Chapter75 – Don’t touch her
Atticus accepted it without a word, took a sip, and watched her from under his lashes.
Clarissa sat beside him on the bench and tilted her head toward him. “So, how’s school been lately?”
“Fine.”
“Is your school holding a sports meet too?”
He gave a small nod.
“What’d you sign up for?”
“Nothing.”
Clarissa blinked. “You’re not participating?”
“It’s pointless,” he said simply.
She frowned slightly. She wished he’d open up more, do more, belong more.
“Well, I signed up for high jump and the hundred-meter dash. You’ll come watch, right?”
Atticus glanced at her. “Alright…”
Clarissa beamed. “It’s a promise then.”
He hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but suddenly his posture shifted. His eyes sharpened, cutting toward something in the distance.
Clarissa followed his gaze, but there was nothing there. Just an old man walking his dog slowly down the sidewalk.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice soft.
Atticus’s face was unreadable. “Nothing,” he said after a pause. “Didn’t see anything.”
“You sure?”
He nodded, then stood. “Want to keep running?”
“Sure,” Clarissa said, though she already knew she’d regret it.
Ten more minutes passed before she finally stopped, breath ragged, drenched in sweat, half-bent over with her hands on her knees. She felt like collapsing right there on the street.
Atticus, meanwhile, looked only mildly out of breath. His shirt clung slightly to his chest, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light—but his expression was as calm as ever.
After showering and changing, Clarissa sat down to eat breakfast at the table while Atticus—now dressed neatly, hair still damp from a quick rinse—grabbed a fried dough stick, shoved it in his mouth, and headed toward the door.
“Hey—Atticus?” she called after him. “You’re only eating that? Where are you going?”
He pulled on his hoodie and tugged the brim of his cap low. “Club meeting. I have to go.”
Clarissa watched him go, amused. He was always so serious about that club—whatever it was.
After a moment, she put down her spoon, picked up her phone, and transferred him some money.
[Transfer successful.]
Note: “If you’re not coming home for lunch, use this to treat your clubmates. Be careful, okay?”
Downstairs, Atticus’s phone buzzed. He paused mid-step to check the message, his eyes lingering on her words. After a second, he typed a short reply:
OK.
Then he pocketed the phone and picked up his pace, his shadow long against the pavement.
...........
The school’s sports meet was just around the corner. “Clarissa, we’re still two boxes of water short.”
“Two?” Clarissa furrowed her brows. “Let me check.” After counting again, she realized they were right. She had clearly ordered five boxes—so where had the other two gone?
“Damn it,” one of the volunteers muttered. “If someone’s stealing water, I swear—”
“It’s fine,” Clarissa cut in quickly. “I’ll go buy two more boxes. I’ll pay first.”
“Really? Thank you so much!”
Clarissa smiled faintly, waved it off, and hurried toward the nearby store. After arranging to have the boxes delivered to the field, a thought struck her—Atticus should be arriving soon.
She immediately turned and made her way toward the school gates to meet him.
But just as she stepped out of the building, someone blocked her path.
Clarissa came to an abrupt stop. “Who are you?” she asked coldly.
The man grinned. “Us? Oh, darling, I’ve been waiting for this moment. Finally caught you alone.”
The man’s eyes roamed over her shamelessly. Clarissa wore a fitted white sports jacket over a thin tee, and her athletic shorts left her long legs exposed. The heat in the man’s gaze was disgusting—blatant and hungry.
Clarissa’s stomach turned. She immediately sensed danger and turned to bolt, but he was faster. He lunged, grabbing her by the braid and yanking her down hard.
“Ah—!” she gasped, hitting the pavement with a jolt of pain.
She struggled, kicked, tried to scream—but a rough hand covered her mouth. Arms dragged her toward a dark van parked at the curb. She didn’t even get the chance to cry for help.
They weren’t acting on impulse. This was planned.
Panic spiked through her like lightning—until, out of nowhere, the man restraining her howled in pain.
The grip on her arms loosened. Clarissa twisted away and bolted, her heart slamming against her ribs. She looked up—and saw him.
Atticus. He stood not far away, one hand still down from where he’d thrown the rock that had struck the man.
“Atticus!” she shouted, running straight toward him. Without hesitation, she grabbed his hand. “Run!”
He turned instantly, gripping her fingers, and pulled her in the opposite direction. But they didn’t get far. A second group of men cut them off.
Clarissa stepped in front of Atticus instinctively, shielding him. Her eyes locked on the man leading the charge, filled with steel.
“You know what you’re doing is illegal, right? Do you even know who I am?”
The man chuckled. “You? You’re the girl who got booted out of the Lancaster family.”
“So you know—and you still dare pull this shit?”
He grinned wider, nastier. “You’re just an ordinary person now. Doesn’t matter what name you used to have. I can do whatever I want with you.”
The ringleader stepped forward slowly, gaze raking over her body with sickening admiration.
“Damn... you’re even prettier up close. Bet life’s been tough since they kicked you out, huh? Come with me, sweetheart. I’ll treat you right. You want a house? A car? Name it.”
Clarissa’s expression was pure ice. “Keep dreaming. Let me go now—or you’ll regret it.”
Darkwood laughed, tilting his head like she was adorable. “Trying to scare me? You think anyone’s gonna come for you now? The great Lancaster family doesn’t even claim you anymore.”
He reached out toward her—but before he could touch her, a hand shoved him back.
Atticus stepped forward, blocking her with his body. “Don’t touch her,” he said, voice low and sharp as a blade.
Darkwood squinted at the boy, something about him triggering a faint sense of familiarity. But lust had dulled his caution, and all he could focus on was Clarissa’s tight, trembling frame behind the kid.
He threw a punch—landing it clean on Atticus’s jaw.
“Atticus!” Clarissa cried out as Atticus hit the ground, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth. She dropped beside him in a panic, her hands trembling.
“How bad is it? Are you okay?”
Atticus winced but gripped her hand tight. “I’m fine… Don’t be scared…”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this…”
He didn’t answer—just tightened his hold on her, his fingers warm and steady despite the pain. Her hand was freezing. So he held it tighte.
Laughter erupted from the men nearby as they took in the scene unfolding before them. “What the hell is this? Kid thinks he’s some kind of hero?”
“Barely outta diapers and already trying to play knight in shining armor?” one of them sneered. “Step aside, brat. Watch how I fuck her right.”
Darkwood lunged forward again, reaching to yank Clarissa by her ponytail, dragging her toward the dark alley beside the wall.
But before he could lay a finger on her, Atticus moved.
Fast. There was a flash of silver—then a wet, thunk.
Blood sprayed. Darkwood reeled back with a shriek, clutching his face as crimson poured through his fingers. He hit the ground, howling.