Jericho prompted. “Sort of?”
“I’m the oldest and Adam is the youngest, barely, but the rest don’t really refer to themselves by birth order. We go by order of adoption, not by age.”
Jericho chewed on that for a minute before asking, “Why?”
Atticus sighed. “Thomas taught us to be human. He showed us we could exist in society. He pulled most of us from horrific situations and gave us everything we could ever want. We only became a family when Thomas picked us, so that’s what we focus on. Most of us don’t even know our real ages, and half of us don’t remember our original names.”
That stopped Jericho short. His life hadn’t been easy, but he’d had parents who loved him, even if they were a little strict. He’d never wanted for anything. Up until Mercy went missing, his life was pretty idyllic. To hear Atticus talk so casually about how he and his brothers had so little identity before they were adopted was crazy. It was sad. But not to Atticus, apparently, who was already fully focused on the movie once more.
“I think Sarah’s being a bit of a drama queen. Like, Jareth is laying out a pretty solid offer. I mean, she’s the one who sacrificed her own brother during a temper tantrum. How’s he the bad guy?” Atticus asked, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl and absently feeding it to Jericho over his shoulder.
Jericho’s heart squeezed at the casually affectionate gesture before he rolled his eyes at himself. It was just a piece of popcorn. “You don’t have to convince me. That masquerade ball alone would be enough to make me say yes. Do you know the kind of planning and commitment that takes? Granted, it was just a dream, but I imagine with him being king, he could make it happen if he wanted to.”
Atticus shrugged. “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem like those goblins have a very good work ethic. He’d have to find contractors outside the castle and it seems pretty rural. It’s hard to find good help these days.”
Jericho chuckled. “In their defense, they are theoretically all babies he turned into goblins so I imagine that limits their capabilities.”
Atticus made a thoughtful sound. “Child labor laws are very strict. Plus, they likely lack the basic understanding on the intricacies of planning a ball?”
Jericho snorted. “But not you? Plan a lot of balls, do you?”
Atticus bristled, tone pouty. “I’m just saying, that as somebody who’s had to put together more than one fundraiser, I can’t imagine a toddler pulling it off. Just obtaining a liquor license alone would pose an insurmountable problem and, believe me, you cannot host a party without liquor. It’s impossible. The guests will revolt, including your own family. And, sometimes, people get thrown in the pool. I speak from experience.”
Jericho snickered and Atticus cut his glance to the side, relaxing when he saw the other man wasn’t making fun of him. Who knew psychopaths were so delicate?
Atticus examined his face for a long minute before smacking a kiss onto his lips and returning to the movie in front of him.
Jericho licked his lips, tasting salt and butter, feeling like he’d been sucker punched. Atticus hadn’t initiated contact between the two of them since that night in the cabin and he certainly hadn’t given any type of affection unprompted before. Yet, he seemed perfectly relaxed in Jericho’s arms, cozy even.
Jericho kissed his temple, then his cheek.
Atticus didn’t openly acknowledge the casual affection but Jericho got to watch the flush run from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears before he took a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth, pointedly refusing to make eye contact again. When he brought his hands around to run across Atticus’s stomach, he shivered. Atticus was definitely in shape, not an ounce of fat on him, but sitting as he was, he had a belly, and Jericho found he really liked it.
“I swear, if you try to have sex with me right now…” Atticus muttered, a trace of humor in his voice.
“You’ll what?” Jericho prompted. “What are you going to do if I slip my hand into your shorts and wrap my hand around your cock and jerk you off?” He heard Atticus audibly swallow, his exhaled breath shaky. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You’ll sit here and you’ll let me. You’ll let me do anything I want to you, and we both know it.” Jericho pressed a kiss to Atticus’s throat, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips. “Kiss me.”
Atticus turned his head, pressing their lips together, but waited for Jericho to deepen the kiss, to slip his tongue inside to find his.
God, why was that so fucking hot? What did it say about Jericho that being with Atticus, taking care of him, controlling him—being the only one who could—made his dick harder than anything ever had before? There was something so…potent…about being the only person in the world who got to see somebody like Atticus at their most vulnerable. Jericho was grateful it was him and not somebody who might twist Atticus into something dark and ugly.
“You taste like salt,” Atticus murmured against his lips. “I like it.” Jericho’s hand was just sliding into Atticus’s shorts when his phone rang. They both looked at each other. “Answer it,” Atticus urged. “They wouldn’t call this late if it wasn’t important, right?”
Jericho picked up the phone, putting it on speaker. “Yeah?”
“I may have a hit,” Seven said.
It took Jericho a long moment to process Seven’s words. “You found him?”
There was a hesitation before he said, “Um, maybe. I found somebody who knows somebody who says that the guy you’re looking for sounds like a dude who used to run with the 4Loco crew a while ago.”
“What’s ‘a while ago’?”
Seven sucked his teeth. “Man, I don’t know. A while ago. They say he was homies with a dude named Bryan Alvarez, street name Magic. Says your boy goes by Scar.”
Jericho scoffed. “Scar? Like from the Lion King?”
Seven snickered. “Scar, like he has a burn scar on his left cheek from where he took a blow torch to somebody and it malfunctioned.”
