Now that he’d met Atticus’s brothers, he got it. It clicked. Being raised as a psychopath in a house full of psychopaths must have been hell for somebody as touch-starved as Atticus. Jericho thought back to when Atticus had said he was a mirror. Was Atticus a psychopath or just reflecting the psychopaths surrounding him? Atticus was the oldest, but it was clear the others made a habit out of mocking him, teasing him.
Jericho was well versed in how boys treated each other. He was raising a household of heathens. But there was something especially vicious in the way the others treated Atticus. Jericho imagined that Atticus, with his delicate sensibilities and his constant need to be perfect, was probably annoying to his younger siblings.
It didn’t mean Jericho had to like the way they treated Atticus. And it certainly didn’t mean he’d tolerate it in his presence. Was Atticus an annoyingly finicky perfectionist? Yes. But he was Jericho’s annoyingly finicky perfectionist and he would protect what was his, even if it meant hacking off his future in-laws’ appendages until they got the point.
Future in-laws? Jericho side-eyed Atticus. Yeah, he’d marry him. He didn’t care if it was fast, or if it was right, or if one or both of their families protested. Atticus needed to be protected, coddled even. He’d spent almost four decades being treated like he was only good for one thing: killing. The one thing Atticus seemed to hate more than anything. How had Thomas never noticed?
Thomas. The family patriarch. Jericho didn’t know how he felt about Thomas. He imagined the man wasn’t always the mess he’d been today. The articles about him painted him as a billionaire philanthropist, running a huge charity where he donated money almost as fast as he made it. But that wasn’t the man he’d seen.
His sons had looked shocked, and shocking a psychopath couldn’t be easy. Still, how often had Thomas ignored the others’ treatment of Atticus? Did he not see that Atticus was nothing like them? Did Thomas also feel some kind of disdain for him as they seemed to? Atticus sure seemed to think so. But when push came to shove, Thomas had put a stop to their teasing.
“Are you really going to let my family help you deal with this?” Atticus asked suddenly, yanking Jericho from his thoughts.
He glanced at Atticus, then back at the road. “I don’t know. We don’t even know if this is a one-person job. These people… They could have nothing to do with my sister’s death.”
“Instinctively, though. You know we’re onto something. Your gut has to be telling you there’s something bigger at play here, no?”
Atticus wasn’t wrong. Jericho wanted to believe there was another explanation for his sister’s death. Some naive part of him wanted to think his sister had run away, that she’d just needed to be free of their parents’ restrictions and had lived a whole exciting and satisfying life before she’d ended up in the river. But he knew that wasn’t true. He knew Mercy wouldn’t have stayed away for that long by choice.
“I get that. I do. But what are we even talking about here? My sister was trafficked and then her organs were sold on the black market? Is that what we’re talking about?” he choked out, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t breathe.
Atticus squeezed the hand on his thigh. “I don’t know. It seems hard to believe that something like that could be happening under our noses and neither of our…families had known about it.” Atticus shook his head. “But people tend to mind their business, especially when not doing so could end up with them being tortured and killed, as Bryan implied.”
Jericho nodded absently, his stomach churning, as he contemplated the amount of suffering his sister had endured. He was so involved in his own thoughts he almost missed his turn for the alley behind the shop. Once he parked, he noted Atticus had a death grip on his hand. “What’s the matter, Freckles?”
“I could stay here while you talk to them if you want.”
“Why?” Jericho asked. “I promise they’re a lot more respectful than your brothers.”
Well, most of them. Felix wasn’t going to like having Atticus back in their space, but he was going to have to get over it because Atticus wasn’t going anywhere.
Atticus gazed out the window, notably not making eye contact. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me there…”
Jericho frowned at him. “If I didn’t want you here, I would have dropped you at home first.”
Atticus gave a stilted nod but made no move to leave the passenger seat until Jericho walked around and opened the door for him. When he slipped from the car, Jericho stepped in close, pressing him back against the now closed car door. Atticus’s whole body reacted, the tension melting from him as he waited for Jericho to take whatever he wanted. How could Jericho not want to keep him?
Jericho cupped his face, leaning in to drag his lips across his in a barely-there kiss. His lips were soft, his mouth relaxed, and when Jericho dipped his head for another taste, Atticus opened for him instantly. Jericho took his time, let himself explore Atticus’s mouth, his hands slipping around his waist to cup his ass and give it a squeeze.
When he stepped back, Atticus blinked in surprise. “Thanks, Freckles. I needed that. Come on.”
Jericho took his hand and led him into the garage. The shop was still open, so Arsen and Levi were both working, Levi behind the counter and Arsen under an old Jeep Wrangler. Felix, Lake, and Seven sat on the couch in the back, two of them deeply entrenched in a video game per usual. Seven was the first to notice Jericho and Atticus. He wasn’t playing the game. “Hey, boss.”
Felix immediately whipped around, his shrewd gaze landing on Atticus before dropping sharply to their joined hands. The fury on his face was obvious and instantaneous. Still, he said nothing, choosing to seethe quietly.
“Where are the others?” Jericho asked.
“Cree’s at the movies. Nico’s with his mom,” Seven said.
Cree worked at a run-down movie theater that showed old black and white movies. He didn’t make any real money from it, but he loved it and the old man who owned it so he worked for pennies. Nico’s mom was a raging alcoholic and mean as a snake, but Nico still went home every single day to take care of her. A thankless job if ever there was one.
“We’re it for now,” Lake said.
Jericho popped himself up on the pool table, pulling Atticus back between his splayed thighs, earning curious looks from the others. He’d never brought anybody home to them before. Arsen and Levi floated over, Arsen wiping his hands on a dirty rag he then stuffed in his back pocket.
“What’s up?” Lake asked.
“I need you guys to go question some people,” Jericho said, looking at each of them in turn, his gaze holding when he reached his brother, whose jaw jutted forward defiantly.
