Page 56 of Cook

I half expected to see pink slime floating through the air.

Everything I thought I’d known was wrong. Including Ward and Belle. My stomach twisted, and I dragged my heels, like I should be backing away slowly rather than moving forward. I reached back to check that my gun was secure in the waistband at my back, or that I could grab it easily if needed.

“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist, dragging their eyes up my body, implying a shit ton ofWhat the fuck are you doing here?

Yup, fish out of fucking water.

I searched my mental file of double entendres but came up dry. Guess that said something about how jacked up I was.

“I’ve got it,” said a man, coming out of the velvet curtains. “He’s my appointment.”

“Of course, Mr. Mercer,” said the receptionist.

The man couldn’t be more than half my size but radiated energy that made me want to grab my gun. Sloan Mercer also looked like a goddamn nerd. Preppy hair. Wire-frame glasses. Beady eyes. Dude looked like he should be at a desk with an abacus.

The same way I scrutinized him, he measured me, like he could read my social security number and cock size on my forehead. I stood a little taller, crossing my arms over my chest.

He inclined his head to the back. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Behind the giant mahogany desk, Mercer sat in a wingback leather chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. I took the facing chair—the only one available. It was half the size of the little man’s, and I had to stuff my ass in it.

Regardless, Mercer offered for his receptionist to get me brandy or whiskey, expensive liquors I couldn’t pronounce, but I shook my head. I needed to keep my head on straight. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his slight weight like a scream. Perhaps the smaller chair was sturdier and could better handle my two-eighty frame.

My ears pricked as someone screamed in the distance before it turned into a moan. I looked, but then turned my head away from the sound, facing Sloan’s dark eyes again.

“The sounds of pleasure bother you?” he asked.

“Are you asking me if I enjoy eavesdropping?” I grumbled. “No.”

He dropped his gaze to my jeans, and my spine stiffened. My cock didn’t rise to the sounds of people being tormented until their pain turned to pleasure. This appointment only had to do with Maddie and what she wanted. I didn’t need a man staring me down like that, showing off his pearly whites.

“What?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

“I’m surprised by you,” said Mercer, unmoving. “And I don’t get surprised often.”

“Congratulations to me,” I said dryly.

“Not sure about that.” His eyes lowered to my shirt.

A half-smile curled my lip, and I opened my cut so he could read.

His eyes rolled—perfect reaction. “Masturbating cows? Really?”

Smirking, I asked, “Beef stroking off. Get it?”

At the end of a long sigh, Mercer said, “You’re lying to yourself, Mr. Cook.”

I barked a laugh. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know Ward Pascale,” said Mercer.

A scowl crossed my face. I wasn’t sure I knew the Warden’s last name before that.

Mercer continued, “He sent you to me because you’ve got a sub andyouneed training. You’re not the first referral I’ve had.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Ward hadn’t said anything about training.

Mercer chuckled. “If you didn’t know the answer to that on some level, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?”

---