Page 21 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats (Till Death Do Us Part #1)

Chapter Eighteen

Lilah

There’s a soft knock on the door before it’s being opened. I lift my forehead from the tiled wall and stretch my neck back to go under the water. I run my fingers through my wet hair, massaging my scalp because I have a headache that won’t go away.

“Kitten, you don’t have to do this,” Atticus says from the other side of the shower curtain.

“I know.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel.

Doing this for Atticus isn’t what has me feeling weak, though.

It was seeing my uncle. I thought I was done with him, that I’d never have to see him again.

He moved to Virginia because he got a job with the FBI, meaning he was far from Boston—far from me.

He had no ties to Boston and no reason to come back.

I should have known running into him at the conference was a possibility, but I was so caught up in Atticus that I hadn’t thought about it.

He hasn’t been a part of my life since I ran away at seventeen, when I could no longer take it.

“I won’t be angry with you,” Atticus says.

“I know that, too.”

I appreciate that he’s worried about me—that he cares at all. Not many people care about me. My father. Atticus. That’s it.

When I finish washing my hair and my body, I turn the water off and pull the shower curtain back.

Atticus is standing there with a towel. He unfolds it, holding it open for me, so I step into it, and he wraps it around me but doesn’t let go.

I rest my cheek on his chest, my wet hair soaking his shirt.

He’ll have to change it, and though it’s an inconvenience, I know he won’t mind. Not for me.

I expect him to tell me I can change my mind again.

It’s how the whole morning has gone and why I disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower.

Atticus is worried about me, and I love that, but I’m also sick of hearing it.

I’m tired of being a fragile little girl who can’t do things.

I won’t be that person anymore. I pretend to be strong all the time, but deep down…

strong is not what I am. I want to be though.

So instead of just pretending to be strong from now on, I am actually going to do it.

I’m going to do things that scare me, and little by little, I’m going to get stronger.

And right now, it begins with going back to the hotel to talk to Atticus’s brother for him.

He told me he literally ran into his brother this morning, while we were eating the breakfast he had delivered to the room. I’m not surprised his brother was so rude to him. We aren’t called Massholes around here for nothing.

Cruelty is easier to find than kindness these days.

I step to the sink, tightening the towel so it doesn’t fall, and pick up the brush to run it through my hair. Atticus leans against the long counter top, crossing his arms and watching me. I moisturize my skin and braid my hair.

“You know I’m going to kill him, right?”

I pause, halfway to putting my toothbrush in my mouth.

“You’re not stopping me,” he adds.

I snap out of it, and instead, start brushing my teeth.

Be strong.

He watches me the entire time, waiting for me to speak. He knows I’m going to, and he’s right. When I’m finished and my toothbrush is away, I say, “You can’t.”

“Want to make a bet?” he asks, his voice dark.

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t. He’s a cop.”

“I don’t care who the fuck he is. He’s dead.”

“Atticus—”

“No,” he says firmly, slashing his hand through the air. His eyes are dark, brows pinched. “You have no say in this, Lilah.”

“That’s not fair!” I argue.

“I don’t care about what’s fair when it comes to you.”

And with that, he leaves me alone in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

“Give me a kiss before you go.”

I smirk as I lean down to kiss Atticus. It’s soft, simple, but means so much. Steven did not do the PDA thing, and he certainly didn’t kiss me for no reason—he hardly kissed me at all.

I guess this means Atticus and I have made up, though what happened in the bathroom earlier was hardly an argument.

A slight disagreement maybe, and I can’t say that I hate the idea of my uncle being gone from this world.

But my worry isn’t about him being gone, it’s about Atticus getting caught.

He’s been fine for this long, and he knows what he’s doing, clearly, so maybe I shouldn’t worry so much.

But my uncle isn’t just anyone, and he isn’t just a cop.

He works for the FBI and a murdered FBI agent will raise a lot of flags.

I straighten, flipping my hair over my shoulder and holding my chin high. I’m wearing the tightest, shortest, most low-cut dress I own. I have James Erickson in my line of sight, with full intentions of going over there, seducing him, and getting information for Atty.

My tits are spilling out of the square neckline, so that should distract him enough that he won’t even know what I’m asking him.

Atticus is sitting on the other side of the dining room of the hotel restaurant so he can watch.

“Hi, is this seat taken?” I ask when I reach the small table where James is sitting alone. “No? Great.”

James frowns at me, keeping his gaze on mine as I sit in the chair across from him.

There is a newspaper in his hand—who the hell still reads those?

—a half eaten bagel on his plate, smothered in cream cheese, and a mug of black coffee.

Everyone else in this place is sitting with others, but he’s here, all alone.

“Do I know you?” he asks carefully.

I hadn’t expected him and Atticus to look so much alike, but wow…

you can really tell they’re brothers. Their hair is the same shade but styled differently.

James’ hair is cropped short, while Atticus’s is longer, with a sort of messy look to it.

Their eyes are exactly the same, down to the color and shape.

Atticus is bigger in build, wider in the shoulders and possibly taller.

“No, but you want to,” I answer with a smile.

“I do?”

“Of course.” I hold my hand out. “I’m Lilah.” He stares at my hand for a long moment but makes no move, so I pull it away. I jut my chest out a little, smiling brightly, but his gaze doesn’t flick to my chest.

Great. He’s gay.

I can’t stop trying, though. I’m doing this for Atticus.

There is no specific information I need from him; I just need to get to know him, so I have something to pass along.

Does he know about Atticus? That’s what I’m curious about, but I can’t just blurt that out.

I mean, I could… but that would be stupid.

Though, it could be really smart too. Is there a reason we aren’t doing that?

Is there a reason Atticus is snooping around and not knocking on his door and spilling it all?

These are questions I should have asked sooner.

“So, are you new in town?”

“I’m here for a conference,” he answers dully.

“Wow, that’s so cool. What kind of conference?”

“For police.”

“Oh my god, so you’re like super smart, huh?”

His eyes narrow as he says, “Uh, sure…”

“Are you doing anything fun while you’re here?” I ask, putting my elbow on the table and resting my chin on my fist.

“Going to the conference,” he says carefully.

I giggle, tossing my hair over my shoulder.

“You’re funny too!”

His frown deepens, and I keep smiling even though nothing inside me is happy.

This is going terribly. Either I’ve lost it, or he really is gay.

In that case, I’m no help here. I dart my gaze to Atticus, who is watching me with a hard stare.

He looks… no, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t be turned on by this. Unless he’s just turned on by me .

That could be true. Because Atticus certainly isn’t gay, even if he hasn’t fucked me yet. Now isn’t the time to think about that, though. I’m on a mission.

“So, I was thinking we could go up to your room.”

“Why would you want to do that?” James asks, rearing his head back.

Okay, that was my last shot.

This isn’t working, and it’s getting weird.

“Never mind,” I finally say. The last thing I need is to be pinned as a prostitute in a room full of cops. “Have a good day.”

I get up and hurry over to Atticus, who’s gaze definitely gets hotter the closer I get.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He cuts me off by shoving his tongue down my throat and grabbing a handful of my ass. Someone behind us gasps. Atticus is hard against my stomach, and I can’t help but smile against his mouth.

He grabs my hand and tugs me after him, leading us through the lobby and out to the parking lot. The trunk opens before we reach it, and he lifts me up, tosses me inside, and hops in after me, closing the trunk door after him.

Atticus shoves my dress up my hips, grips my panties in two hands and tears them in half. I smile to myself as I wait for him to settle back and lick me, like he always does. But when he goes for the button on his pants, I just about die.

Oh my god…

Oh my god! Finally .

“You were so fucking hot in there,” he growls as he shoves his pants down. “I’ve never seen something so sexy in my entire life.”

Words fail me. There’s nothing to say.

Atticus doesn’t bother to take his pants off. Once he’s free, he leans over me, putting his weight on one arm while thrusting into me in one go.

“Oh god!” I cry out as he groans deeply.

“Fucking hell, that’s good,” he grunts. Shifting, he pulls out, then slams back in so hard I slide up.

He does it again, and my head hits the wall of the car.

His free hand grips my hip, holding me in place so he can fuck me hard, but it doesn’t do a damn thing.

I end up crunched against the wall, which only helps him go deeper.

He’s loud and primal and rough and this is so much better than I’ve ever been fucked before.

It lasts forever and not long at all. He comes with a roar, dick pulsing inside me. We’re both panting, and his sweaty forehead comes down to rest on mine. I don’t even care that I didn’t come. That was so fucking hot!

He blinks a few times and catches my gaze. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, and he moves to pull back, but I grab his arm.

“Please tell me you’re taking me back to the hotel to do that again.”

He smiles and it knocks the air right out of my chest.