Page 19 of Watcher
Foster stood and set the iPad on his chair. He held his hand out to Atticus. “Come on, sexy. We need to get out of this room.”
Atticus let himself get dragged to his feet. He had no idea what Foster had planned. Anything was better than hanging out inside his head.
When Foster left the house with Atticus in tow, he hadn’t had a plan. All he knew was he hated the look in Atticus’ eyes when he realized—yet again—his family tried to kill him. Foster had seen that video before Atticus. While he hadn’t known the woman was Atticus’ cousin, he had known Atticus couldn’t return to California. Physically, Atticus possessed all the skills to survive a direct attack. His family had found a whole new avenue of sly attempts. That made Foster’s blood run cold. Atticus couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see, and he shouldn’t fucking have to. The entire mess pissed him off and kept him stuck in protective mode. The constant looking over his shoulder had to be killing Atticus with the stress alone. No one could reach Atticus here. Not only that, but no one would even know where he was. That had been Foster’s only thought as he had asked Atticus to stay. But then the words were out there, and Foster couldn’t think about anything else. If Atticus said no, Foster had a sinking feeling in his gut that he wouldn’t handle the denial well.
Rather than stew over his crazy emotions, Foster dragged Atticus all over town like showing the man his new hometown.
“Have you been here before?”
At Foster’s question, Atticus set his wine aside and looked in every direction, openly studying the restaurant. “This restaurant?” He sounded confused.
Foster smiled as he realized how vague he had been—like he thought Atticus could read his mind. “Hawaii. I’ve been showing you the island all day. It didn’t occur to me until just now that you’ve likely been here before.”
“Not Maui, no. I went to Kona about seven or eight years ago.” He picked up his wine again and took a sip before continuing. “It was super touristy.” He shrugged. “But I was a tourist, so it’s whatever. I just never found the time to visit again.”
Foster shook his head. “I don’t understand why someone who’s worth as much money as you are doesn’t slow down and enjoy life.”
Atticus cocked his head to one side and eyed Foster like a science project he didn’t understand. “Enjoy what life?”
Foster pulled a face. “What do you mean, what life? Yours.”
Atticus’ even tone never wavered. “Tell me about this life I have to enjoy. I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m genuinely curious about what you saw while following me for nearly two months.”
Since there was no anger or sarcasm in Atticus’ tone, Foster took the question seriously. “I saw someone who never took a single second to breathe. Someone who needed to fill literally every second of the day with anything and everything but nevernothing. I saw someone who’s every bit as unhappy as I am but never sat with that emotion.” Foster shrugged. “I saw you.”
Atticus fiddled with the stem of his wineglass, proving Foster right about his inability to sit still. His expression hid his thoughts. “At any time during those observations, did you stop to ask yourself why?”
Foster shrugged again. “No, but then I saw three men try to kill you, so I figure it’s that part.”
Atticus surprised him. “No.” He threw back the rest of his wine as if he needed the fortification. “It’s the part where my dad murdered, exploited, and ruined lives to satisfy a greed that never stopped growing. The sheer knowledge of having to fight for my life to hang on to a legacy built on blood and tears. It’s a responsibility I carry. Not a blessing of endless wealth. I know hundreds of various fighting styles, more than just for protection. It’s a forty-six-year-old martial arts instructor with a failing studio and a family to feed. The same money that left her a single parent saved her business and home and helped her retire. It’s a multimillion-dollar charity that helps improve the lives of people whose entire world was destroyed by addiction, and a second one for suicide prevention.”
“I never found any of that when I searched your name online.”
“I imagine you didn’t see a lot of things about me, because it’s me, and I’m smarter than everyone else. It’s easy for me to hide online.”
A smile exploded across Foster’s face. “There’s the Atticus I know and love.”
Atticus laughed, warming Foster’s chest. “I believe in being honest with yourself, even when that looks conceited to others. When no one else is kind to you, it’s best not to humble yourself. No need to include yourself among the haters.”
Foster couldn’t decide if that was sad or inspirational. “You’re definitely one of a kind. Before you ask, that’s a good thing.” Foster turned serious and swept Atticus with his gaze. “It’s a very good thing.”
Atticus held his stare while heat built between them. A moment passed before he spoke. “We’ve shopped and done our sightseeing.”
“And had dinner,” Foster added.
Atticus nodded. “That too. Sounds like it’s about time to get back to our bedroom.”
“Our bedroom?”
Atticus lifted one shoulder. “You’re the one who asked me to stay.”
Something dark and hungry grew inside Foster. A possessiveness he had never experienced roared to life. “I’m not gonna make it that far.”
Atticus didn’t laugh at his confession. He stood and threw a few bills on the table before Foster could argue about paying. Atticus headed for the door while Foster scrambled to follow. When he reached the SUV they had commandeered for the day, Atticus calmly waited by the passenger-side back door. As soon as Foster was close enough, the doors unlocked. Atticus opened the door and went to work folding down the seats. He climbed in.
Foster looked around before doing the same. He locked the doors behind them. Atticus took off his shirt. Foster couldn’t take it. “Are you nuts?”
Atticus’ hungry gaze had Foster forgetting what he objected to. “It’s dark. We’re in an even darker parking spot. The windows are tinted. No one will see us.”
