A vein in his temple pulses. His jaw goes rigid, and he stands up, looming over the desk. The air in the room feels like it’s about to catch fire.
“What?” he growls.
“I overstepped,” I mutter. “It was a lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again, Mr. Morelli.”
I head for the door, my heels clicking. I can feel the heat radiating off him, a violent pressure at my back.
“Is this it, Doctor?”
I stop. I turn. I even manage a small, empty smile. It’s a mask, and it’s the best one I’ve ever worn.
“You were right, Mr. Morelli. There’s nothing to end because there was never anything to start. We crossed boundaries that shouldn’t have been crossed. I apologize again. It was… unprofessional. Any future sessions will be strictly clinical. I’ll coordinate the schedule through Lucian. But I have a busy week ahead, and I’m not sure I can fit you in.”
I know I’m a fool. Only a fool sleeps with a psychopath. Only a fool thinks she can find a heart in a man who uses a prison massacre as a coping mechanism. I’m hurt—but my pride is the only thing keeping me from breaking down.
He moves with that terrifying, predatory speed. He doesn’t stop until the tips of his handmade Italian shoes are touching my heels.
“Why are you so busy this week, Doctor?” He’s breathing hard.
I should be the bigger person. But I want to hurt him. I want to remind him that while he might be a killer, I’m the one who knows exactly where his nerves are.
“Normally, I wouldn’t disclose my personal schedule,” I whisper. “But since I’m clearing my books, you should know. I’ve been feeling… frustrated. I’m taking a vacation. Clubs, bars, seeing if I can find a man who knows what to do with his hands. I’m craving a good time, Valerio. To be honest? My last experience with a virgin was… underwhelming.”
His face doesn’t just turn red; it goes dark, a bruised, violent purple-red. His gloved hands are shaking at his sides.
I don’t wait for the explosion. I leave him behind.
The heavy oak door isn’t enough to muffle the sound. I’m ten feet down the hallway when the first crash hits. Then comes the roar.
CRACK.
That was my desk. I hear the glass of my windows rattle in their frames as he slams something—probably my chair—against the wall. He’s trying to kill the space where I made him feel something.
What have I done?
I took a man who has spent twenty-nine years terrified of his own shadow, and I told him that the only time he was vulnerable was a disappointment.
I’m a doctor. I’m supposed to heal, and instead, I just kicked a man who’s already down.
Who’s the actual monster—me or him? Or both?
Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
Isink until the bathwater plugs my ears, trying to drown out my thoughts. I fucked it up. I acted like a child. He burned me with his words, so I threw a grenade back. If I had actually been the doctor—maybe I could have salvaged the man I touched yesterday. Instead, I let my emotions get to me.
I sit up, gasping. I need a second opinion before I lose my mind.
I text Josh after I towel myself dry. We were in the same cohort at Columbia. We sometimes trade anonymous case files when we hit a wall. But he doesn’t know exactly what I do, what I know and never confess to the police, or who I give therapy and prescriptions to—unless I want to lose my license. To him, I’m just Charlotte, the girl who overthinks her patients.
He’s free in thirty. We agree on a 24-hour diner in Midtown.
I throw on jeans and an oversized sweater. My eyes are sunken, purple-hued bruises that even my most expensive concealer can’t hide. I scrape my hair into a messy knot and head out.
The moment I hit the sidewalk, the back of my neck burns like there’s a laser focused on my spine. I spin around, but there’s nothing but a yellow cab screeching by and a homeless man digging through a bin.
He’shere. Following me. I’m sure he is.
