Atticus Pund Novels & Stories

He had not said what it was for. “To kill someone,” Atticus answered impassively. Lincoln and Rowan were surprised. “Who in Clouspring requires your personal attention?” How could a small place like Clouspring have master-level bigshots? “Clouspring isn’t a famous place, but it’s interesting,” said Atticus. “Titus Wood, Bradley Walton, the extended family of the Wolfenden, and the one I want to kill this time.” Lincoln asked in astonishment, “Bradley Walton… the old patriarch of the Waltons?”

the man smirks as the chief watches us curiously. “Tabitha,” he warns. “What do you think you’re doing to Atticus?” “Wondering why he is standing here like this is his home instead of being in his cell,” I snap. “Why would he be in a cell?” The chief asks, narrowing his gaze. “Atticus is our new lead detective.” “He’s…What?” I sputter, my eyes growing wide. “Repeat that!” “Allow me,” Atticus beams cockily. “I’m Atticus Snow, and from today on, I’ll be working closely with you, Tabitha Sullivan.”

I pushed the door slowly, every muscle coiled, ready for an intruder, a reporter, someone with a camera and a death wish. What I found was worse. Atticus Vale sat in my living room, in the dark, in my favorite chair, a glass of my scotch in his hand. He was Fifty- six, silver-haired, sharp-featured, dressed in a suit that cost more than most people's cars. He didn't look up when I entered. He never did. "You missed the investor meeting," he said, his voice smooth and cold as a blade on ice. "I was at a board meeting."

It was unlocked. And inside, seated calmly behind a polished desk as if he had been waiting for us, was Atticus Black. Mr. Black. His hair was immaculate, as always, his suit perfectly tailored. He looked up at us with that cold, familiar smile, like we had just walked into his office for a casual meeting rather than to bring him down. “Well, well,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “If it isn’t Audrey and her merry little band of troublemakers. I heard you were coming to meddle in my affairs again.”

Atticus. The people within the frame seem almost alive because whoever painted them captured their features with incredible, vibrant colors. I can't help but stare at Atticus. He is absolutely stunning, his amazing eyes just as emerald green as when I saw him in the mist. His resemblance to the man and woman sitting just below him confirms they must be his parents. He's a combination of them both, with his father's hard jawline and his mother's plump lips. There's a girl in the picture as well who's most likely his sister, but she's much younger.

“So… this friend of yours. Atticus, right?” He nodded so hard his hair bounced. “Yes! He’s my best friend! We play dinosaurs and racing, and he knows all the names of the sharks—” “Right, right,” I cut in gently. “But what’s his full name again?” Reid blinked up at me, thinking hard. “Umm… Atticus… Atticus Gabriel… Mon… I don’t remember the rest” “Mhm.” I nodded like that didn’t bother me at all, but it does. “Okay. Where does he live?”

I grinned, more proud of myself. "Uh, am i interrupting some girl talks here?" All of a sudden, a familiar glacial voice intervened, our grins immediately faded as our heads turned around. Only to see Atticus Fauler in his deep v-neck sleeves, belted slacks with a mini aesthetic bouquet of flowers in his hand. As if an unbothered king from a far away kingdom, he closed the meters that were keeping us from getting close. Syd stifled a gasp when Atticus handed the bouquet to me.

Public fracture—if he could get one. Atticus stepped off the ice, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat glistening along his temple. His eyes found Sheila instantly. Not desperate. Not possessive. Grounded. She gave him a small nod. He returned it. That was enough. Minutes later, he stood at the podium. Cameras flashed. Microphones angled upward. “Atticus,” one reporter began immediately, “how are you managing personal distractions ahead of finals?” Straight to it. He didn’t blink. “I don’t consider support a distraction,” he replied evenly.

I demanded. “You are so impatient, my darling,” Dad chuckled weakly. “Well, you aren’t helping matters either by delaying the conversation,” I pointed out. My Dad turned to look at Duke, who gave another curt nod before walking out of the room. After Duke left, nobody said anything. It was as though Dad was thinking of the best way to deliver his statement, and I patiently waited for him to put his thoughts and words together. “Do you know who Atticus Hayland is?” He asked, surprising me.

Andrew said, enthusiastic about the fight. "Good evening. Welcome to The Patio at Rudy's. My name is Raine, I will be your server this evening. Can I start you guys off with a drink and appetizers?" the young girl with black hair and beautiful tanned skin, full lips, and hourglass body features says, holding menus and handing the, out to us. "Yes, can I have a glass of Chardonnay?" Phoebe says. "I'll have a beer." uncle Fred orders.