Page 42 of Heal Me

“I’m the fucking judge, jury, and executioner.” I smile as I toss him on the couch. He makes a pathetic whimpering sound as he takes in a jagged breath.

Having swiped a makeup compact from the purse of the lady at the front desk, I bust out the glass. Taking a seat beside Brad, I channel my full mind-bending powers—everything I’ve got.

Brad averts his gaze, so I grip him by the neck and force his eyes to meet mine. “Brad, you’re overcome with guilt for what you did to Charlotte.”

“I don’t know what guilt feels like,” he says in a daze.

Fuck, he’s a sociopath. He probably doesn’t. “Then you’re overcome with the feeling of hopelessness for your situation. A lifetime of being trapped in this depressing room is too much for you to bear.”

“Yes.”

I smile as I continue, “so much so, that you’re going to take this piece of glass and slit your left wrist, and then your right wrist—vertically along the vein, nice and deep. And then you’re going to quietly bleed out on this linoleum floor, terrified of the hell that awaits you in the afterlife,” I instruct him.

He nods, reaching out his hand for the glass shard, but it disappears from my hand.

“Cupid, you can’t. Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to kill the little shit myself,” Damion says, now standing in the doorway.

“Then you do the honors, my friend,” I say calmly, but inside I’m seething with rage.

Damion shakes his head. “You know I own Brad’s soul. That’s the only reason he’s still breathing.” Brad grabs his throat and begins wheezing, eyes wide with terror. Sadly, Damion releases his invisible grip, and Brad takes in a gulp of air. “You can’t interfere with my contract and you know it.” Damion turns to me with crossed arms.

“I’m merely introducing myself. Just so Brad knows he could be seeing much more of me in the future,” I tell Brad with what I’m sure is a deranged smile as I shift back into my human form.

“Brad, you’ve got a new friend. Lucky you. And of course you know you can count on seeing your good friend, Damion.”

Brad hugs his knees to his chest and begins rocking back and forth and muttering quietly to himself.

The lawyer in me knows Damion is right; the Watcher in me wants blood, damn the rules. I reluctantly stand. The lawyer wins. This round.

Damion and I walk out to the front desk. “Wait, you weren’t escorted out?” the woman asks with a concerned look. That is, until her eyes land on Damion’s signature smile.

“We were too excited to come back and see you, Shirley,” Damion says, flashing his dimples as he winks at the white-haired woman.

She flushes and waves us on. I hang back and do a quick wipe of the woman’s mind, dropping her now mirror-less compact back in her purse, and catch up to Damion.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask as we make our way to the parking lot.

“Vivian’s a sharp one. She called me, said you might be paying Brad a visit. For future reference, don’t borrow your getaway car from the world’s biggest busybody.”

“Lesson learned,” I grumble.

“I’m not even going to bill you for saving you from yourself. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember retaining you,” I say hotly.

“My second pro bono good deed for the decade, then.” We reach Vivian’s car, and I see that he’s driven Aubry’s car, parked two spots down.

“Let me buy the rights to his soul. Name your price.” Damion’s about to shoot me down; I can feel it, so I say, “My Aston Martin.”

“You’ve got it bad for this girl.” Damion whistles. “A tempting offer, and as amazing as I would look in that car, the answer is no.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I promised Aubry I wouldn’t kill him.”

“Now who has it bad?” I counter. “You promised Aubry you wouldn’t kill him. You never said anything about me,” I try to sell him.

“Look, what happened to Aubry was traumatic.” Damion pins me with his gaze. “I know because I was there. But what happened to Charlotte—traumatic doesn’t even cover it. I don’t blame you for wanting to kill the little fucker.”

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