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Chapter Twelve
LEO
Earlier this morning, I heard loud thumps on the back deck, and I rushed to the door to find Christine dragging Atticus’s limp body inside.
My mother ran downstairs, her eyes filled with fear. She reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip, not taking her eyes off Atticus.
I was too baffled to answer at first. I felt a migraine coming on as I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. All I knew was that Atticus had done something so serious that it had driven Christine to madness. She marched upstairs for a long hot shower and slammed the door shut behind her, leaving everyone else dazed and confused.
Atticus was now bound to the chair, his skin cut and bruised from Christine’s relentless rope. His dark, disheveled hair was caked in wet sand, making him look like a creature of the night. His face had turned a nasty shade of purple, indicating that she had dealt him a heavy blow.
Now, I was left with Atticus and no fucking clue what to do with him.
My sister sat at the kitchen table, eyeing Atticus warily. “Did Christine really knock him out?”
My jaw tensed as I thought of my sister. She was such a fragile creature, her delicate frame almost too soft for this world. The only reminder of our mother’s beauty were her tresses of red and her deep blue eyes.
I glanced at my mother. She seemed unsure of everything and, in her yellow dress, was a stark contrast to the criminal boss tied up.
“She really did,” I said softly, as if I was almost afraid to break the silence that hung between us. “She said she’d let me know what happened later.”
My mother nodded, a cautious smile playing on her lips. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
Maybe she was right. After all, she had this habit of brushing away the hardships of life. When my father left, she pretended like he would return even after a year had passed. But the truth was he never came back.
Atticus stirred from his slumber, his eyes gradually blinking as he took in our assembled family. He appeared about to burst with anger, his brow furrowing as he grimaced in pain.
“Would you like some tea? Just put a pot on,” Mother said softly with a beaming smile, gesturing to the electric kettle while leaning forward.
Atticus glowered at her, his nostrils flaring. “Where is Christine?”
I stepped in before she could respond. “Upstairs. Showering. She looked really mad at you. What happened?”
He valiantly tried to break free from his bonds, his expression tightening as he spat out his words. “She’s being intolerable,” he uttered through gritted teeth.
My mother’s tinkling laughter filled the room as she replied, “A woman is rarely unreasonable, Atticus. Men just don’t know how to reason.”
He seemed to calm slightly at this, a hint of understanding glimmering in his eyes as he regarded my sister. “This is Daphne, I presume?” Daphne coughed and nodded her head meekly, always so shy around strangers. “I’d shake your hand”—he gestured futilely with his arms bound behind him—“but…”
My family eyed us warily as I spoke, their eyes shifting between Atticus and me. I felt their unspoken questions in the air—what had I gotten myself into now?
Daphne was the first to take the opportunity to escape, scurrying out of the kitchen like a rat on fire. My mother kissed me on the forehead before shooting Atticus a wary look. “Behave,” she warned before making her own exit onto the patio.
Atticus turned his gaze toward me, lips almost trembling as he spoke. “Are you going to untie me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Nope,” I replied, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Sucks to be controlled, doesn’t it?”
A deep rumble of anger reverberated through his chest as he glared at me. “Somebody needs to control you,” he grumbled. “You’re too wild, Leo. You need a firm hand like Christine.” He paused for a moment before continuing, smugness oozing from every word. “You thrive when someone else tells you what to do.”
My jaw clenched and my tongue burned with the desire to protest his accusations when Augustus strutted into the kitchen, wearing only low-hanging boxers. “Did I just walk into some kinky fuckery? If so, can I watch?”
My frustration bubbled up, and I spun on my heel with a heavy sigh. “Did you see Christine?”
Augustus’s brow furrowed. “She went into the shower, muttering something about killing Atticus over and over again. Now her ramblings make sense.”
I gave a curt nod, my mouth a grim line. I glanced at Atticus struggling against his bindings, then back at Augustus. His gaze scanned Atticus from head to toe, studying the scrapes and bruises scattered across his body. “You got knocked the fuck out, man.” He shook his head. “Lucky she didn’t drown you in the sand.”
Atticus’s voice was hoarse and broken. “I was just trying to protect her. Protect all of you.”
