“I would have prevailed.” Eastman sounded so confident that Soren’s smirk almost became a smile. “Admittedly, I underestimated the man’s will to live.”
“The biggest pieces of shit always fight the hardest. That’s basic training, Glasses.” Soren dusted himself off and stood.
“Why’d you bring up the family thing?” Eastman asked, waving off Soren’s hand when he extended it to help him up.
“Wanted to see what motivates you.”
Eastman stared at Soren for a long disgruntled moment. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”
“Why not? Turnabout is fair play.”
“Turnabout... What do you mean?”
Soren wiped down his knife before gesturing around the room with the tip of the blade. “You’ve infringed on my world. Seems only fair I get to infringe upon yours a little bit.” He tapped his temple, failing to hold back a smile when Eastman pressed his lips together so tightly the color fled from the edges. “See what makes you tick. Don’t worry, I won’t ask about an Oedipus complex.”
Eastman turned away from the wink Soren tacked on and dropped to a crouch at Killeen’s head before sliding his arms under the dead guy’s shoulders. He halted Soren with a violent shake of his head and an insistent, “I’ve got it.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Soren waited as Eastman grunted and struggled for a solid minute before managing to move Killeen’s dead weight a few feet across the floor. “Got a plan here, Doc?”
Eastman glared. “I’m just moving him out of the way of the door. That’s it. That’s the plan. After that, he can rot here.”
Soren hummed lightly in consternation. “Bad idea. This wasn’t your original plan, was it? You sped it up on account of me, huh?” Eastman opened his mouth and promptly shut it again before Soren continued. “I’m gonna give you credit for probably initially having something more solid. But this”—he waved the knife around—“is poor form and doesn’t reflect well upon what I’m sure is an otherwise very smart brain.”
“Yes, well, I’ve got a thorough understanding of human impulses and rash decisions. You can trust that I know how to pivot when I need to.”
“Whenever anyone uses the word ‘trust’ in a sentence associated with themselves, I know they’re bullshitting me.”
A muscle twitched in Eastman’s jaw before he ironed out his expression. “Interesting perception. If you’d like, you can leave now. I’ve got this handled.” He started at Soren’s loud laughter, his gaze immediately going to the door before he hissed out, “Fuck’s sake, just go already.”
“Can’t,” Soren drawled, gaze caught on that muscle once more working overtime in Eastman’s jaw. He imagined the doctor usually had better control of it. Soren kinda liked this version of the doctor, though. The raw edges were enticing. “I’m invested now.” He nudged Eastman aside, hooked his forearm around Killeen’s neck, and hauled him closer to the door. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna do a quick little cleanup, then we’re gonna take his body with us and—” He held up a hand when Eastman started to protest. “It’s better without a body. I’ve got a place to take him. Just relax and go with the tide. Seems like something you’d advise, yeah?”
A long moment passed between them before the doc muttered a tight, “Fine.”
Soren glanced at his watch and then gathered cleaning supplies from the closet.
They managed to get the office back in decent shape, Eastman moving efficiently if not silently, but at least he wasn’t arguing with Soren anymore. Though, Soren had to admit he didn’t mind when the man argued with him either. He liked the sound of his voice. There was percussion to it, a rhythm he’d not noticed in anyone else ever before. “Do you do hypnotherapy, Doc?” he wondered aloud and arched a brow at the flabbergasted look he got in response. “Just curious.” Turning away, he squatted down next to Killeen, examining his wounds, before he ripped the long sleeves from his shirt. “Minimize the drips when we drag him out,” he explained before the doc could ask, then knotted the fabric tightly around Killeen’s open wounds.
“You look like a poor man’s version of Rambo.”
“What’s the rich version look like?” Soren noted Eastman’s lips twitched at the corner. He stood. “I’ll pull the car closer.” Not to mention take care of whatever goon was outside. In retrospect, Soren should’ve done that first. Ah well. “You look like that guy fromAmerican Psycho.”
“Never seen it. You’ve got…” Eastman gestured to his own jaw.
“Five o’clock shadow.” Soren grinned at the jest but also because he was imagining the doc watchingAmerican Psycho.No way he hadn’t seen it. Then again, maybe not. As Ronin had said, the doc was indeed weird. “You’ll get there someday. A few more years, a little more testosterone.”
“You need help.”
“Lucky me, I happen to be in the presence of a doctor. Think you can fix me?” Soren ignored Eastman’s flat look.
“There are blood smears all over your cheek.”
Soren brushed his knuckles over his cheek, then stepped in close to the doc, their toes almost touching. He thought Eastman wanted to take a step back, but the guy remained solidly in place. “Get ‘em for me?”
“You want to see what I’ll do.” Eastman spoke quietly as he held Soren’s gaze, though the muscle at his jaw was still going crazy.
“You’ve got this muscle that flutters like a butterfly wing when you’re agitated.”
“I’ll work on that.”
