Page 10 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats (Till Death Do Us Part #1)

Chapter Seven

Atticus

I told Lilah not to go overboard with getting dressed for our date. I made reservations at a nice place, but there’s no need to stress about it, like she was doing when we got home. Once I got her to calm down, she smiled, thanked me, then disappeared into her bedroom.

I’m going to have the happiest stray cat on the block. Hell, in the entire Boston area.

Juniper’s is a restaurant I remember from when I was a child.

My parents would take us there for a family dinner once a month, but I’ve never been back since.

My lifestyle drastically changed when my parents died, and I was sent to foster care.

I went into the system with no money and nothing but the clothes I could fit in my duffel and backpack.

No one cared that I came from money; they only cared that I didn’t have any then.

I lost things and gained things as I was bounced from house to house, but in the end, I didn’t come out with anything more than I went in with.

Nothing but the terrible memories and hatred for humankind.

Though, if I’m being honest, my hatred for humans was there on day one.

When I aged out of the system, I survived on nothing for three years, until I had access to everything my parents left me.

The house, the life insurance money, plus all the money they had everywhere else.

I became a millionaire overnight, and that was a fucking relief.

It helped keep my stress level down, which had me thinking more clearly and controlling the dark urges a little easier.

I’m aware enough to know these urges are never going away.

I’ve accepted the fact that I am a serial killer, someone who enjoys ending people’s lives for no explainable reason.

Trust me, I’ve done the research and can’t come up with any excuse for being the way I am.

Ever since I discovered that I have a brother, I can’t stop wondering if he’s like me.

Does he have these dark, wild urges? Are we the same?

Or did our mother give me up because she saw the evil in me the moment she pushed me out?

I go from hating my brother to fondly wondering about him.

Then I hate him again.

The only way I’ll truly know anything about him is to meet him. Which I am going to do.

Once I get Kitten settled a little more, I’m going to dive into this plan and lay out every detail.

She’s got her room at my house, we have a cover story, and she has a ton of brand-new clothes.

It’ll only be a short time before the cops are looking to question her about Steven’s death.

It’s only been a few days, and since he didn’t have a job, it’ll take a while for someone to find him.

Once that happens, and the cops speak with her, I’m good to hunt down my brother and find out what the fuck his deal is.

Apparently he’s living in Lowell. On a good day, that’s only a half hour away. How the fuck is he so close without me knowing? And what brought him here? Just a few of the questions I have to ask when I meet him.

I try to picture him in the real world, standing across from me.

It’s hard to envision him when all I have are a few pictures.

He’s a cop, so he’s probably some uptight asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.

In reality, he’s probably an average Joe who wears sweater vests and khakis.

That’s likely why our mother kept him. He’s the good one.

I need to know for sure, though. So fuck all my thoughts and opinions. They don’t mean anything. What does mean something are the facts that I will get once I track him down and see him for myself. Once I quiet the incessant voice in my head who wants answers.

Pulling open my drawer, I glance over the rows of ties neatly rolled up and placed into their perfect little spots.

I pick the black silk one to match the black silk lapels on my jacket.

Kitten allowed me to see a small peak of her dress, so I would know the color.

She asked me to match her, and so I’ve done my best with a black suit and red shirt beneath.

I wasn’t sure it would go well, but as I watch myself knot my tie in the mirror, I know without a doubt I chose well.

When my tie is set, I put on my shoes. I check my hair is still in place, spritz on some cologne, then head out of my room and downstairs to wait for Kitten.

As an adult, I’ve never gotten dressed up for the sake of impressing someone else.

I have a ton of nice clothes because they’re similar to what my father wore, they’re comfortable, and I like the way they look.

They’re the sort of clothes that demand respect and get respect.

The sort that has most people looking at their feet when they walk by. I prefer it that way.

I head to the library that I use as an office to look through my notes as I wait for Kitten to finish getting ready.

It took Gavin a long time to gather information for me, mostly because what I wanted was nearly impossible to find.

He started with my life most recently and worked his way backward through time.

And it was all the adoption stuff, the orphanage, and basically everything in Iowa that was difficult to get.

But he managed. He delivered. He gave me exactly what I asked for.

I could rehire him to dig into James, now that I know this is the information I want.

I hadn’t thought that having a brother was a possibility.

I’d assumed I was an only child and that’s why I was given up—because my bio parents didn’t want children.

But now that I know I have a brother, that he’s real and alive, I want everything there is on him.

Gavin already has his name and his place of work.

Getting everything else on the guy shouldn’t be difficult.

Closing the folder, I pull up Gavin’s number on my phone and hit the call button.

“Atticus,” he answers with a sigh. “I thought our transaction was complete.”

“I have another job for you.”

“I’m not taking on any more jobs right now. I’m backed up.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

The line is quiet, and I give him a few seconds to answer.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You found information on my brother, James Erickson. I need everything you can find on him, but mostly from the last ten years.”

I am interested in what my brother has been up to his whole life, but I’m more interested in what he’s been doing recently. Ever since he’s been an adult and come into who he is as a person. I don’t give a fuck what he was doing when he was still shitting in diapers.

He sighs heavily, annoyed. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

“When?” I ask, my own annoyance setting in.

“Let me organize a few things. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” I say before ending the call. A man who isn’t swayed by money? Strange. It can’t be that I’m so difficult to work with that he’s turning down forty thousand dollars… It’s a simple job. Much easier than the last one.

I lean back in my chair, staring out at the room that I spend most of my time in, but I hardly see anything.

My vision goes blurry as I get lost in thoughts of the family who didn’t want me.

Of all the people in my life who have given up on me.

Those who didn’t care enough to stick around or put in an effort.

Then I think of the few people who left an imprint on me.

The people who cared enough that I felt it, saw it, remembered it. Three people make that list.

My adoptive mother, Bridget. She was the first person on this earth who ever wanted me.

Who gave me a chance. When she left me, it wasn’t willingly, and I believe that if she were still around, she’d try to love me as best as she could figure out.

Still, she left me too. All because she couldn’t wear her fucking seatbelt.

Violet is the second person. She saw me for who I truly am, understood me in ways that no one else ever has, and she didn’t leave me.

At least, not until she had to, and that was a mutual decision.

One of the hardest decisions I ever had to make.

But essentially, she gave me up too. I wasn’t worth fighting for in her eyes, and that took me a long time to realize.

I’d blamed myself for her leaving for years, until one day I realized…

she could have chosen to stay had she wanted to.

And now there’s my kitten. Lilah. Maybe she’ll leave the biggest imprint of all by being a bright light in my otherwise dark world. Or maybe she’ll destroy me worse than I could ever imagine. Only time will tell, I suppose.

When it’s well past the time of having to leave, I head up to Lilah’s bedroom and knock on the door. There’s muttering on the other side that gets more frustrated as the moments go on.

“Kitten?” I call out.

She doesn’t answer. There’s clanking around and more sounds of annoyance. I knock again, and when she doesn’t come to the door, I open it.

I pop my head in, finding the light on in the en suite, the grumbling louder now that I’m in the room. As I get closer to the bathroom, I make out the words she’s saying.

“—not right. Not good enough. Why can’t I get this right?”

I stop in the doorway to find Lilah leaning over the vanity, palms pressed flat to it, head hung forward.

She’s in a beautiful dress that hugs all her curves, stopping a few inches beneath her plump ass.

I imagine her bending over and showing me her beautiful pussy at this angle and it has me drooling.

Her hair is in a half straight, half wavy state.

I can’t tell what she was trying to do to it.

“This has to be perfect, Lilah,” she says, this time more quietly. “You can’t fuck this up. Don’t ruin this. Not again.”

“Kitten,” I say softly.

She gasps, whirling toward me. Her eye makeup streaked down her cheeks, as if she’s been crying.

“Atticus,” she breathes out, wiping under her eyes. It only smears more.

I walk to her, keeping my eyes on hers. Putting together her words with her trauma due to her piece of shit ex, it’s not difficult to figure out what’s going on in here.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

Her bright blue eyes go wide before she blinks a few times, looking away. I grab her chin, gently making her look at me.

“You are beautiful. Perfect. And you haven’t fucked up a thing. Do you understand me?”

She swallows hard, then nods.

My other hand comes up to cup her cheek, and I brush my thumbs beneath her eyes, smudging her makeup even more.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, if you don’t want to,” I say. “If it’s too much, we can stay here.”

“But we got dressed up, and you look so… fuck, you look so hot, Atty.”

I smirk at her nickname. I had one of those once, but never Atty. I like it.

Running my fingers through her hair, I say, “Do you need help with this?”

She sighs, her eyes falling closed.

“Yes, please,” she says so quietly I hardly hear her.

Looking behind her, I spot the hair straightener. That must have been one of the things she ordered online with my card. I told her to get everything she needed, and I’m glad she listened.

“Turn around, Kitten.”

She does as I say, her gaze going to the mirror, those blue eyes watching me with some emotion I can’t place. Her eyes look almost empty, but they’re too beautiful to be that way.

I pick up the brush and run it through her hair.

It’s silent as I figure out how to do this.

I’ve never done a woman’s hair before, and there’s something oddly intimate about it.

A strange feeling I’ve never felt before.

Some sort of new connection. I take small chunks of her hair and put it through the straightener.

Neither of us says a word as I work, though I feel her stare on me in the mirror.

I do this until I’ve got it all and her hair is straight.

I lean down to kiss her shoulder, then unplug the straightener so we don’t have a fire.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I give her a small smile, and bring my hands to her bare arms, slowly running them up and down her soft skin.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, noting I actually care.

There’s something heavy on my chest over seeing her like this.

“Will you be angry if I don’t want to go out?” I see the fear in her eyes, feel it in the way her body tenses. This is an emotion I am familiar with. It’s the one I’ve seen the most from other people.

What I’m going to say to her needs to be face-to-face, this reflection nonsense won’t do, so I carefully spin her to face me and cup her cheeks to make sure she can’t look away.

“I will never get angry with you for choosing what’s right for you. Never.”

“Atty—”

“Always be honest with me. Never do something for me just because I want it.”

The words are difficult to say because so many people have done just that, and I was the one to lose in the end. But what’s the point in getting someone’s attention if it’s for all the wrong reasons? If it isn’t real, then it doesn’t count.

“Promise me,” I say.

She blinks a few times, tears pooling in the corners. I ignore the way my body doesn’t react to it. Her tears don’t make me cringe like everyone else’s do.

“I promise.”

I pull her to me, wrapping her in my arms. I kiss her cheek, then her lips.

My little kitten is broken. She’s lost and sad. It’s my job to take care of her, to nurse her back to health. Which is exactly what I plan to do.