Chapter241 – You’re enough
Then, with one clean, savage kick, Atticus drove his heel into the man’s groin.
The sound was wet, ugly, final.
Jasper’s scream pitched higher, breaking into a piglike squeal before choking off. Foam flecked his lips, and at last his body went slack, reduced to a heap of shattered bones and useless flesh.
Zane, trembling where he crouched, couldn’t even breathe. Atticus wasn’t human in that moment. He was terrifying—death wrapped in flesh.
But then—
“Clarissa…”
Her name dragged him back.
Atticus’s fury ebbed, his focus shifting. He turned from the crumpled ruin of Jasper to the fragile figure bleeding on the floor. His arms slid beneath her, lifting her with infinite care, as though she might break apart if he breathed too hard.
Her forehead was split, blood streaking down her pale skin. The slap mark across her cheek burned in his vision, and the sight tore his heart open. His chest ached so violently he wished he could rip Jasper apart all over again, grind him into nothing.
Beside him, Zane’s voice cracked with panic. “W-what should we do? Sister… she’s bleeding so much. This is all my fault—I couldn’t protect her…”
Atticus’s jaw clenched, but he forced his voice steady. He checked her pulse, pulled a small vial from his pocket, and tipped a few drops against her lips. “Do you have a first aid kit here?”
“Y-yes! But I already called an ambulance—”
“No doctors,” Atticus cut him off. “Just bring the kit. I’ll handle it.”
Zane scrambled to obey, fumbling the box into Atticus’s hands. Atticus’s movements were precise, practiced, almost frighteningly calm. He cleaned and dressed the gash, then spread more of Mr. Callum’s medicine across the wound. Within minutes, the bleeding slowed. Another tincture touched her lips, and slowly—mercifully—her lashes fluttered.
“Atticus…”
Her voice was a whisper, fragile, but when her eyes focused on his face, tears welled and spilled over. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him with a desperation that clawed at his soul.
“Atticus…”
He held her tight, his lips pressing against her bloodied forehead, soothing her with a kiss as tender as it was possessive. His voice rumbled low against her ear. “Be good… don’t cry. I’m here now. No one will hurt you again.”
Her mind reeled back to those last moments of terror—the blur of blood, the slap that stole her strength, the helplessness as she sank into darkness. She thought she’d never see him again.
But he had come.
He had come for her.
Zane stood frozen beside them, his mouth half open. The intimacy between them was unmistakable—this wasn’t the protective embrace of a brother and sister.
The wail of sirens finally broke the silence.
Atticus gathered Clarissa carefully into his arms, her blood still damp against his chest. He turned to Zane, his voice low and razor-sharp. “Go handle the police. You know what to say.”
Zane straightened instantly, his tone full of forced confidence. “Of course! Don’t worry, Atticus. I’ll take care of it—no one will pin this on you.”
With a curt nod, Atticus carried Clarissa into the ambulance.
At the hospital, he flashed his ID. “I’ll need access to the equipment. No interference. I’ll handle her treatment myself.”
The staff balked at first, ready to argue—until they saw the credentials. Their protests died instantly. Within minutes, the director and even the dean of medicine arrived, bowing and scraping.
“Mr. Atticus,” the dean said reverently. “So the rumors are true—you’re Callum’s apprentice. Whatever you need, our hospital is yours.”
Atticus dismissed them with a glance. He had no time for flattery. Every ounce of his focus was on Clarissa.
He drew her blood, initiated a transfusion, then ran her through a full-body scan. Only after confirming she had no internal injuries did he breathe easier. Finally, he settled her in the hospital’s best private suite, the top ward reserved for elite patients.
Then he found Zane waiting in the hall. “Well?”
Zane’s grin was bright, a little too forced. “Handled. That bastard’s looking at three to five years, minimum.”
“Three to five?” Atticus’s lip curled into a cruel smile. “No. He’ll never leave prison alive. He’ll learn what it means to beg for death and be denied.”
The malice in his eyes made Zane’s stomach twist. He swallowed hard, nerves crawling down his spine. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “Uh… Atticus, about you and sister…”
Atticus’s gaze cut to him like a blade. “She’s not my sister. She’s my woman. Do you have a problem with that?”
The weight of those words, paired with the icy fire in Atticus’s eyes, knocked the breath out of Zane. He shook his head frantically. “No—no problem at all.”
“Good.” Atticus leaned in slightly. “And you haven’t forgotten what happened back then, have you?”
Zane’s body went rigid. His voice cracked. “No… I swore. I never told anyone. Not even my parents.”
Atticus’s smile was sharp, satisfied. “Excellent. If you ever forget… just remember what Jasper looked like tonight.”
The image alone made Zane shudder. Jasper’s body—bones splintered, jaw dislocated, left alive as nothing more than ruined meat—was burned into his mind.
Atticus pulled a folded slip from his pocket and handed it over. “Here.”
Zane blinked, then stared. A check. One hundred thousand dollars.
“A-Atticus… what’s this for?”
“Congratulations on getting into college.” Atticus’s tone softened just slightly, though the edge never left his smile. “A reward. You’re smart enough to know what happens to people who cross me. But you’re also smart enough to know loyalty has its benefits. Stay obedient, and I’ll never be stingy.”
Zane’s throat worked as he swallowed. One hundred thousand dollars. He clenched the check in his hand, heart pounding. He knew the truth: this wasn’t a gift. It was a leash.
Still, he forced a smile. “Thank you, Atticus. I… I wish you and Clarissa a long and happy life together. Just don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.”
Atticus’s grin deepened, amused. “Still as clever as ever.”
He liked clever people. So he slid another card from his wallet—a sleek, black business card—and pressed it into Zane’s palm. “While you’re in school, if you want to invest or start a business, call me. I’ll make sure doors open for you.”
Zane hesitated, but in the end, he pocketed the card. “Thank you…”
Atticus didn’t linger. He turned and walked back toward Clarissa’s ward, the air around him heavy with quiet authority.
Left behind, Zane stared at the card in his hand, then closed his fist tightly around it. He knew exactly what this was: a bribe, a gag, a chain. He had no right to refuse. To refuse meant death.
And yet…
His thoughts spiraled back to that night, years ago, when Atticus had called him.
Tomorrow evening, wait by the roadside outside my house. Wear your school uniform. Make sure the woman in the car gets out and questions you. Answer whatever she asks.
Back then, Zane had thought nothing of it—just a strange errand. But later he saw Jasper corner Atticus outside the school, beating him bloody. He remembered the bruise on Atticus’s lip, remembered how pathetic he’d looked.
And yet… it hadn’t added up.
Atticus wasn’t the kind of boy Jasper could ever dominate. No, Atticus had let it happen. He had baited the trap.
Everything had shifted, and Clarissa had appeared in Atticus’s orbit. None of it was coincidence.
Even back then, Atticus had been plotting. Scheming. Playing the long game with a cunning no ordinary boy could match.
And Zane? He’d been nothing more than a pawn—too naive to see it.
Now, with the check in his pocket and Atticus’s card burning in his hand, he understood.
Atticus wasn’t just extraordinary. The kind of man born to dominate others’ fates.
......
Now Clarissa lay in the hospital bed, an IV drip feeding into her arm, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come. She reached for her phone, scrolling absently, anything to distract herself.
She’d barely been at it five minutes when the door swung open.
Atticus strode in. Without a word, he plucked the phone from her hand.
“You’ve got a head injury. No screens. Radiation from phone will only give you a worse headache.”
Clarissa frowned, but didn’t resist. “It’s only a little radiation…” she muttered, letting him take it anyway.
Atticus adjusted the IV bottle for her, then lowered himself onto the chair at her bedside.
“How’s Jasper?” she asked softly. She’d fainted earlier—had no idea what had gone down afterward.
Atticus’s mouth curved in that calm, dangerous way of his. “Still alive. Don’t worry, I won’t kill him. Do you want to see him?”
Clarissa shuddered at the thought of Jasper’s face. “No.” The word was firm, immediate.
Atticus’s dark eyes warmed, pleased. Zane’s reappearance had rattled him, but Clarissa’s instinctive refusal reassured him. She wanted no part of those men from her past.
Clarissa’s gaze softened. She reached for his hand, threading her fingers with his. “Atticus…”
He tilted his head, watching her with patience. “Hmm? What is it?”
She hesitated. Then: “Have you ever thought about finding your biological parents?”
The question caught him off guard. His brows lifted. “Why bring that up?”
“Nothing in particular. I just… wondered if you ever wanted to know.”
Clarissa’s chest tightened. She’d heard people call him a bastard more times than she could count. Each insult cut her, too. If only she could find his real family for him…
But Atticus didn’t even consider it. “Not interested.”
She blinked. “Atticus?”
“Don’t try to talk me into it.” His tone was steady, unyielding. “They abandoned me. What’s the point of chasing after them? Besides—” He drew her into his arms, his voice lowering to a rough murmur. “You’re enough. I don’t want anyone else but you.”
Clarissa’s breath caught. Heat flushed her cheeks.
“You…” she whispered, half helpless, half moved. “Maybe they had their reasons.”
“Doesn’t matter. If they don’t like me, or don’t like you, then fuck them. I’ll choose you, every time. That’s the only loyalty I need.”
Her lips parted, speechless. She sighed, giving up. “Fine. I was just suggesting. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”
Her body betrayed her next, a yawn slipping free.
“Tired?” he asked immediately.
“A little. The meds are making me drowsy.”
Atticus moved with practiced ease, removing the IV needle and easing her back against the pillows.
Clarissa’s lashes fluttered, heavy with sleep. The last thing she saw was his face above her, all tenderness.
But the moment her eyes closed, that gentleness shifted. A hard, dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.
He slipped from the ward, closing the door silently behind him, and strode downstairs to the operating theater.
A cluster of doctors in white coats were already waiting. The dean hurried forward as Atticus approached. “Mr. Atticus, thank you. Could you allow our surgical department to observe your methods?”