Chapter Eleven
Warmth engulfed Foster. He had slept harder than he had in years.
After wrapping his t-shirt around Atticus’ waist, they had made their way back to their room around one in the morning.
Foster felt like he died immediately. He tried stretching but found himself wrapped in the blankets like a burrito.
There was no stopping the chuckle that escaped him at the thought of Atticus’ disgruntled stare.
He fucking hated when Foster stole the blankets.
Eventually, they would have to figure out a system.
According to Atticus, Foster had a terrible habit of wrapping himself in the blankets, ensuring Atticus got nothing but maybe a tiny corner.
He shouldn’t laugh, but Atticus was a little funny after he had spent the night contemplating killing Foster in his sleep.
It took a second of kicking and twisting to untangle himself. He felt the emptiness of the room before he saw the vacant spot beside him.
“Damn. I ran you all the way off.”
Foster laughed as he crawled from the bed and went in search of Atticus.
He wasn’t in the bedroom. Foster raced through getting ready for the day.
It wasn’t like Atticus to disappear. He likely got hungry.
Foster had slept way later than usual. He smiled.
Atticus had worn him out. Foster froze and looked at himself in the mirror.
He looked happy. Not once had Foster seen this version of himself.
Not for real anyhow. He had always been pretty good at faking smiles and—occasionally—finding genuine enjoyment.
Zeus’ club was a lot of fun. Foster loved going there and watching the various kinks in action.
Sometimes Zeus would have him stir up jealousy when they had been watching the same couple dance around each other for too long.
He liked doing those things. Those nights broke up the monotony of life, but Atticus.
Atticus had been something totally different from the moment Atticus put him on his ass.
He was interesting and hilariously caustic.
Foster could never tell if he tried to be funny or if Foster was just in love with the droll way he reacted to things. Atticus had wit. That was sexy.
He spent so much time lost in thought, Foster forgot he stared at himself.
While Foster had never hated what he saw in the mirror, Atticus had still made him see himself in a new light.
He liked himself a hell of a lot more than he used to.
Atticus had made him realize he had more good qualities than he realized.
Foster had fallen in love with the way Atticus made him better. He was in love.
Shaking off his thoughts, Foster forced himself to get moving. He needed Atticus.
It took exactly fifteen minutes for the panic to set in.
He searched the house from top to bottom.
After seeing Tidy’s car was the only one missing, he checked the pool house, hoping against hope this was another game.
There was no one. He ran across the occasional staff member.
Scout and Clay’s bedroom door was closed.
He could see Crisp on one of the many security monitors practicing at the shooting range deeper into the property.
Tidy’s bedroom door stood open, but it made sense for him to be gone.
Maybe they had gone somewhere together. Foster headed back upstairs and grabbed his phone.
The air left his lungs in a relieved whoosh when he saw he had a text from Atticus waiting. His heart stopped again as he read it.
Atticus: Caught a ride back home with Tracker. I’ll be back as soon as I kill Butch.
Foster shot to his feet. “What the fuck?” He looked around.
Foster didn’t know why. He just needed something to make the text make sense.
Just “gone to kill Butch” like leaving a note saying he had run to the grocery store.
He was afraid to text back. Atticus might already be neck-deep in the middle of murdering someone. This was a nightmare.
Foster called Tracker. That was all he could think to do. The moment Tracker answered, Foster jumped in with both feet. “Did you really fly Atticus back home so he could kill his uncle?”
There was a moment’s pause. No doubt because Foster sounded as panicked as he was. “Beau’s got the jet waiting to take him straight back to you as soon as he’s done.”
Were they all insane? Was this how they sounded about their job? Foster questioned his whole existence in a matter of seconds. “Why does everyone keep talking about this like it’s a quick trip to buy bread? Did anyone at least go with him?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Foster might have screamed the question. No one was panicking the way they should.
Tracker’s tone remained calm. “You know we don’t walk into situations without weeks of training. Not to mention the whole team isn’t together. If it makes you feel better, Tidy went with him.”
“What?” He was definitely shouting now. “Tidy is cleanup. How is that supposed to make me feel better? I love Tidy, but he doesn’t have the same training as Shadow or Rain. Hell, I’m sure Ridge would jump at the chance to take the guy out from a distance.”
Tracker sighed like Foster made him tired. “Okay. I’m passing you off to Zeus.”
Foster wanted to roar at the top of his lungs and break shit. He didn’t understand why everyone was so fucking calm. There had to be a reason Atticus hadn’t killed Butch before now. Why was that reason suddenly no biggie?
“Hey.” Zeus sounded just as calm as always. “So what’s up with you being freaked out?”
“Did every single one of you lose your goddamn minds while I wasn’t looking?
Atticus ran off just to pull a quickie murder all by himself.
Excuse me. He went with our cleanup guy.
” Foster found himself on his feet as he shouted the final words at the top of his lungs because no one was taking this seriously.
“It’s Atticus.”
Foster pinched the spot between his eyes.
Zeus kept going. “Look. I know your team is a group of total badasses. He put you on your ass before you could get to your feet. Butch has been trying to kill Atticus since he was twelve and hasn’t managed it yet. Give him the credit he’s due.”
Foster sat. He hadn’t known it had been that long. Foster didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him sooner.
Zeus didn’t stop, oblivious to Foster’s shock. “The closest he’s come to succeeding was that coffee. He had to actually try something Atticus didn’t see coming. From twelve,” Zeus repeated. “Do you realize how scary you have to be to survive that many years?”
Foster fought the sudden urge to cry. “I would’ve gone with him.” Even Foster heard the hurt in his voice.
“I know. He knows. That’s exactly why he has to do this.
He’s finally found something he can’t lose, and he won’t watch you fight to stay alive the way he has.
Once Butch learns of your existence, he will do everything he can to use you against Atticus.
Before now, Butch was just an exhausting annoyance who was more trouble than he’s worth.
There was no benefit in killing Butch. While Butch has been a living nightmare in his life, Atticus has always known there were worse people standing in line to take over the drug trade in Texas.
He didn’t want to start literal wars. Now he has you to consider.
I don’t think you understand how important you are to him.
He needs you. Let him do this. He’ll be fine. ”
Foster’s shoulders fell. “But Tidy?”
“Hey. He’s one half of the best cleanup crew in the country. No one will even know what happened to Butch. He’ll just vanish.”
Foster knew every word Zeus spoke was the truth. Atticus might be spoiled and high class with the most expensive of tastes, but he was also Foster’s insane and sexy Kung Fu Hustle. His money was always on Foster. That didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified.
As if Zeus read his mind, he jumped to comfort Foster. “He took on both of us without breaking a sweat. One old man is nothing. I’m sure Atticus will text you soon. Just try not to have a meltdown before then.”
Foster took a shaky-sounding breath. “For the record, I’m still furious with everyone.”
“Heard and noted.”
Foster rolled his eyes. God’s gift or not, Foster had no idea how Tracker put up with Zeus. The guy was a master deprogrammer. It had to be like living with a psychiatrist. “Get back to treating my brother like a king.”
Zeus laughed. “On it.”
Foster disconnected the call and fell back across the bed.
He stared at the ceiling. Foster would never understand how Atticus always took him from one edge of insanity to another without missing a beat.
Maybe he was the one who should be exhausted.
A loud, aggravated-sounding sigh burst from Foster.
Love definitely made people dumb as fuck.
Foster would be a good boy and wait for Atticus.
Then Atticus would fucking tell him everything.
They weren’t a game any longer. They hadn’t been for a long time.
The most tiresome part of the past forty-eight hours was the part where Atticus didn’t get to sleep.
He had spent the first twenty-four trying to get back to Foster as quickly as possible.
His failing was underestimating exactly how long it took to make a crime scene disappear.
There was a lot of work involved, and Tidy usually worked with a partner.
Unfortunately, Crisp was nowhere to be found before they left.
According to Tidy, that was becoming a common thing.
It was like Crisp purposely separated himself from the family a little more every day.
Tidy didn’t seem upset. In fact, Atticus got the feeling Tidy knew why and was very likely part of the plan. Not his issue to solve.