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Why did these creeps always go for cabins in the woods? Atticus found torturing people in the city was just as effective.
“I’m not gay,” Atticus managed, sounding unsure even to himself. The stranger grinned, and Atticus’s stomach did somersaults. “Yeah, but you’re not straight either, are you?” “I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”
“Yeah, but you’re also wearing that weird smug, smirky look you only get whenever you get laid, and since you were in an abandoned cabin with Trevor the perv, we’re…alarmed.” He flicked his hand dramatically. “Alarmed,” Jericho echoed. Arsen leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Did you fuck Trevor the perv, Coe?
He’d been in a dating slump since his brothers had decided to start mating for life like psychotic penguins.
Well, he certainly couldn’t tell Noah about Jericho. He’d tell Adam and Adam would hold a press conference about it.
“Point of order. I was downstairs playing video games because your boyfriend is really loud in bed. I couldn’t listen to him moaning, ‘Oh, God. Oh, fuck,’ anymore. You certainly couldn’t be worthy of all that.”
“No, Freckles. It’s my favorite movie because when he said, ‘fear me, love me, and I will be your slave,’ I realized that I had a very specific kink.”
“I’m not letting you go, Freckles. I’m just not. You can call it a business arrangement, an affair, a kidnapping, some kind of midlife crisis. But whatever you call it, you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
Archer tipped his glass towards the speaker as if Calliope could see him. “They don’t call it getting pickled for nothing.” He looked to his father. “The key is to never get sober. You have to make your organs afraid. Make them work with the booze, not against it.”
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.
“Who are you fucking people?” Jericho’s smile unnerved even Atticus. “Neighborhood watch.”
