconds and then I pull all the way out, her teeth scraping my cock.
I pick her up and throw her on the couch. She’s coughing, trying to catch her breath. I push the condom on and turn her over on her stomach and bring her ass up.
For someone who’s coughing, crying, and gagging, she sure is wet and ready. I insert my finger into her pussy, feeling her clench. Then I stare at that beautiful round ass she has and think again. I press my dick against her ass, and she jerks.
“What’re you doing?” she gasps.
I bring her ass back up and lick it. She trembles crying out. I grab her hand so she can play with her own clit, and I try again. When my tip touches her hole, she tries to fall back down. I hold her in place.
“Get your ass back here,” I command.
“I never said I wanted anal,” she whips.
I slap her ass and say, “You didn’t say you didn’t want it. Now, let me in. You’re going to fucking love it.”
I rub her clit for her since she’s incapable. I push myself into her ass, and the rim of her stretches out just for me.
“This ass is a virgin, innit?”
“Shut… the… fuck… up…” she breathes as I push myself deeper. “Oh my god.”
Her ass is trying so hard to push me out, and that’s what feels so fucking good. When I start moving, Lexi’s entire body starts trembling. She screams into the couch cushions, gripping onto anything, so I offer my hand. I think she’s going to be an ass girl after this.
“Fuck!” she groans between her teeth, seething, moaning and groaning.
I pump into her faster and faster, chasing my own pleasure as I watch her ass take me so fucking good.
“Atti,” she cries out. “Oh, my fucking god!” She’s growling through clenched teeth, voice deep and dark.
One moment there’s friction and then the next, her entire body loosens up, a plead leaving her throat as she orgasms. That was like two minutes?
This orgasm isn’t like a regular one. Her entire body shakes and the sounds she makes is fucking insane.
Not to mention how happy my cock is to hear her, so I come inside the condom and then pull out.
She collapses on the couch, whimpering. “You fucking asshole.”
I walk to the trash can and throw away the condom, and then I zip myself up.
“I didn’t say I wanted anal, asshole!” She throws on her clothes and limps to the kitchen.
One step and I’m in her face. “I went soft because you’re high. Next time I won’t be as nice. And if you’re going to be a whore and fuck Koa and Revan and me at the same––”
She hits my face and it echoes in the kitchen, so I grab her neck and squeeze.
“Your ass is mine and mine only. Do you understand?” She doesn’t reply, so I pull her closer to me.
“If I hear you let either of them have it, I’ll fucking kill you.
” I release my hold and say, “Don’t pretend you didn’t just have the best orgasm of your life. You’re welcome.”
She doesn’t respond to that, just opens a cabinet and grabs a glass. The movement is automatic like her mind’s elsewhere. She pours water from a half-cracked jug, and I notice her hands are shaking slightly. From adrenaline or fear or residual drugs or anal.
I sit back on the couch and check my phone.
Lexi walks around, takes a sip of water and stands uncomfortably.
“What?” I say.
She asks, “You’re from London, right?”
“What about it?”
She takes a long drink, then sets the glass down with deliberate care. “Let’s go there.”
I huff a laugh, genuinely surprised. “What, tonight?”
“Someday.”
The word hangs in the air between us—someday, like there’s a future beyond this moment, beyond this war we’re all caught in. Like we might actually survive long enough to have choices instead of just consequences.
“Nothing left there to go back to.”
“Then it’s a clean slate,” she says simply, like it’s that easy. Like I didn’t just fuck her in the ass and threaten her life.
I want to tell her she’s wrong. Want to explain that London isn’t just a place I left—it’s the place that made me what I am.
The place where I learned that the world is divided into predators and prey, and the only way to survive is to make sure you’re never the one bleeding out in an alley.
The place where I learned that love is just another weapon people use against you.
But I don’t say any of that. I just watch her.
She settles on the couch beside me, curling up with her legs tucked under her like she might fall asleep right there. She doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t maintain careful distance. Just exists in my space like she belongs there.
I don’t move. Don’t reach for her again or say something that would shatter this fragile moment. I just watch the rain sliding down the windows, listening to her breathing gradually slow and even out.
I think about all the places I’ve run from—London, Manchester, Dover. All the safe houses and temporary beds and nameless cities where I stayed just long enough to disappear again. All the people I’ve left behind without looking back, without regret, without anything resembling attachment.
And somehow, she’s the only one who ever made me want to stay.
The realization should terrify me. Should send me running like every other time I’ve felt something close to this. But I don’t move. Don’t plan my exit or catalog the quickest routes out of here.
I just sit in the dark with a girl who should hate me, watching the storm pass, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel the need to burn everything down just to feel alive.
Maybe that’s growth.
Or maybe it’s just another way to destroy myself.
Either way, I’m not taking her to London because I’m not leaving this place yet.