Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
"I believe I just stood here and listened to a long part of Laz's back story. So, no, I haven't friggen forgotten to do my job. What is with the attitude?"
"No attitude. Just making sure you're earning your paycheck."
My blood was boiling. Boiling. I didn't do anger often so when it coursed through me, I was ill-equipped to handle it properly.
So I lashed out.
"I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to right now," I started, advancing him, pleased when he actually went back a step. "But I am not one of your probates. I am not beneath you. I have a job to do and I have to do it while you are grab-assing and insulting and demeaning me to the men around here. I am not going to put up with you turning into a goddamn jackass to boot. Check your fucking attitude when you speak to me."
"Careful, Mina," he warned, his voice even colder.
"Careful or... what, Renny? You might be a genuine ass when you're in one of these moods of yours, but you won't put your hands on me. So, what? You'll make comments about my unhappy upbringing? Oh, wait, you already did that. You have nothing on me. So keep your threats to yourself and do your damn job and leave me the hell alone."
"You're right. I don't have much on you. Funny, that. Seeing as I have known you for months, have been trying to get to know you for months and you won't give me shit. You barely even give me a smile. But five minutes in the kitchen with some nobody fighter and you are spilling all kinds of shit to him."
"Seriously?" I asked, mouth falling open slightly. "You can't be serious right now. You're... jealous?"
"You went from soaking your panties for me in my room to melting into me as we sat in the main room and you zoned out to spilling all your secrets to a guy you don't know from Adam? So, what? I'm good for a fuck but not some background information?"
"So this is insecurity," I concluded. "That's interesting." If he wanted to play cold, well, he was out of his depth. Because women, yeah, we could freeze your dick off when we wanted to.
"Oh fuck off with that," he said as I turned to go stir the soup.
"Fuck off with what? A taste of your own medicine? It's bitter isn't it? And I bet no one else is willing to shove it down your throat. I'll be happy to freaking gag you with it."
"You're being..."
"An ass?" I supplied, brow raised. "Cold? Detached? Insulting? Hey, Kettle, it's Pot again... and you're still fucking black."
To my surprise, he froze for a long second, watching me. It happened gradually. I would have missed it if I hadn't been watching him so closely. But the skin around his eyes softened. His jaw stopped being so clenched. Then a slow, familiar smirk tugged at his lips.
"You curse a lot more when you're riled," he observed, clearly enjoying that little tidbit.
Really, it was unsettling how he switched back and forth between the two versions of himself. And, being that I wasn't used to it, I was finding it hard to let go of the anger I felt, the offense I took to everything he had said. It wasn't exactly fair of me. I knew he had some issues and I knew that, in a way, his moods like that weren't really him. They were his monsters, his damage, his scars all wearing his face and talking with his mouth.
But that knowledge didn't make it easier to accept the cruelty he was capable of.
Because, fact of the matter was, one afternoon when I was sitting with L feeling useless, I had finally looked into him.
And a search of Renny Renolds West led me pretty immediately to a Roland West and a Katherine Renny-West. And the scary thing about that, going in knowing he ran away and he was dealing with some psychological issues, was the fact that Roland West and Katherine Renny-West were both shrinks.
You would think that two people in the mental health field could easily produce a very well-rounded and stable child. But, more often than not, in my career, I had found just the opposite to be true. Especially when both parents were in the mental health field.
As I read through all the articles and accolades for the power couple, I got a sick, twisting, God-awful feeling of dread in my stomach. I could find no proof of it, but I knew I just knew they had somehow used that innocent little boy of theirs as a guinea pig. They poked his buttons to see if he screamed or laughed or raged or peed himself.
And they created a monster that did the exact same thing.