Jericho pulled him off when his body couldn’t handle anymore, dragging him back up to his feet to kiss him deep, sucking the taste of himself off his tongue, before dropping kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Anywhere he could reach. “Shit, Freckles. I should make you jealous more often.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” Atticus muttered, tone sulky.
“Whatever you say,” Jericho soothed. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and go find Gabriel.”
Atticus made a sound that was suspiciously growl-like.
“You sure you’re not jealous, Freckles?”
“Maybe I just don’t like law enforcement.”
Jericho snickered, righting his clothes. He glanced down at the shop once more to see Arsen gazing up at him with a smirk on his face. Jericho stepped to the side, blocking him from Atticus’s view. The last thing he needed was for Atticus to get self-conscious. Hopefully, Arsen kept his mouth shut, but that was the least of his worries.
Introducing Atticus to Gabe was a risky move but necessary. Atticus wasn’t going to let him go alone, and Jericho really didn’t want to, anyway. Some part of him wanted Gabriel to see Atticus as much as he wanted Atticus to hate Gabriel. Maybe that made him an asshole, but he didn’t care. He needed to know that Atticus was as territorial as he was, as fucked up over him as he was over Atticus. That he’d kill for him. Die for him. That this obsessive compulsion was a two-way street. That there was some kind of unspoken agreement that the only way out of this relationship—no matter how fucked up—was if one of them stopped breathing.
Atticus tracked Gabriel Vélez as he exited the police station and began his long walk across the parking lot. He looked like a cop. There was no other way to put it. He wasn’t dressed in any type of uniform, but his square jaw, bulging muscles, and high and tight haircut just screamed law enforcement. How the hell was this Jericho’s type? He looked like he lived on protein shakes and steroids. Atticus side-eyed Jericho. Was that what Jericho was into? Gym rats?
Atticus took in Vélez’s faded jeans, freakishly white sneakers, and a black sweater so tight he must have bought it from the children’s section. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass of the Bronco’s side mirror, his hand floating to his flat stomach as he checked out his boring black dress pants and white button down. He fought the urge to roll up his sleeves or…something. Anything to make him look less like a—what had Jericho called him that first night?—an insurance salesman.
To his credit, Jericho looked less than enthused about seeing his ex-boyfriend. He leaned against his truck, hands stuffed in his pockets. As Vélez approached, Atticus felt himself move closer to Jericho until their bodies touched from shoulder to hip. Jericho smirked, turning his head to run his nose up his neck until his lips rested against his ear. “Staking your claim, Freckles?” he murmured.
Atticus huffed out a breath through his nose as his dick twitched in his pants. “I hate you so much.”
“That would explain why the sex is so hot,” Jericho teased. “But I don’t think you hate me. Do you?” He pressed a kiss behind Atticus’s ear in full view of his ex. “You gonna break my heart, Freckles?”
“Can we focus on questioning Mr. Universe over there?” Atticus muttered through gritted teeth.
Jericho gave a low chuckle just as Vélez reached them. His gaze darted to Atticus, his mouth forming a hard line he tried to cover almost immediately by smiling with too many teeth. “Who’s this? You didn’t say you were bringing…somebody.”
Something loosened in Atticus as Jericho nudged him with his shoulder. “He’s not just somebody, and why would I tell you I wasn’t coming alone? Like I said on the phone, I just need some information.”
“Yeah, but I just thought…” Vélez started before frowning, like he was trying to solve a complex math problem, which, for him, was probably anything over simple addition. He cleared his throat, his shoulders going back as he looked Atticus over. “So, who are you?”
“His boyfriend. Who are you?”
His irritation was obvious. “A…friend, I guess.”
Jericho snorted. “Speaking of friends. How’s your boyfriend?” Jericho asked, expression blank. “Still living together?”
Vélez flushed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, yeah. He’s good. What information do you need?” he asked.
Jericho smirked, like he’d expected the rapid change in subject. “Have you ever heard of a guy who goes by the name of Scar? Used to head the 4Loco crew back when their leader was doing time?”
Vélez blinked, his gaze darting over Jericho’s shoulder, the muscle in his jaw popping as he seemed to clench his jaw. This all happened in less than a second—a blink and you miss it micro-expression, but Atticus caught it immediately. Had Jericho?
Vélez overcompensated, shoving his hands in his pockets to mimic Jericho’s stance. “No. I came after your sister’s investigation started, remember?”
Atticus frowned. How did he even know this was in regards to Mercy if he didn’t know this man?
“How do you know this is about his sister?” Atticus asked.
The fury in the other man’s eyes was there and gone in an instant. He was used to his lies going unquestioned. “I just assumed this was about Mercy. Is it not?”
“Mm,” Atticus said, tone implying he was full of shit.
Atticus didn’t see Jericho move so much as a muscle, but his weight shifted, pressing against him in a way that would have caused him to list to the side had he not had a slightly sturdier frame than Jericho. He was trying to tell Atticus to back off. Or, at least, slow down. Some part of Atticus unclenched as he realized that Jericho had seen the other man’s tells, too.
Nothing Vélez said was overtly suspicious, but he was definitely behaving like somebody who’d tripped up and said too much. Had the mention of Perez rattled him? If so, why? Was this guy such a threat that even the cops were afraid of him? Or were the cops in the pocket of his bosses?
