Page 52 of SKIN

He slapped another heavy palm down on his desk. So much for the cool façade. “Stop using your mouth for one goddamn second and maybe your brain will finally catch up.” Then he cracked his neck from side to side, quietly tucking away his hair-trigger temper like it was never there. “I’d hoped you’d come to the conclusion on your own, but seeing as a decade has done nothing but thicken that skull of yours, I’ll explain it in terms even you can understand.”

It didn’t matter how many years you spent under Adrian’s thumb, how many more you saw in your future, the guy always had this way of reminding you that you were lower than the shit under his polished shoes. And that he had no problem scraping you off as soon as he was done with you.

I took solace in the fact that one day someone was gonna bend him over and shove that same shoe up his ass. The left side of my mouth tugging into a smirk at the thought while he continued to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“A dilation and curettage procedurehas more than one use, Dr. Michaels. Something you should be more than aware of if you attended even one day of your gynecological rotation.” He shot me a glare from across his desk. “To force a surgical evacuation and?—”

“Assist in the shedding of the uterine wall after a spontaneous abortion…”

“Among other therapeutic and diagnostic uses, yes.” He nodded, white noise filtering through the air, but I wasn’t listening anymore.

My feet were already taking me towards the door, muscle memory guiding me down the hall, my brain in search of the closest vice to quiet all the static in my head. Didn’t care if it was liquor or pills as long as it did the trick.

A few minutes later, I found myself at the bottom of an empty vodka bottle. Never liked the taste of that shit but Casper always had a stash somewhere in his bunk and I wasn’t above raiding it. I tossed it against the wall, watching the glass shatter before reaching an arm under his bed and grabbing another. Rinse and repeat until the rest of me was as numb as my hand.

63

CASPER

It took Frankie’s little fuck toy several long moments to realize we were watching her. But fuck if the look on her face wasn’t worth it when she did. Her eyes flicked to the hospital blanket just out of reach and back to the open door behind us.

I could see all the wheels turning in her head. Chick was trying to decide what was more important. Her freedom or her dignity when the answer was simple.

Neither. Not here at Briarwood. Little Miss Golden Pussy—how else do ya explain Frank’s addiction—was in Renegade territory now. Which meant the only way out was after a visit to the chop shop. A couple of pounds and a few garbage bags at a time.

I saw it. The second she decided her bare ass was the lesser of two evils, her toothpick legs rushing forward as fast as they could take her before Bugs stepped out to block her path.

I could picture the smirk tipping up the fucker’s mouth even from behind his mask. It was the way he tilted his head to one side, something he always did whenever he enjoyed fucking with someone. Guy had to get out more—it was only a matter of time before all those screens rotted his brain and shit started oozing out his ears.

Couldn’t imagine it was all that easy to be a tech genius without the whole genius part. But not my fucking circus. I liked my monkeys with a lot more coke and a lot fewer sticks up their asses.

I dropped my arm from where I was resting it on the metal frame, silently urging the walking-talking set of tits to make a run for it. What I wouldn’t give to see those fucking balloons bounce a few times before I snatched an ankle out from under her.

But our little blow-up doll seemed to think better of it, crossing her arms over her pebbled nipples and eyeing me like I kicked her goddamn puppy. Thing was I was always more interested in pussy cats. Speaking of…

My gaze shot to the fuzz peeking out from between her thighs, enough to tell me old Frankie boy didn’t trust his girl with a razor.

Smart. Considering she looked ready to slit my throat. Correction: bitch looked ready to slit both our throats.

“Who the fuck are you?” She spat the words between the two of us. Me and Bugs. But they landed on me.

“A friend,” I mumbled through the rubber of my favorite mask, tasting my own sweat pooling on the underside. Frankie kept shit hot down here. I grinned at the realization. Sly son of a bitch was doing it for her. He didn’t want his princess catching a cold.

Real considerate, that one. Shame about his fucking face.

“Whose friend?” Princess Peach tipped her head back to level her jaw with my chest. “The clerk from the Spirit of Halloween store?”

“Yours, of course.” I shrugged before ripping the fabric hood off my head and tossing it aside—I had a dozen more where those came from. When a Ghostface was too bulky for a job, a little black and white paint did the trick. Nothing made a chick scream like seeing a glow-in-the-dark skull climbing in through her window. Nothing 'cept the cock swinging between my legs of course. “We could be very good friends, Emily. Hell, I could even be your knight in shining armor, if ya let me?”

I reached out a hand to brush her hair out of her face, and the ungrateful Ice Queen slapped my arm aside. “No thanks. And don’t fucking touch me.”

“Okay, not friends. Got it. Acquaintances, then?” I pivoted on a boot before spinning back around again so that there was barely an inch between my chest and her chin. “Or maybe I’m justthe guy who was fucking you in your sleep.” I watched her eyes widen as recognition turned our Elsa into an Olaf, and my lips curled into a full-on fucking grin. “Oh, I’m sorry, babe? Did ya really think that shit was a dream?”

“It was… that was you…” Our Sleeping Beauty fumbled over her words as she slowly backed herself into a corner.

I quirked a brow. “Maybe.”

“What the fuck do you mean maybe?” She stepped closer until she realized what she was doing. And quickly stepped back again.

---