Chapter224 – Flat tire?
Inside the fitting room, Clarissa was dazzled by the flood of designs Ysolde had sketched for her—each more unique and exotic than the last.
Atticus, watching the clock, knew his fiancée too well. After an hour, he slipped inside. Sure enough, she was still wrestling with a choice, holding up two sketches in frustration.
A smile curved his lips as he slid behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. “Still haven’t decided?”
Relieved to see him, Clarissa held the designs out. “Which one’s better?”
“Clarissa looks good in anything,” he murmured against her ear. “Why not buy them all?”
Before she could protest, he took the stack of designs and handed them to Ysolde. “One of each.”
Ysolde scoffed. “One set takes weeks to finish. Two at most, if I rush.”
Atticus bent to kiss Clarissa’s cheek. “Then make two now. Keep the others in line—I’ll have them shipped later.”
From the softness in Clarissa’s eyes, he knew she was touched.
Ysolde snatched the stack from his hands with a roll of her eyes. “Figures. You knew I was here all along.” She huffed, turning away with a swish of her hips. “Now get out. I’ve got work to do, and no patience left for heartless little brats.”
Atticus only chuckled, taking Clarissa’s hand and leading her out into the sunshine. They wandered the streets together, laughing, the matter of Xerxes already a forgotten irritation.
......
Later, Clarissa insisted on visiting Phoenix. Atticus loaded their things into the car without a word and started the long drive.
By the time they arrived, an hour had passed. Clarissa thought their filming location was remote, but Phoenix’s place was even more desolate—sparse housing, little comfort, no conveniences. The realization stirred guilt in her chest.
Phoenix burst out the moment they arrived. “Clarissa!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around her. “You didn’t even tell me you were coming. The sun’s brutal today, I worried it would drain you.”
Clarissa laughed softly. “How could I be that delicate? But you—how are you managing here?”
Phoenix hadn’t changed much—her skin still pale, her figure slim—but the tiredness around her eyes gave her away.
“I’m fine,” Phoenix said breezily, tugging Clarissa inside without so much as a glance at Atticus. “Come sit with me.”
Her resting area was simple but spotless, neatly kept despite the sparse conditions. Clarissa finally exhaled, relieved. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”
Phoenix gave a helpless laugh. “Didn’t close my eyes. I was about to crash earlier, but the second I heard you were coming—suddenly wide awake.”
“You should rest,” Clarissa said gently.
“No, I just want to look at you.” Phoenix’s gaze roamed over her with a tenderness. “You’ve lost weight. Has not Atticus been taking care of you?”
Before Atticus could respond, Clarissa jumped in quickly. “What are you talking about? I weighed myself recently—I’m three pounds heavier. You’re imagining things.”
Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re thinner. Work must’ve been rough. And why did you come here? This place isn’t safe. Don’t wander around at night.”
Clarissa smiled softly, brushing it off. “I know. This is just a special situation.” She squeezed Phoenix’s hand. “But the good thing is—I can come visit you more often now.”
Phoenix blinked, then broke into a smile of her own.
.....
By the time they made it back to the parking lot, Clarissa noticed the car sagging on one side.
“Flat tire?” she frowned.
Atticus crouched, running his fingers along the rubber. His eyes hardened. “Not flat. Slashed. Military blade.”
Clarissa stiffened. “Slashed? Who would—?”
Before she could finish, the low growl of engines cut through the air. Two jeeps rolled up and boxed them in. The men inside leered openly at her, their eyes glinting with hunger.
“Boss, told you she was a stunner. White skin, perfect face. Worth the trip, right?”
Clarissa’s stomach dropped. She instinctively moved behind Atticus, but their stares followed her like wolves tracking prey.
Atticus extended one arm to shield her. His voice was ice. “You idiots know where you are? Stirring up trouble here—aren’t you afraid the Wraith Family will come knocking?”
The men roared with laughter. “Wraith Family? This is no-man’s-land. Out here, no cops, no rules. If I kill you and take your woman, nobody will so much as blink.”
One swaggered forward, smirking. “Be smart. Hand her over, and maybe I’ll let you crawl away alive—”
A sickening thud.
Before the man could finish, Atticus’s boot connected with his chest, sending him flying across the dirt.
“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Atticus’s tone dripped with lethal boredom.
The others froze in shock. “Second Brother! You bastard—how dare—”
Atticus tilted his head, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. The gleam in his eyes was almost inhuman, a flicker of excitement cutting through the bloodlust.
“You know,” he murmured, straightening to his full height, “you just reminded me. If this is truly lawless ground… then even if I kill every one of you, nobody will ever know.”
......
Moments later, Atticus lounged casually on the hood of their jeep, one leg crossed over the other. Below him, the gangsters knelt in the dirt, trembling. In his hand, he weighed a battered box, its lid open to reveal gold bars and jewelry that glittered in the sun.
“This?” He sneered, clearly unimpressed. “Years of robbing travelers, and all you’ve scraped together is this?”
“Big Brother, please—we’re just trying to live. Spare us!”
Atticus’s boot pressed into one man’s back, pinning him down like a dog. His voice dropped to a velvet growl, low and lethal. “Brave of you, slashing my tires.”
The man tried to look up—but froze when his gaze met Atticus’s eyes. That teardrop mole, that devilish glint. Recognition dawned.
“You… you’re—”
Atticus’s smile turned sharp. “Say it, and I’ll kill you.”
The man’s mouth snapped shut, sweat pouring down his face.
“Good boy.” Atticus straightened, then held out a hand. “Keys.”
One of them scrambled to obey, pressing the keys into his palm.
Atticus dangled them lazily, then cocked a brow. “Two cars. Why only one key?”
“B-Big Brother, please! We need something to survive. Just… just leave us a way out—”
“A way out?” Atticus chuckled darkly. He tossed the keys once, then crooked his finger at Clarissa. “Clarissa. Come here.”
She’d been standing off to the side, ordered to wait. Now she wove carefully past the guns and groaning bodies, climbing up when he pulled her onto his lap. Seated in the jeep, Atticus held her snugly against him as if she were his throne.
“Clarissa.” His lips brushed her ear, but his gaze stayed fixed on the men below. “They want me to leave them an escape. What do you think?”
Her pulse skipped, but she answered without hesitation. “No.”
Leaving scum like this alive would only mean more innocents would suffer.
Atticus blinked, genuinely surprised by her steel. Then he bent down and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “Good girl. That’s my Clarissa.”
Satisfied, he raised his voice for the men to hear. “You’re lucky. My woman says no mercy.”
Panic rippled through the group. Clarissa tensed. “What are you going to do? Turn them over to the police?”
Atticus laughed, soft and humorless. “Police don’t give a damn out here. Bandits walk free the same day. No… I’ll handle it.”
He leveled his pistol at the jeeps. “Empty everything you own. Clothes too. Line up.”
Whimpering, they stripped down, tossing valuables, weapons, and ammo into piles. Atticus had Clarissa gather the loot into one vehicle while he loaded the arsenal into the other.
Then he raised his pistol. Bang!
A single shot pierced the gas tank.
WHOOMPH! The jeep went up in flames, a column of fire clawing at the sky.
The bandits wailed. “No, no, it’s all gone! My stash—my guns—”
They ditched the car and switched bandits’ jeep.
On the road, Clarissa tilted her head. “Why did you make them strip down like that?”
Atticus’s lips curled faintly. “Out here? Bare ground, no shade. By two o’clock, the heat will hit forty degrees. The nearest town’s over twenty kilometers away. If they don’t want to roast alive, they’ll have no choice but to drag themselves to the master’s camp.”
Clarissa blinked, then let out a small laugh. “So you already had it figured out.”
Her gaze drifted to the heap of goods stacked in the backseat. “And what about all this? What are we supposed to do with it?”
“Don’t worry.” Atticus pressed the accelerator. “I know exactly where it belongs.”
......
They pulled into a cramped old district of town, where rows of weathered shops leaned against each other like old men on canes. Atticus hopped out, strode up to a sagging doorway, and knocked hard against the frame.
“Samson! Work for you. Get your ass out here!”
A moment later, a mountain of a man appeared, cigarette dangling from his lip. “What the fuck are you—” His curse cut off the second he recognized Atticus.
“Atticus, you bastard!” Samson lunged forward and wrapped him in a bear hug. “It’s been forever. Damn, I missed you. So what’s the favor this time?”
Atticus gave him a lazy smile. “Nothing big. Just want you to check the haul in my car. See how many bags of gold beans it’s worth.”
Samson’s eyes lit up. “Good haul, huh? Let me take a look.”
He lumbered over, peered inside—and his excitement soured instantly. “Tch. Atticus, you disappoint me. Aside from that box of gold bars, the rest is junk.”
He was about to turn away when his gaze snagged on Clarissa sitting in the passenger seat. His cigarette almost fell from his lips.
“Well, well…” Samson let out a low whistle. “Now that’s the real treasure in this car.”
Clarissa stiffened, her brows knitting. She hated the way his eyes crawled over her, but one look at his size—towering even over Atticus—and she bit back her anger. Better not to spark trouble here.
Atticus’s gaze, however, went flat and dangerous. “Quit the bullshit. I don’t have time to waste.”
Samson visibly flinched under the weight of his stare. Grumbling, he stuffed the goods into a pouch at his waist and trudged back inside. When he returned, he tossed two heavy bags at Atticus.
Atticus hefted them, unimpressed. “That’s it? Two bags? Should be at least three.”
Samson scowled. “Brother, gold’s gone up. Be grateful I gave you the friendly rate.”
Atticus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Half a bag more. And I’ll take two of those things hanging in your room.”
“You little shit!” Samson barked, but still dug into his pouch and slapped down another half bag, then stomped back inside to fetch the requested items.
He returned with a silk sachet and a small jar. “Here. You’re bleeding me dry, you know. No profit left in dealing with you.”
Atticus tucked them away, voice dry. “Coming from you, Samson, that’s rich. Three bags for the bars alone. Add the rest, and I’m the one taking the loss.”