“Tell me about it,” an edgy tone that could cut glass made me snap my head up.
Sam.
Sam wore a pea coat, looking like a dashing eighteenth century earl, and leaning on the wall opposite to the one I was sitting against, an unlit cigarette stuck between his gorgeous lips. Thank the lord he didn’t pull a Zoolander and light it up next to a gas station.
“Fair is where you get cotton candy. It has nothing to do with real life. Now, tell me how you found yourself in Westford as opposed to Brigham Hospital, where your ass should have been tonight.”
He’d been following me here.
But how?
And more importantly … why?
Because you got his attention, and now he is waiting to see what you’ll do with it. You burned his cash in front of his establishment, had anal sex with him in a wig and a hooker costume, and operated on his soldiers in an underground clinic. He just discovered you are a monster, too, and now wants to know how deep your darkness runs.
I quickly wiped the tears off my face, straightening my spine, and stood up.
“Shouldn’t you be playing cards with my brothers at Badlands right about now? Or are you missing Cook’s famous apple pie to be here?”
“Shouldn’t you be answering my fucking question?” he retorted.
“The answer is none of your business,” I bit out harshly.
“This old tune again.” He chuckled, looking sideways as he shook his head. “You are my business. My boss’ daughter. I should have kept tabs on you and tailed your ass earlier, but I didn’t. So here we are. Now let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? I checked everywhere worth checking and cross-examined my sources. You are not a resident at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.”
Merde, merde, merde.
Triple merde with a cherry on top.
He was on to me.
“Been checking on me, Brennan?” I plastered what I hoped was a teasing smile on my face. “I’m flattered, but not surprised. Still, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it does. For starters, it means you are a fucking liar. My least favorite trait in people. But then I thought to myself, maybe the lie isn’t so big. Maybe it’s about prestige. Little, perfect Aisling didn’t want her parents to know she didn’t get accepted to one of the most respected hospitals in the country…” he took another step toward me, his nostrils flaring, his jaw hardening so sharply it looked like it was carved in marble “…so I went and checked with all of the hospitals in Boston, every single fucking one. Guess what?”
I didn’t have to guess. I knew.
“You’re not registered anywhere as a doctor. You turned all of them down. Every single fucking offer. At this point, I got suspicious. Did you even finish med school at all?” he asked theatrically, taking yet another step, getting closer to me, crowding me, pinning me against the wall. “So I sniffed around that angle, too. You did, in fact, graduate from Harvard Medical School. So it’s not that you aren’t a doctor.” He took the final step toward me, and now we were so close his scent and air and menace seeped into my body, hitting roots, conquering me. “Whatever you do, you’re doing it under the radar. What the fuck are you playing at, Nix?”
His body was flush against mine, big and strong and threatening. My thighs clenched together, the space between them empty and needy. I drew a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. I had to find my voice.
“You really want to know?”
He stared at me expressionlessly. Of course he did. Sam Brennan knew everything worth knowing about everyone, and I piqued his interest.
I curled my index finger, signaling him to lean down so I could whisper in his ear. He complied, his scowl deepening with annoyance. I pressed my lips against his ear, feeling his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my stomach.
“None. Of. Your. Business,” I breathed.
He jerked back, his thunderstorm eyes dark and depraved, and suddenly, I had a feeling I did a very, very foolish thing taunting this man, and I was going to pay for it dearly.
“Don’t play games with me, Aisling. I will win. Easily. And I’m a bad sport and notoriously unfair, just like your miserable life.”
I stared at him defiantly, keeping my mouth shut. My teeth chattered. My whole body hummed with energy, but I didn’t back down.
“Do you want to be humiliated?” He grinned, starting to enjoy this game.
“No. I want you to make up your mind about what you want to do with me,” I said quietly.
“You’ve been running after me with your skirt up, begging to be fucked since before you got your period.”
He chuckled, producing a Swiss knife from his pocket, running it up my dress and slashing a deep, long slit through its middle, right between my thighs. The dress ripped noisily. He tucked his knife back into his pocket, dipping his hand in and brushing his finger along my slit through my underwear.