“Are you going to be sick again?”
He looks alarmed, like I’m going to spew on the spotless hardwood floor. I debate doing it just to see his head spin, but don’t.
“No. I’m just winded.”
“From going down the stairs? What kind of criminal are you?”
“The kind who was poisoned. And shot.”
He doesn’t answer and heads toward the kitchen. I follow, and find the other two Behr brothers already sitting at the table, eating.
Atticus, who doesn’t even bother looking up from the newspaper, says, “There’s food on the stove. Help yourself.”
“Got anything in a box that can’t be tampered with?”
Atticus glares, but Oliver says, “There’s some cereal in the pantry.”
He points, so I go to a door. Opening it, I stop. Holy cow. Do they know how much food is in here? How many people they could feed? It’s like a freaking mini-grocery store in here! There’s an actual section for cereal, and it’s easy to find a box that’s unopened. Carrying it, I go to the fridge and find some milk.
“Bowl?”
Oliver points with his fork, earning a disgusted look from Finn. “Over there.”
I find what I need and make myself a, hopefully, poison-free breakfast. Then I sit next to Oliver with the brown eyes and light brown hair. He reminds me of an actual teddy bear. Someone you just want to cuddle with. He catches me staring and shoots me a sweet smile.
“Feeling okay?”
“So far, so good.”
At the same time, Finn says, “She got winded coming down the stairs.”
“Snitch.” To Oliver, I ask, “So, what do you do for a living?”
Atticus answers, “If you were trying to rob someone in this area, don’t you think you should have figured that out before you broke into our house?”
That’s a good point. Something I’m going to do from here on out.
“I know the three of you leave in one vehicle around seven every evening and are gone until five or six the next morning. You change cars based on the day of the week, which is odd because I’m pretty sure that garage out there only has two spots.”
Oliver grins. “Very good. The garage has a lower level.”
I make a sound in the back of my throat. “Like a Batcave?”
“Better than a Batcave. It’s our own personal toy box.”
I snort. “The only toy box I’m interested in is the one like inFifty Shades.”
I’m totally just trying to get a reaction out of them, and it works. Wonder what they would say if told them the truth? That I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin. I take a bite of my cereal, waiting for their reactions.
Atticus, still not looking over his paper, says, “There’s not a toy box inFifty Shades. It was a red room of pain, and we have something similar. Something that caters to our own fetishes.”
Holy. Shit.
Is it warm in here or is it just me?
“Hmm. Sounds interesting.”
This time he does put the paper down. “We can show you, if you’d like.”