Page 4 of Torched Spades
“Mind your own business, lady. I’m kind of having a bad day here.”
“Looks like it’s about to get even worse.” Before I can argue, she steps closer, nodding to my swollen fist. “Wiggle your fingers.”
I don’t want to wiggle my damn fingers. I want her to shut up and leave me alone. Unfortunately, her presence is fucking with my ability to make rational decisions.
“I’m fine,” I grumble.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know… You’re a big, tough guy, and my hoo-ha is quaking in your manly presence. Just indulge me, okay?”
“Your hoo-what?”I don’t know whether to be impressed or insulted, because I’m not completely sure what the fuck she just said. Shaking my head, I turn to walk away. “Forget it. I don’t have time for this.”
“Are you right-handed or left-handed?”
Jesus Christ.Spinning back around, I narrow my eyes at her. “Right-handed, but what does that have to do with—?”
“Think fast.” The words barely leave her mouth before she draws her arm back and chucks the half-eaten apple at my head. I can take a punch, but I draw the line at getting hit by flying fruit.
So, Idon’tthink; I react and catch it.
In my right hand.
A sharp pain explodes up my arm.
“What the fuck?” Cursing again, I drop the apple, watching the sticky trail it leaves behind as it rolls across the floor. The sound of a tongue clicking draws my attention back up to the tilted head and pursed lips in front of me.
“That’s what I thought. Your hand is messed up, big guy. I suggest you get it looked at and consider taking your aggression out on pillows from now on.” Stepping forward, she flashes me a private smile. “It appears concrete fights back.”
“Again, it’s cinder block… And fuck you.”
We stare in silence for a moment before she bends down and retrieves her edible weapon. The angle tightens that boxy skirt across her ass, and, okay, maybe there’sonepart of her that outfit didn’t victimize.
A nice ass and an attitude usually make for an interesting night, and in another life, I’d enjoy taming both. But that’s the kind of shit that got me a saddled with an arrogant shrink and a pain-in-the-ass watchdog.
All my attention needs to be focused north instead of south.
“Enjoy your fucking apple,” I mutter, leaving her to whatever she’s doing inside this particular circle of hell. By the time I make it to my car and hit the gas, my hand feels like it just spent an hour as a speedbump on the fucking Audubon.
But pain is the least of my concerns.
Next week a new problem will darken my doorstep. One that has me crossing four lanes of traffic without a single glance in the rearview mirror.
My new psychiatrist will be just another smug academic-type who thinks slapping clinical labels on me will diffuse the degenerate sadist lurking beneath them.
Knowledge is a dangerous beast.
Let him try to break what’s already broken.
We’ll see who begs for mercy first.
Chapter Two
BECCA
I’ve lost my mind.
Not once in five years, have I allowed myself to become involved in a patient’s legal disputes. Personal interest has never outweighed my commitment to professional distance. Then, seven days ago, Natalie Thornton’s sinking custody battle for her four-year-old daughter hit entirely too close to home, and everything went sideways.
The small brunette lets out a rattled sigh, then clutches a throw pillow. “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Brennan.” Tears brim her eyes as she hugs it to her chest like an anchor in what’s proven to be a week-long hurricane. “You saved us both.”
