Page 37 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats (Till Death Do Us Part #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lilah

One month later…

My father walks into the room with a tired smile on his face and I run to him the second he’s out of the cuffs.

We hug, and it’s too soon before the guard is yelling at us.

I wish I could make him small, shove him in my pocket, and run out of this place.

I want to take him with us. Atticus would love him.

Which is why I offered for him to come see my father, but funny enough, he was worried that it would raise some eyebrows.

“Lilah, you look beautiful,” my father says.

I smile brightly. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“But I wish you wouldn’t visit me. I hate for you to see me like this.”

I sigh, still smiling at him. “I know, but I had to see you one last time.”

“One last time?” he raises a brow, concern in his eyes.

“Atticus and I are moving.”

“Moving?” he questions. And though he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want me to visit him, he doesn’t seem happy that I’m leaving.

“It’s what we want. This area is… scary. I don’t want to live around here anymore. I hate having to leave you, but—”

“No, Lils. You go. Live your life. Be happy,” he pleads, putting his hands flat on the table. “I need you to do everything that makes you happy. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

“I will,” I say, tears burning in my eyes. “I promise, I will.”

I stay as long as they allow me too, and I tell him about the stuff we plan to do and where we plan on going. I wish I could tell him everything. About all the fun stuff I did with Atticus and how we killed Uncle Frank and managed to get away with it because James is smart as hell.

Him and Atticus together is a dangerous mix. They stay up all hours of the night, plotting and planning and perfecting their “hobby” as they call it.

He’s even coming with us to Europe.

Violet said she was going to Ireland, and we got a postcard from her a few weeks ago, postmarked from there.

Her plan was to move around, find a place that makes her happy, and it’s exactly what we’re going to do too.

Atticus has already been to so many amazing places in his life, and now he wants to show them to me. His brother, too.

I hear them talking late into the night about their lives and how they grew up differently. They’re working on tracking their father down, but so far haven’t been able to find anything on him. I don’t think it’ll be a good outcome, so it’s probably best they don’t find him at all.

After we left the warehouse, it was a full week before we heard from James. He visited for a few days, then one day he came by and never left. I don’t hate him being there. I never had a sibling, and Atticus is happy with him around. I think he finally feels like he belongs somewhere.

I had to have the difficult conversation with Atticus about what my uncle did to me, like I promised I would.

It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I did it. After that, I know I can tell Atticus anything and I won’t be judged.

It’s only brought us closer together, though Atticus still makes comments about bringing Frank back to life to kill him all over again.

Had he been buried somewhere, he said he would go piss on his grave daily, but they didn’t get rid of his body by burying it.

They removed all the nails from him and fed him to some pigs.

Apparently, they eat anything when they’re hungry enough.

I blow my father a kiss with tears in my eyes as the guard puts the cuffs back on him.

“I love you, Daddy. Thank you for being the best father ever.”

“I love you, Lils. So damn much. Enjoy your life, sweetheart.”

He gives me the brightest smile, and that’s how I choose to remember him.

Atticus is waiting for me in the parking lot when I leave the prison, and stepping out into the sun and chilly air has never felt so good. I pull my jacket tighter and hurry toward the car. It’s warm inside, and I lean over to kiss my man.

“How was it?” he asks.

I sigh as I put on my seatbelt.

“Bittersweet.”

“Was he upset?”

“Seemed more upset that I was visiting him again. He’s happy for me.” I take his hand, linking out fingers. “For us.”

Atticus kisses the back of my hand before taking off to drive us home.

We start packing today, taking only the things we need with us.

Atticus is selling the house furnished, the people who buy it can choose what they do with everything inside.

It’s a huge house that I’ve explored, but other than stepping into most rooms just to see what they are, I’ve never spent time in them.

And neither has he. It’s a waste for us to be living there. I mean, who needs a house that big?

I told Atticus I didn’t care where we go or where we settle, only that when we do, I want it to be in a small, cozy house where he can’t go too far away from me. He thought that was funny but agreed.

When we get home, I linger in the garage, taking in all the cars.

Selling these alone would be enough to live off.

I’ve never seen Atticus’s bank account, and I’m not sure I could process the number in there if I did.

But it doesn’t matter because I’d stay with Atticus if we had nothing but the clothes on our backs.

He’s done so much for me, including making me understand myself better.

He loves me for me and makes me happy in ways I can’t describe.

“Did you find the tickets?” I ask as we walk into the house.

“We leave in two weeks,” he says with a smirk.

Wow. Two weeks and we will be in another country, exploring and enjoying life.

Neither of us expects Atticus’s needs to stop, and he and his brother have been working together to figure out how they can continue on.

They both agreed doing it James’ way makes more sense—picking the bad guys.

People are less likely to care when it’s rapists and murderers who go missing.

I told them as long as I can pluck an eyeball out now and then, I’ll be happy.

As I follow Atticus upstairs to our room, so I can start packing my clothes, I have a funny thought.

“Am I a serial killer now too?” I ask.

Atticus turns to me with a strange smile. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Coming to me, he rests his hands on my waist. “Hate to break it to you, kitten, but you haven’t actually killed anyone.”

I gasp, to which he chuckles.

“I did so!”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“That one guy. With the eyeballs.”

He shakes his head. “No, it was me stabbing him that did him in.”

“Frank then. There is no way he survived me crushing his dick. He bled out,” I argue.

Atticus rolls his lips between his teeth, biting back his smile. “Oh, come on!”

He hugs me to his chest. “It’s okay, we can remedy that once we get to Europe.”

I groan. “I can’t be the only one in this friend group who isn’t one.”

He laughs deeply and it makes me smile.

“You’ll be one of us soon enough, Kitten. Don’t you worry.”

With Atticus around, what’s to worry about?