Page 30 of Taming Seraphine

“I... I don’t know.” She glances away.

“Look at me, Seraphine,” I say. “Are these outbursts out of your control? Do you black out?”

She shakes her head, her bottom lip quivering. “No, just...” Her head bows, and she exhales a ragged breath. “I can’t stand being prodded. Or touched.”

My brow pulls together. “What happened?”

“She wouldn’t stop asking questions. Then she slid a box of tissues to me, and I snapped.” Seraphine sniffs. “I didn’t even think about it. My hand just moved.”

I wince. This is more than just an aversion to physical touch. “We can find another therapist?—”

“No. No more,” she says in a rush. “The only person I can trust is you.”

My breathing shallows. This reminds me of a TV show where the kidnapped girl fell in love with the cop who pulled her out of a basement. The woman from Internal Affairs called it white knight syndrome. Unease twists through my insides at the thought of an emotional attachment. I’m no hero. I get paid to kill strangers in cold blood.

She clings to my jacket, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Leroi, could you be my therapist?”

ELEVEN

LEROI

I’d suspected she was building up to this request, but hearing it still takes me aback. My heart rate picks up several notches. Seraphine deserves someone better. Someone with ethics, training, experience. Someone who doesn’t get hard at the thought of her with a knife pressed to my neck.

“That’s not a good idea,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “You need a professional. There’s another woman in town?—”

“Then I’ll stab her too,” she snaps. “I want you.”

My eyes narrow. I take another look at Seraphine’s face. There are no signs of the tears that were threatening to fall, and she looks just like the defiant girl who taunted me with a cock sandwich. Scratch that. She’s more like the little vixen who sat and slid on my shaft.

She’s cornering me. Trying to take away all options until I’m forced to agree to her demands.

“You’re being a brat,” I say.

Her expression softens, and she bites her lip. “I don’t trust anyone else. And I know I can trust you not to freak out.”

So, she’s not denying being manipulative.

“I know nothing about psychology.”

“But you know how to control your urges.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. She thinks we’re similar? The difference between us is that I’ve never killed in a fit of emotion. At least not after becoming an adult.

“My situation is different. I only kill for money or out of necessity.”

“You didn’t have to slit the gas station man’s throat last night,” she murmurs. “But you did it because that’s what you wanted.”

“I did it to protect you. And myself. He would have reported you to the authorities and led the cops to my door.”

She hums as though dismissing my explanation as bullshit. “Then it’s in your best interest to teach me how to be more like you.”

Any notion that Seraphine is innocent flies out the window when I remember that this is the same young woman who got me all hot and bothered this morning before conquering me with a knife at my cock.

She’s trying to wrap me around her twisted little finger.

“I’m a monster, not a mentor,” I mutter.

“Then teach me to be a better monster,” she says with a practiced pout.

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