Page 28 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats

“I will always take care of you,” I whisper, brushing my lips along her jaw. “In every way you need. You’re mine, Kitten.”

“I want… you,” she breathes out.

“You have me.”

“But I… Mm, that feels good.”

“Be patient with me,” I say, watching her hips rise from the bed. “Please,” I add, before kissing her neck, then sucking on her skin.

“Oh… oh… kay!” Her body trembles as her pussy pulses. She moans out her release, mumbling my name and how good it feels. She smiles when she comes down from her high, turning to me with a drunken look. “Okay,” she repeats, leaning in to kiss my lips. “Anything you want, Atty.”

Chapter Twelve

Lilah

Atticus looks different on the ride back home. There’s something shadowing his face that reminds me of the first night I met him—when I first saw him standing in the doorway, before he killed Steven. There’s something dark lingering just below the surface, and I can’t help but be excited over it. I think we’re going to kill someone tonight.

He hasn’t told me what happened, but I know something angered him today. We had a perfect morning at the hotel. Atticus ordered us clean clothes and delicious food. We spent hours in the jacuzzi tub. He made me come. He paid extra just so we could stay late because I was enjoying myself so much. I love the way he spoils me and how he is truly happy to do so.

But everything changed just before it was time to leave. Atticus got a call. He went onto the balcony so I couldn’t hear what was being said, but when he came back in, he was different.

I tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t feel like he was mad at me, it was almost like he couldn’t see me at all. He’s spoken few words since then.

Though I’ve been around a lot of violence, I’ve never actually seen someone die. Not unless you count Steven, and I didn’t actually watch that. By the time I realized what was happening and opened my eyes, he was already dead. Watching someone die, seeing the light leave their eyes, and their body just stopping… it’s intriguing. And also sort of sad, especially if it’s someone who doesn’t deserve it. But for those who do? I can’t say I care too much about that.

Unsure of what Atticus plans to do, with hope that he won’t kill someone innocent, I pull up my phone and do some digging. It doesn’t take long to find exactly what I’m looking for. I put the address into the GPS on my new cell phone and watch the alerts.

“In a couple miles, you’re going to turn right.”

Atticus is breathing hard, hands gripping the steering wheel like he’ll float away if he doesn’t. He glances toward me, but there is no expression on his face.

“Just trust me,” I say softly. “I’ll tell you when.”

Maybe I should be afraid of him, but I’ve already established that I’m not right in the head. My fear meter is broken. I get scared at all the wrong times. I don’t think Atticus will hurt me. He is fully capable of ending my life, I know that, but something about it is exciting more than scary. Knowing he can but won’t. That I’m special to him…

Is there anything that can make you feel more special than that?

It was very similar with my father, only slightly different because I didn’t see what my father was capable of until he wastaken away from me. Sometimes it’s just the knowledge that makes all the difference. I have seen what Atticus is capable of. Witnessed it with my own eyes. There is nothing stopping him from doing any of that to me, except not wanting to. Free will is an interesting thing. Seeing the choices people make. What they choose to do over what they choose against. How, even though we are all human, we think so very differently. Take different risks. Have different interests. It’s an amazing thing.

I’m special to Atticus. And being special to someone like him, someone who is probably a sociopath, means so much more because it’s rare. I’ve read plenty of studies on it, after my father. It didn’t take long for me to realize that’s not what my father is, but I’m pretty sure that’s who Atticus is. And though I know this relationship with him won’t be a typical relationship, because he’s unlikely to ever love me as deeply as humans can, there is something here. Some primal connection. He feels something that’s different from what he’s used to. I can see it in the way he studies me like he doesn’t understand it either.

I’m playing a dangerous game, being with him, but that’s my MO. My life is already planned out for me, I’m just along for the ride.

“Two more blocks. Right after that gas station,” I tell him.

There’s no way to know if he’s going to listen to me or not. I’ve never seen him go through this before. I can only guess whatever happened during that phone call set him off. I’ve seen a few stages of Atticus, and we’ve talked minimally about it. He disassociates often, I see him sitting there in a trance frequently. He has blackouts; he’s explained that to me because I haven’t seen it yet. He has no idea how many people he’s killed because of it or how he didn’t get caught. But it’s enough to get him dubbed the Boston Phantom. And apparently it took him over a year to realize that it was him who was doing those killings.

Atticus makes the turn, and I smile to myself. I’m proud of how well I know him, but also that I can get through to him.

“Next block, take a left. Then a right directly after,” I say as I watch us move along the map on my phone.

We navigate through a quiet neighborhood, making turns here and there to get to the house I’m looking for. When we pull up to it, it’s nicer than the man living there deserves.

Atticus loses control when he kills people. He doesn’t always know who he is killing, and that’s not fair. But he has me now. And if I can control who he kills, then I’m doing some good in the world. I won’t let him kill innocent people, but I will use him as my rabid watch dog and rid the world of scum who don’t belong here.

“I’m barely hanging on here,” he says quietly. “I’m trying, but it’s too much to contain. I feel like something is trying to crawl out of my skin.”

I can’t begin to describe how his opening up to me makes me feel. Atticus is a man of few words, and this is a deeper look into himself than I’ve had before and may never get again. It’s truly a gift.

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