Page 183 of Toxic Kiss

I ruin everything I love, and all I have left is me and the wreckage I can’t outrun.

chapter

forty-six

“You don’t scare me the way you used to. That’s what scares you.” – Haven

HAVEN

Stepping out of the limo in front of the hospital, the Rocky Mountains backdrop is too idyllic, too clean for what’s happening.

Each breath burns going into my lungs. The sun beats down, reflecting off the building’s windows, turning the front of the medical center into something blinding and hostile instead of safe.

I’ve always hated hospitals. Just passing one makes me think of my mother lying in one of those beds, slowly withering away. But this one is worse. There is nothing comforting about this place.

Not with Cy locked inside. And not with her standing out front, talking to reporters, and dabbing her eyes in her performance of a grief-stricken mother. She is far from it. My stepmother is a viper…poisonous and deadly, but not loving.

Anita stands at the base of the steps, posture and hair perfect. Not a single strand is out of place despite the heat. Large sunglasses shield her face as if she’s a movie star. Anita believes she is untouchable.

Then…something inside me snaps.

I march toward her, and the band follows my lead.

“Haven?” Declan calls from somewhere behind me, but it’s too late.

My boots slam hard against the ground. Every step is fueled by years of pent-up anger clawing up my throat. I’ve always hated her. I tried to accept her, I really did, but she made it impossible to love her. Hell, she made it impossible to like her.

Anita sees me coming, and I half expect her to tuck tail and run, but she doesn’t flinch. If anything, her mouth curves slightly, like she’s been waiting for this.

Of course she has.

There are people everywhere, hospital staff, security, and fans who have caught wind of an exclusive story. They all linger behind barricades. Phones out and cameras raised, catching the moment before it even starts.

Good.

Let them fucking watch. I have nothing left to lose.

“You,” I growl, stopping a few feet in front of her. My hands curl into fists at my sides. “What the hell did you do?”

She reminds me of a bird of prey as she tilts her head slightly like she’s examining something beneath her.

“Haven,” she says coolly. “I wondered how long it would take for you to show up and make a scene,” she says. holding out her hand to look at her nails. “It seems to be your thing.”

I step closer.

“A scene? You had your son locked in a psychiatric ward for no reason, and I’m the one making a scene?”

She tips her sunglasses down just enough for me to see the flicker of anger pass behind her eyes. It’s gone just as fast, replaced by arrogance.

“He needs help,” she replies, smoothly.

The bitch has definitely practiced that line in front of the mirror one too many times.

“Something he clearly isn’t getting from the people around him.”

My stomach twists.

“Don’t even try to pretend this is about his well-being. This is about control.”