Page 130 of Slay Ride

She steps back and opens the door, and the strip of light widens to a rectangle. My mother’s hospital bed is empty.

“I didn’t expect you’d have company,” a familiar voice says from the corner of the room.

I spin on my heels and search for the light switch while ensuring I’m standing between Cat and the man waiting in the dark. My fingers land on a raised knob, and I flick it upward, filling the room with a bright light.

Doctor Whitlow rises from his chair, covering his eyes and squinting at me and Cat. I don’t know what I expected to be in his hand—a gun, maybe—but it wasn’t a manila folder.

“Where’s my mother?” I take a step toward him. Just one.

Doc holds the folder to his chest and taps it with his index finger. “Your mother is downstairs in her bed, though it won’t be her bed for much longer. Unless you pay in advance, as we discussed?—”

I cross the room in three strides, pull back my fist, and send it into Doc Whitlow’s weak-ass jaw. Something cracks, and he stumbles and falls into a chair, looking up at me with fear in his eyes.

Good. He should be afraid.

“You lied about my mother’s condition to get me here to talk about payment? Are you truly this fucking stupid? You know what I do for a living.”

Doc has the audacity to raise his finger and say, “What youdidfor a living. You are currently unemployed, Mr. Carter.” He points to Cat. “Does she know she’s crawled into bed with a penniless killer who can’t scrape up a contract to save his mother’s life?”

I reach forward and grip that pointed finger, then twist until something snaps. The doctor lets out a scream that sends a dangerous signal to my brain. If he isn’t careful with what he says next, he’ll learn why they call me the Chaos Killer.

“Bennett, could we take your mother home?” Cat’s hand lands on my arm, and like a tranquilizer for my soul, she quiets the beast inside me. “I can help you care for her. She doesn’t have to stay here.”

“Listen to the girl,” the doctor says through gritted teeth. “Take your mother back to your roach-infested hovel and let someone who can actually pay take her place.”

Shame punches me in the chest. I never wanted Cat to know how I live. When I’m in New York, I keep up appearances, but this is my reality. Everything the asshole says is the truth.

“Better to live with the roaches than people like you.” Cat steps closer. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Didn’t you become a doctor because you want to help people?”

“I don’t see how this is any of your concern.” Doc Whitlow doesn’t even look at her as he speaks. He’s too busy fiddling with his finger, which slants at an unnatural angle. “You’re just this man’s flavor of the week, sweetie.”

I’ve had all I can take. I look around the room for something to throttle this man to death with, but Cat rushes past in a blur of blonde hair and rage. A flash of silver glints in her hand as she leaps onto him and presses the object against his throat.

It’s a pair of scissors, and one of the blades presses dangerously close to a thumping artery.

“Listen here, you piece of shit. I’m not a flavor of the week, month, or year. I’m not anything so pleasant as a flavor at all. And you have pissed me the fuck off. Tell me what you’ve done.”

I rock back on my heels with a grin I can’t suppress. “You’ve fucked up now,” I say through a laugh.

“Get her off me,” Doc Whitlow whines. “Your mother can stay. We can work out a payment plan.”

“Fuck you!” Cat spits into his gaping mouth and presses more weight into the blade. “Not only will you let his mother stay here, but you’ll also upgrade her to the highest level of care and luxury. She will be kept at this facility for the remainder of her life or until Bennett chooses to move her, and neither Bennett nor anyone else will ever owe a dime.”

“I can’t do that!” Doc Whitlow shouts. “I own the facility, but there are partners.”

“Thenyou’llcover her bills. Don’t piss me off, shit head.” Cat drags the scissors at a downward angle, and a thin red ribbon of blood unfurls from his neck.

“You cut me!” He reaches toward the small wound, hardly larger than the width of a pinky nail. Pussy.

He’s getting a little wiggly now, and I don’t want Cat to get hurt, so I step closer. That’s enough to settle him again.

Before Cat can continue negotiations, my phone buzzes in my pocket. As I pull it out, I see Jim’s name flash across the screen. I answer the call.

“Bennett, my boy, how is your mother?” he asks. No pleasantries, just straight to the heart of the matter.

I look down at the doctor. “We were lied to,” I say. “She’s as good as she was before I left for the trip. Whitlow decided to bluff for payment.”

Jim grunts on the other end of the line. “I never liked that man. Hand him the phone.”

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