Chapter Seven
Atticus had known Foster was gorgeous. That was why he had pursued him. But Foster took his breath away when he laughed. His too-serious demeanor screamed he didn’t do that often. That was a travesty. One Atticus could never fix. He shouldn’t have let Tracker bring him here to rest.
The glass back door that led to the pool opened while Foster stared at him in a way Atticus didn’t understand.
A small blond dude climbed him from behind like a tree while cursing and breathlessly laughing.
Foster had blocked Atticus’ view until the mischievous creature made it to Foster’s shoulders.
“You know you can’t escape punishment.” He froze when he realized Foster stood like a statue, silent. Crisp’s gaze followed Foster’s. His smile fell.
Wow. Tracker definitely shouldn’t have demanded this from him.
He felt like he was in enemy territory. Atticus supposed he had always been with this family.
These men killed people like him. He had let them get under his skin.
Well, he had let Tracker beneath his skin, and the rest had followed.
No matter the order in which it happened, he hadn’t expected Foster’s or Crisp’s open hatred. He should have stayed away.
Crisp dropped his feet and released Foster. “I’ll let you deal with this.” He went back out the same door he had run through.
Foster still didn’t budge or say a word. They simply stared at each other. Atticus was too tired to think straight, much less to dole out any banter. Thankfully, Foster broke first. “You look like hell.”
Atticus would snort if he felt better. “Being poisoned will do that to a person.”
Foster’s brows snapped together. He moved closer, obviously forgetting he dripped water everywhere. “Poisoned? What the hell? What happened?”
A shiver ran through Atticus. Coldness sank into his bones.
He felt like absolute shit. “Either Seth finally got sick of my shit and his easy, high-paying job, or my uncle paid off someone at the coffee shop. Either way, poisoned.” A chuckle that sounded weak even to his ears fell from his lips.
“If so, I guess he finally realized he couldn’t beat me head on. ”
Foster held up one finger and walked back outside.
As much as Atticus wanted to watch that ass, in wet shorts that shaped him completely, he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Tracker said he would find Atticus a room on the main floor and come back for him.
Atticus just wanted to sleep, and he didn’t care where.
Despite the whole Foster issue, he was grateful for this reprieve.
He was very much down for the count. It was a weakness his uncle would definitely exploit.
He wouldn’t dare as long as Atticus was in the care of the Agafonov brothers.
With his eyes closed, he didn’t see the move coming. Atticus nearly jumped out of his skin as he was suddenly lifted from the couch. The moment he realized Foster was the one who held him, he settled. Plus, being startled zapped the last wisps of his energy.
As much as Atticus hated it, when he spoke, his voice sounded like barely a whisper. “You’re dry.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Foster. “They have these things called towels.”
Foster headed up the stairs like Atticus didn’t weigh a single pound. He wasn’t winded or struggling in any way. “That’s hot.”
“Towels?”
Atticus tried to shrug. “I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.
” His voice was slurred. Atticus didn’t give two shits if he looked weak and pathetic.
Three days ago, he had been inches from death.
Zeus, Rain, and Shadow had taken turns keeping watch over him.
The moment the hospital gave the go-ahead, Tracker and Zeus whisked him away.
He was just a lifeless doll now, and so very, very fatigued.
No one could possibly know what it was like to spend their entire life dodging this nightmare his dad had created for him.
He had never gotten to be a kid or have anything akin to normalcy.
Sure, he was extraordinary. He had to be, but this had never been what he wanted.
Every day, he woke up with the knowledge he would never be at peace.
Foster’s arms felt pretty damn close to serenity.
Atticus assumed he passed out. The next time he woke, it was nighttime.
He eyed the unfamiliar room in confusion.
His prescriptions and a stainless steel cup sat on the bedside table.
He prayed the cup had water in it. Atticus hadn’t stopped feeling dangerously dehydrated in days.
He nearly sighed as ice-cold water filled his mouth.
Atticus almost completely drained the cup before falling back into a heap.
A caress moved down his spine. “Did you leave enough to take your meds?”
The groggy voice at his back sounded delicious. Warmth spread through him. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to take.”
The bed shifted behind him. “Yeah. I imagine you’ve been pretty out of it. We can figure this out together.” Foster circled the bed. First, he checked the cup.
Atticus watched him refill the cup from the water dispenser of a full-sized refrigerator on the other side of the room.
He looked around with a little more alertness.
The room reminded him a little of the rooms at the Bosi compound back home.
It was just a bedroom, yet it felt more like an apartment.
Every consideration was taken for convenience and luxury of each guest.
When Foster returned, Atticus’ eyes wouldn’t move from him. He wore nothing but boxer briefs that molded to his every perfection. Atticus really hated himself for ruining their night together. He had obviously missed out on a lot.
Foster set the water next to him and sat on the edge of the bed at his hip. He went through the bottles one by one, reading each. “Okay. You’ve been with me for eleven hours.”
“Holy shit. Really?”
Foster kept talking like Atticus hadn’t spoken.
“These three are every eight, so you definitely need those.” He moved those to one side and picked up another.
“This one is once a day. I’ll text Tracker about that one.
” He moved on to the final one. “This one you dissolve on your tongue every four hours or as needed for nausea. Do you feel nauseous?”
Atticus took a moment to assess. His stomach made a horrible noise, answering before he did. “Yes.”
Foster pulled a sleeve of pills from the box and peeled back the paper on one. He shook it out. “Open up.”
Atticus did as told, and Foster stuck the pill on his tongue. He couldn’t keep himself from chuckling no matter how bad he felt. Foster was quite the nursemaid.
“Let me know when that’s dissolved.” Foster sounded so serious while getting his other pills ready to take.
Atticus watched him, wondering what went through his mind. A twinge in his chest made him wince. Foster went blurry.
Foster shot into action. He fluffed the pillow and got Atticus into a slightly more upright position. “Tell me what you need. Tracker only said to sit you up if you were in pain. Something about stomach acid burning damaged tissue. I don’t know. To be real, I was kind of overwhelmed at the time.”
Foster had been so right to walk away from him. Atticus saw him now. His intensity hid a fragile, kind heart and an entire person no one ever saw. Except for maybe Crisp, of course. “I’m good. It’s okay. Thank you.”
“None of this is okay!” Foster’s sudden explosion caught Atticus off guard.
Atticus didn’t shy away. He didn’t have the energy to argue, but there was no sense in getting angry on his behalf. Atticus had always been one misstep away from dying. “This is just my life. No concern at all. You have a beautiful smile.”
With an angry huff, Foster stood and paced away.
Atticus watched his enraged trek around the room before he returned to stand over Atticus.
“Do you know why I showed up every night? Why I couldn’t stay away no matter how dumb or insane I felt about stalking you?”
“I don’t know, but I’d hoped it was a sexual thing.”
Foster reclaimed his spot at Atticus’ hip.
“Maybe it was at first, but I am the way I am not only because I was trained to observe, but because I also see things no one else does.” Since Foster seemed semi-calm now, Atticus didn’t interrupt.
Plus, his throat hurt. Foster held his stare like no one else existed.
“You are a puzzle I couldn’t resist. From the moment you took me down without even breaking a sweat, I had to know.
I had to know everything. Every one of us are highly trained.
Not just professional-level training. It was our existence on the line, and only the strong survived.
I knew there could be only one reason you fought the way you do.
You were a survivor too. I had to know.”
Foster kept saying that like Atticus didn’t get it the first time or he couldn’t say it enough. “You could’ve asked. Not that I’m complaining about having your attention, but I would’ve told you anything you wanted to know.”
“No. I’ve decided I don’t need to know after all.”
Damn. He really had turned Foster all the way off.
“That’s probably for the best.” Atticus wished he could tell the difference between reality and what he decided was true.
Again, he was in therapy. Sometimes he thought working on himself was a huge waste of time.
Right now, he wished he had worked a little harder so he would know how to handle Foster.
Foster handed him his pills. “If you can stomach it, take these.”
It hurt, but Atticus swallowed the pills and drank the water Foster gave him like the adult he didn’t want to be.
Foster avoided his gaze for every second of the exchange.