“You’re joking,” I mutter. “I can barely afford to take care of the two of us. Adding another living thing that needs vet visits and food would be a nightmare.”
“Bold of you to assume we’re ever going to let you leave,” he says, and it sounds like a dark promise.
I’ll blame the tremble that slides down my spine on the fever. Clearly my insides are frying…right along with my intelligence.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cormac
Trying to rush the process of breaking someone’s will to live isn’t recommended. My father taught me much of what I know, and there are steps that I follow for a reason. Moving too quickly through those steps can cause shock.
McCarthy is still in the denial phase. He truly believes his brothers will find a way to save him. I’ve informed him all about how the last three Demons’ members in Boston met their demise.
No one from the home chapter in Florida knows he’s alive. They wouldn’t have any idea where to even begin looking. He still has hope that I’ll fuck up, and he’ll be able to kill me and make his escape. Little does he know, this place is a fortress. If he managed to take me out, he’d still be trapped inside without the code to exit.
I expect he’ll be ready to talk within three days, but I once again shut off all lights to his cell and dose him with a hallucinogenic and an upper before leaving him to rot the rest of the day away. He’s got quite the tolerance to, well, every drug I’ve tested on him, but that points to a heavy history of recreational drug use. We’ll have to see how he feels when heisn’t the one in charge of making the call for when it’s time to get off the ride.
It bothers me that I wasn’t able to gain more information. Unfortunately, at this point, all we can do is wait for his will to break.
Hurrying through my shower, I dress in sweats and a T-shirt before popping into Charlotte’s room. Only, I don’t make it far before stopping dead in my tracks.
Pat has Charlotte’s hands pinned above her head. He’s on top of her—still clothed from the waist down—and they’re kissing. She’s only in her bra and panties, but I’m more confused by whatever he’s holding to the side of her neck with his free hand.
My head tilts.
I still can’t figure out what it is, but Charlotte attempts to squirm away from it.
Huh.
Apparently he’s torturing her while distracting her with a kiss.
That can’t be right.
I prowl closer.
Patrick must clock me approaching because he pulls back from their kiss. Charlotte follows his lips, but a low growl rattles out of his chest as he bares his teeth at me.
I jolt, more out of surprise than fear.
What climbed up his ass and died?
“What was that about?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
Pat shakes his head and moves to kneel between Charlotte’s thighs, rather than being stretched out over her. “I didn’t mean to growl at you. My instincts are all fucked up.”
My nostrils flare, scenting the air.
I’m smacked with Charlotte’s perfume and the smell of Patrick’s arousal. The latter causes my nose to wrinkle, and I have the irrational urge to tell him to get out so he can’t corrupt Charlotte’s delectable cherry limeade scent.
“Get your ass over here,” Patrick growls.
“Cormac,” Charlotte gasps, twisting her head to smile at me. She stretches her hand across the bed, wiggling her fingers.
She looks pleased to see me. No one ever seems that excited when I walk into a room. The fluttering in my stomach takes me by surprise. I rarely feel anything too deeply, but I’ve been attracted to her since we met, and I want her to want me just as badly as I ache for her.
Patrick uses her distraction to pull what I can now tell is an ice pack off her neck, relocating it to her stomach. Apparently there was one on the other side, and he moves that one next.
Charlotte doesn’t like it at all, and her hands fly to her sides to try to pry them off. “I hate you so much!”
