Page 10 of Watcher
Foster shouldn’t be happy about Atticus continuing this game, but he was. Every time Atticus didn’t back down, Foster’s obsession grew. He headed to his bedroom. Since he was on the main floor, he knew Atticus wouldn’t have to work hard to follow. He had gotten past the hard part. Foster had to admit, Atticus had balls of steel. If he had gotten caught before Foster spotted him, he would already be dead. Now, Foster could intervene on his behalf if he had to. He had Foster curious, though. Why was he even here?
Inside his bedroom, Foster peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. He purposely left the door open while he took his time, gathering a towel and whatnot for his shower. Foster got the water going before he closed the door. He hadn’t seen Atticus slip inside, but he felt him there. He didn’t close the bathroom door. Not only was that pointless, but he had to make sure Atticus got a show. It was hard as hell not to smile. Fuck, what was it about this guy? Foster had never thought of himself as a masochist, but damn. He couldn’t seem to get enough of Atticus tormenting his mind.
When he stripped, Foster didn’t take his time. He undressed exactly as he would if he were alone. As he stepped inside the shower, he was grateful for the clear glass. Hot water hit him from several directions. Foster closed his eyes and pictured Atticus. At lunch, there had been times when Atticus’ guard had fallen. Behind the cockiness was a needy man, starving for something real. It was like looking into a mirror. The same blast of disappointment hit him again. Needy or not, Atticus wouldn’t accept more than sex. Foster had spent too long aching and watching to settle. He didn’t know if he still wanted to give Atticus a show.
Another thought sneaked in. He recalled exactly how he had felt when Atticus had spent that night stroking himself for Foster’s amusement. The memory alone had Foster’s erection growing. In his entire life, he couldn’t recall wanting anything as badly as he yearned to be in that bed with Atticus.
Foster reached down and stroked himself. With his eyes closed, he held on to the vision Atticus had created. His toes curled as he fought for control. The hand pumping his cock was no longer for show. He had thought Atticus would be his tonight. Foster had done nothing except dream since their lunch together. He already knew Atticus would be amazing.
Pressure climbed his shaft. He was about to look like a two-pump chump, but goddamn. Atticus watched, and Foster craved. It was such a volatile combination. Lava burned under his skin. A fiery desire grew bigger. The passion would burn him down eventually. Ecstasy tickled his crown. Just like Atticus, Foster had to let go. A powerful orgasm rocked him. He leaned against the wall. Atticus’ name fell from his lips in a whisper. As his temperature dropped, so did his heart. His disappointment in himself was thick. Foster had run from that goddamn Russian hell camp, telling himself he would never be weak again. He would never be at anyone else’s mercy. Somehow, he found himself a slave to Atticus. He had to stop. It was time to fucking stop. He had walked away from Atticus tonight with a final decision made. Foster had to save himself.
He stumbled out of the shower and grabbed a towel. Foster haphazardly wrapped the material around his waist while he went for his phone. Through blurry eyes, he found the numberhe searched for and hit the call icon. Thankfully, Crisp answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man. How’s Hawaii treating you?” When their brother Scout had married a Bosi guard who lived at Beau’s property in Hawaii, Crisp and Tidy had chosen to stay as well. In a horrible twist of DNA testing, it turned out the pair were no relation to anyone at all, while the rest of the gang had blood ties in some shocking ways. Foster didn’t give a fuck; they were still his brothers. He had always been closer to the pair than any of the rest. Blood meant nothing when it came to them.
“I’m actually loving it here. I miss you guys a lot sometimes, but you know…”
Yeah. He knew. Things had changed for him. Crisp no longer felt like their brother. He hurt and didn’t want anyone to know that. In Hawaii, he didn’t have to pretend.
Foster didn’t want to get into that now. “How do you feel about me heading that way? There’s never really been anything holding me here. Maybe I can come stay with you guys for a while.”
Crisp knew him. More than anyone, Crisp saw behind his mask of indifference. “I’d love that. But if you need someone to talk to now, I’m here. I have all the time in the world for you.”
A sad smile tugged at Foster’s lips. He sat on the edge of the bed. There had been many nights, even before their escape, that Foster had spent entire nights talking to Crisp. No one knew about that but them. Foster didn’t know why he couldn’t let anyone else see him as weak. Then again, maybe he did know, but he couldn’t relive the nightmares. Embracing his past with Crisp was better.
“I guess I’ve been missing you a lot these past few weeks. Without you here—” Foster stopped before he said anything that made Crisp feel guilty. Crisp deserved to be where he didn’t have to pretend.
“I haven’t been a very good friend lately. Obviously, I’m always just a phone call away, but I know you. I should’ve reached out.”
Foster’s gaze dropped to the floor. “No. We’re not kids anymore. You shouldn’t have to drop everything for me.” A snort escaped Foster. “Fuck, dude. I’m mentally spent.”
“Book your flight. First one out. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
A sad smile kept finding his lips. He should feel awkward, but he didn’t. They had seen each other at lows no one should witness. This breakdown wasn’t even a blip in comparison. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll let you go and see what I can figure out.”
“Keep me posted. You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah. You know I love you, right?”
Crisp chuckled. It was a deep rumble that didn’t match his small stature. “Yeah.”
“Goodnight, Crispy.”
Crisp groaned and then disconnected the call. Foster caught himself genuinely smiling. He was making the right choice. Just like Tidy and Crisp, there was nothing for him here. It was time for him to rescue his sanity, before it was too late.
Chapter Six
Lifewasalwaystoosilent. Way, way too devoid of all noise and joy. Leaned back in his office chair, Atticus didn’t see anything except the picture Foster made whispering his name as he had come. He wished that was the only memory he had left the Bosi compound with. As sexy as watching Foster had been, the despair in the air had choked him. Even as pleasure had overtaken Foster, he still had no life in him. Hearing the things he said to one of his brothers, Atticus felt weaker than ever. The way Foster exposed himself was the bravest thing Atticus had ever witnessed. Men like them didn’t admit to feeling anything of significance. Emotions got people dead. He wasn’t sure if he even cared any longer what happened to him. His company would run without him. He was as useless here as a hairy ass. No one needed that. If he dropped dead tomorrow, everything would continue to run smoothly the way it did every day. His estate would keep everyone paid. Kirkland would get the house he already practically owned. Not a single damn thing would even pause for a moment of silence. His only reason for livingwas to be a thorn in his uncle’s side. The only happiness he ever found was in taunting Butch with the money he would never get. His mom wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way. Still, life was pretty goddamn empty. It was as if Foster had spoken both their truths during that call. Atticus didn’t enjoy having his bullshit out to inspect. He was good at lying to himself while moving forward. There was something about Foster. Atticus couldn’t let him go. Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened at four thirty in the morning. Foster had walked onto Beau’s private plane and hadn’t looked back. It seemed after Beau learned Foster tried booking a peasant flight, he had ordered Foster to take his plane. None of his people would ever stoop to coach. Atticus shuddered at the idea. He, too, would rather die first. Unfortunately, no matter the mode of transportation, Foster was gone.
Seth softly knocked before bringing him a cup of coffee from his favorite café.
Atticus watched him, feeling nothing. He had no idea how long he sat there after Seth left.
The intercom buzzed, yanking him from his thoughts. “Sir, you can’t— I mean, what the fuck?”
Atticus listened to the running commentary through the line. He was only slightly curious. If someone was here to kill him, they needed to get in line. There was always a queue.
