Page 36 of The Prodigal

“And miss out on your reaction?”

He takes another hit off his cigarette, unbothered that I uncovered more motive than he admitted to last night.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He stands from his plastic chair and moves so close the smoke from his breath burns my nose.

“Your job is to research,” he says in a bored tone. “If you’re expecting a pat on the back for a midnight googling session, then you should understand that the only time I’ll offer you praise is when you’re riding my cock.”

My breath hitches, and my womb tightens in response.

“Otherwise,” he continues, “I’ll treat you like I do everyone else—poorly.”

“Being rude and using foul language won’t stop me from asking more questions.”

A slight grin tugs at his lips. “Well, that’s incredibly disappointing.”

What’s disappointing is that for some sadistic reason I enjoy this push and pull between us. Never have I looked forward to an argument like I do with Remington—even when he uses sarcasm and rudeness to deter me from seeing his truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?” I try again, softening my tone.

“The same reason I didn’t tell you my blood type—it’s none of your damn business.”

I swear, I could easily hate him. I’m sure he’d rather I did, instead of tolerating his mood swings, but I couldn’t. Especially if my theory is correct. If Remington is who I think he is, then he has every right to be angry—to seek revenge.

“The newborn Congressman Albrecht stole and gave to another family…” I face his haunted, vulnerable eyes and blow out a breath. “He didn’t take your friend, Stetson, did he? Congressman Albrecht tookyou.”

Remington’s face never flinches while his hands skim over my shoulders and down my arms. His touch is comforting—a stark contrast to the tension of the moment. If I was brave, I would close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the feeling of his strength surrounding me. Isn’t that ironic? Feeling safe in the arms of a self-proclaimed vigilante out for revenge.

I should be terrified, not comforted.

But I’m not. Not even when his lips touch the shell of my ear, and he whispers, “And now she’s eaten from the Tree of Knowledge and set into motion the beginning of her end.”

I have lost my damn mind—like super-duper bad.

But I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about Remington being separated from his parents. When did he know that his family wasn’t the one he was born into? Was he mistreated while he was with them, or did he have a wonderful childhood, despite the horrific crime Albrecht committed?

I have no idea because Remington didn’t feel up to sharing.

Okay, he basically finished his cigarette and slammed the door in my face.

I tried calling him an embarrassing number of times, but that only led to him peeling out of the parking lot and not returning until this morning, after my shift ended.

“Get out of my chair.”

I glance up through the rays of sunshine and ignore his bloodshot eyes. “Technically, this is the motel’s chair.”

“Technically, I could buy this chairand the motelwith the cash in my pocket.”

I double over with laughter. “No, you can’t. Why is everything such an exaggeration with you?”

“Why are you so hell-bent on pissing me off?” His tone is anything but friendly when I meet his eyes and flash him a hard grin.

“I like it when you’re real.”

He arches those dark brows of his. “And you think my annoyance with you isreal?”

“Not so much your annoyance with me, just your reactions.”

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