“So, not a judge, but a King?” Atticus mused.
“I didn’t want the job, but somebody had to do it. After my mom was attacked, I was so fucking pissed, and the cops didn’t have enough evidence to do anything, so I took care of them myself. When word got out, I realized there were a lot of people being taken advantage of out there, people who couldn’t do what I did.”
Atticus ran a hand along Jericho’s side. “Kill without remorse?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t kill alone.”
“No. My crew doesn’t weep over dead bodies either. You don’t have to be a psychopath to kill people. You just have to have the conviction that the world is a better place without them.”
“So, you feel nothing when you kill?” Atticus asked, craning his head to look up at Jericho.
“No. Not nothing. When I tortured and killed the men who attacked my mother, I felt…exhilarated. I liked their pain, their suffering. It was what they deserved.”
Atticus shivered, but not out of fear or revulsion. It was…excitement. “You don’t lose sleep over all the blood on your hands?”
“Hell, Freckles. Most nights, I go to sleep with a big ol’ smile on my face. Does that bother you?”
Atticus scoffed. “No. Honestly, I’m a little jealous.”
Jericho frowned, looking down to study his face. “Jealous? Why?”
“I wish I enjoyed killing the way my siblings do. I don’t feel guilty or morally conflicted about it. I know it needs to be done. But I just…don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
Atticus stiffened. “If I tell you, you’ll just make fun of me like my brothers.”
Jericho flipped Atticus onto his back to hover over him. “I like to tease you because I think you’re sexy as fuck when you’re all riled up. I tease you because it makes you blush all the way to the tips of your ears. I tease you because it gets my dick hard when you get all prickly. I tease you, Freckles, because I cannot get enough of you.”
Atticus heard himself swallow. “I’m not…prickly.”
Jericho snickered. “Freckles, a cactus is tame in comparison. Tell me why you don’t like killing.”
Atticus blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine. It’s dirty, unsanitary. There’s blood and body fluids and toxic chemicals. I’ve ruined a dozen pairs of shoes. The way people scream and whine when they know they’re about to die is…tedious. Most of the places are hot and cramped and, sometimes, I’m stuck waiting for my target for hours—hours that could be spent in the lab or working on grants for my research. Killing is hard.”
Jericho laid on top of Atticus, resting his weight on his forearms. “I could kill for you. I don’t mind.”
Atticus frowned. “Like, you’d just go instead? Don’t you have your own kill list to take care of?”
“I don’t seek out targets, they come to me. Most days, I’m just a mechanic and babysitter. I wouldn’t mind killing for you, Freckles.”
Atticus could feel himself pouting, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You act like I’m some damsel in distress.”
“No. I act like you’re the delicate flower you are. It’s not a bad thing. You like mom cars and bow-ties and submitting in bed. I’m here for it. Honestly, I like the idea of being the one who handles your needs.” He rolled his hips against his suggestively. “All your needs.”
Atticus didn’t know whether to be flattered, turned on, or offended. He was basically calling Atticus soft, saying he needed somebody to take care of him. He wanted so badly to protest but the truth was…Atticus did want somebody to take the reins. Did it make him a bad person that he didn’t want to pay bills or change a tire or slit the throat of some Columbian drug lord? What was wrong with Atticus wanting to be taken care of as long as he provided something in return?
“And what about you? What about your needs?”
Jericho captured his mouth in a kiss that lingered. “I just need you.”
“Surely, you need more than that.”
“I’m a simple guy. I need good company. A hot meal. Hot sex. Somebody who lets me lead.”
“I’m not great company.”
