Chapter 12

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I stopped in the driveway outside my house, the sun was about to set. Atticus would be here in one hour, which meant I had little time to fix myself. I prioritized buying wine. I needed it for this dinner, so I picked up a healthy amount – seven bottles – to stock up.

I had a wit about me, I think, but socializing with strangers always made me feel skittish. I met Dana, who warned me about Henry's mood, and later Atticus had warned me about his other buddy, Reid. Apparently, he could be a bit handsy, but I wasn't worried about that. I'd break his arm if I had to. I was worried about Atticus and his friends turning out to be something I didn't want them to be – like ending up trafficking me by the end of the night. I would be easy to make vanish. I hadn't met anyone else yet, and nobody here would miss me. Maybe they would make me walk home drunk, then make their move – I was reaching at this point. My phone buzzed in my pocket, an estranged number.

"This is HQ," a male voice said.

"Set me over," I replied. It was the Madame. I got out of the car and began to pick up the stuff I bought as I waited for her to pick up the line.

"Hello, Emilia," she said, her voice smooth.

"What's up, boss?" I replied, earning a soft laugh.

"Are your classes starting soon?"

"Yes, Monday," I replied. I went inside as I listened to her chitchat and asked questions about what I had been up to, who I had met, and what my plans were. I had to mention how my little mission had gone down, but I didn't mention Julie's failure and made something up. We never ratted each other out. Everyone knew what happened to people who made mistakes.

I filled a glass of wine, hung up on the phone with the Madame, and went upstairs to get ready. I coated my lashes with mascara, finished off with blush, and patted my lips with Red Velvet. I took a sip, staining the rim of the wine glass, before heading to my monstrous closet to find a fitting dress.

I picked out a black one that stopped at the knees with a split not too high and spaghetti straps. It couldn't be shorter; my thigh was bruised. I fastened a clock to the inside of my leg and picked out a purse and a few antidotes to the most common drugs that were used. All dressed up and somewhere to go. I picked up my glass of wine again and walked over to the French balcony and looked out. Fog gathered over the fields; the sun was gone, and the only light was streetlamps and a thin crescent moon.

The sound of a car emerged, and I watched as Atticus pulled up in sleek black, probably a fast motorcycle. My jaw dropped as he took off his helmet and dragged a hand through his beachy hair.

Oh gods, kill me now.

My heart began to race at a speed faster than any motorcycle, and my palms went all clammy. I was not prepared. I took a deep breath and another deep sip of my wine as the doorbell went off. I grabbed my heels and went down. As I opened the door, I was taken aback by the handsomeness looking back at me, but he was not dressed for dinner, not the kind of dinner I thought I was going to, at least. His jeans and T-shirt had oil stains, and his hair was all messy, not that I minded it. Atticus whistled, and his eyes roamed all over me as I stepped into my black heels.

"Should have brought my car," he muttered.

"Why do you say that?" I asked and grabbed the helmet he held out to me and stepped past him. I locked the door behind me and placed the helmet on my head. I looked up at him. "Coming?" I asked, and with a bit too much excitement. I could run, kill, die in heels. Well, that's a slight overstatement. I ran out of my heels and continued barefoot.

"I'm driving," Atticus said as if he had read my mind. I climbed on and kicked back the support. No way was he driving.

"Please, let me drive," I asked with a wide grin. He shook his head, just looking a bit doubtful at me with his blue eyes. "Please?"

"Fine, but don't crash it," Atticus sighed and sat down behind me. His strong arms slid around my stomach, pulling us closer together; instantly, my body reacted to the touch. I drew in a sharp breath. I tensed as he pushed my back into his chest and placed his chin on my shoulder. Feeling his breath on my neck, I dared to turn my head. Our mouths were merely inches away. I gave him a smile and spun forward.

"Shit," he swore. We began up the road, through the woods, and towards his place.

He directed me up the roads, then pointed me to the right up a hill, through another road between trees. I could only skim a lit-up modern wooden house. We continued up a tidy rock-laid front yard.

They were bloody rich.

My stomach dropped a little as we parked outside a large wooden house with heavy double doors as the entrance. I was move nervous than I thought I would be. I removed the helmet and ran my fingers through my hair, glad I decided to wear loose curls and not some fancy updo.

"Where in the world did you learn to drive like that?" He asked, sounding shocked, and dismounted the bike, removing his helmet and found my eyes as I smiled.

"A woman never tells her secrets." I gave him a wink, and in return, I got sultry blue eyes as I picked invisible lint off my dress before joining him on the ground. We approached the house, but Atticus stopped a little.

"Don't take him personally, alright?"

I frowned and looked up at him, as if, but I nodded. When he opened the door, we were met with classical music, giving me Hannibal vibes, as it was Requiem Lacrimosa playing. I loved that piece, but not in a stranger's home, where I was supposed to eat.

Maybe they were cannibals? The movie "Fresh" was strangely enticing.

Atticus took the helmet from my hands and gestured for me to go in. Everything was woodsy, dark, lit by candles, and it smelled amazing of food, spices, and sandalwood. We were eating dinner, so I didn't eat before I left, which left me starving. I prayed to the devil that my stomach wouldn't be too loud.

"We are a bit early, so I'm going to feed you to the wolf for a few moments as I go change," Atticus said in a low voice. "Just follow the guillotine music." He grinned and followed me into the hallway to a big living room with deep brown colors with a pool table and a bar. It looked like a gentleman's club with the dark heavy curtains and the deer antlers on the wall. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes," I replied and watched him go up a staircase. I took a turn about the living room.

No bookshelf.

Leather couches.

No pillows, not a single sign of a woman living here.

I trailed the music through an open archway, and a tall man with raven-black hair, wearing a gray shirt and black pants, stood with his back to me.

"Hello," I said. 


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