Page 79 of Minding the Minotaur
Otis glowers at me. “Are you capable of seeing a bigger picture than your own selfish needs?”
I balk at that. “Are you capable of seeing a bigger picture called love? I’m in love with Sammy. L-O-V-E love. Do you even understand what that word means?”
Otis jumps up and starts pacing. “I had a partner once, I do know about feelings.”
“Yeah, right. You’re like a fucking green machine. All youthink about is picking apart bits of metal and wire and putting them back together. Scribbling numbers on pieces of paper and piling up useless junk all over your fucking desk.”
“And simultaneously run the whole of law enforcement.” Otis’s jaw juts ominously.
“Well, good on you mate, doing your duty like the perfect fucking orc you are. Makes you happy, does it?”
“Yes, actually.” He scowls. “Duty is more important to me than a fleeting infatuation.”
My nostrils flare. “Infatuation? Fuck you, Otis Cane. You wouldn’t know love if it hit you between your fucking red eyeballs.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that duty is love, Arlo? Have you thought of that? Love for the greater good.”
We’re both standing now, my tail lashing from side to side. “I’m getting that fucking cape and I’m going to rescue her.”
“Oh yeah, great, you thick-headed oaf. If she’s still in a coma she’ll die if you bring her back down here.”
“I’ll save her—my love will.” It’s a dumb thing to say, the stuff of fairytales, but I want so badly to believe it.
“You try it, Arlo and I’ll put you back on house arrest.”
“Who’s going to guard me? Tippy?”
He growls, and I growl louder. Fists raised, we circle each other. I’ve never had a fight with Otis before, but right now I want to bop that orc so hard on his wide green nose that he sees stars.
Otis’s eyes flame bright red. He’s as livid as I am.
“Go on then, you green bastard, just try and stop me.” I start shadow boxing around him.
Otis takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves. Years ago, this was how you settled a score. In a ring in the dust. They still do it this way on the lower levels.
And, very occasionally, like now, on level one.
I throw a punch, but Otis’s head jerks back and I miss him.
We dance around each other, my hooves scuffing up the rug.
I lay another punch, and this time my fist grazes the side of his cheek. He grunts, then lands one straight on my snout.
My head kicks back. I bellow in outrage and reach for my nose. Blood appears on my hand.
“Bastard!” I shout, getting ready for a karate kick.
But either Otis trips me, or I trip on the crumpled carpet, because the next thing I know I’m hurtling across the room—just as the door opens.
I manage to scupper to a stop, splaying my hooves to act as brakes. And find myself staring into a pair of amused green eyes.
“Well, this looks like fun,” drawls a familiar voice.
My nostrils scent the aroma of tobacco mixed with mint.
It’s fucking Jax.
CHAPTER 25
