“I can think of worse ways to pass seven minutes than thinking about that pretty little slit. It’s been a long time since I’ve been close to a woman. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you’d do to her.” He closes his eyes, leans back in his chair with a look on his face that’s half contemplative and half turned on. “First off, you’d mark up that creamy white skin or hers, wouldn’t you? Fuck yeah, you would. You’d bite her a little, leave a couple hickeys on her breasts, her throat. Then you’d tie her up tight just because you could. You’d leave bruises on her wrists, her ankles, just to see what they looked like. Just to show her—show you both—that you’re the one in control. Then you’d spread her out and spank that world famous ass, wouldn’t you? Then, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you’d fucking come all over her, come all over your fucking handiwork just because it gets you off.”
He’s mad-dogging me now, staring into my eyes and waiting for me to flinch under the onslaught of his words. Waiting for me to give something away. But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. He might have pinpoint accuracy when it comes to aiming the knife, but I refuse to let him see it.
Eventually he gets bored of the staring contest, just like he did the silence. Or maybe he just finally deems it time to deliver his parting shot.
“You know how I know? Because that’s exactly what I’d do to her.”
Despite my best intentions, my hands clench into fists of their own volition. It’s just for a second, just until I can force myself to relax again, but the damage is done.
“So you have fucked her,” Jason says with a cackle. “Of course you have. Same old Ian. Same old wolf in sheep’s clothing. Tell me, brother, does it ever get tiring pretending to be something you’re not? You may condemn me for being in here, but at least it’s honest, man. At least the world knows who I am. You?” He shakes his head. “They don’t have a fucking clue about you.”
“There’s nothing for them to know,” I tell him mildly. “I’m just a law-abiding citizen, one who is leaving here in exactly three minutes. And I’m not coming back. So if you want something—”
“You think I want something from you?” he demands, slamming his hands down on the table. “You think there’s anything you have that I want? That’s not how this works, little brother. That’s not how it’s ever worked between you and me.
“You’re here because I asked you to come. You’re here, because I wanted you to be here. You write those books because of me. You went into the FBI because of me. You run away from who you really are because of me.” He leans closer now, so close that I can see the tiny broken blood vessels under his eyes. “How’s that feel, Ian? Knowing everything you are, everything you do, is just a reaction to who I am and what I’ve done?”
His words roll over me like a tank, leaving me flattened. Leaving me even more battered, more broken, than I already am. But I’ll be damned if I let him see it. “Better than it feels for you, I bet. Better than being locked up in here while my little brother gets to lead the life that should have been mine. Fucking movie stars, making money hand over fist, doing whatever the hell he wants.” I fire the words at him, watch as they score one direct hit after another. “Yeah, I’m guessing my way feels a whole hell of a lot better than yours.”
“Fuck you!” he shouts as he lunges across the table at me. “You pansy ass little bitch. Everything you’ve got, you’ve got because of me. You fucking owe me. You fucking owe me.”
I stand up then, making sure to stay well within his reach so he knows that I’m not afraid of him. So that he knows that I don’t give a shit about his threats. “Maybe I do. But that just sucks more for you, brother. Because we both know you’re never going to be able to collect. You’re going to be in here for the rest of your sad, miserable little life and I’m going to be out there, living the life you think you should have had. So which one of us is the pansy ass little bitch, now?”
He goes for my throat, but the guard is there, yanking him down, ordering me to get out even as he slaps restraints on Jason.
I go, with Jason’s curses raining down on my head and his words echoing through my soul.
I keep it together long enough to collect my license and car key, and then I’m fumbling with the door and all but falling outside in my haste to get away.
Once I’m outside, I bend over at the waist.
Brace my hands on my knees.
Suck in a few deep breaths of fresh, clean air…just because I can. Just because I’m not locked in a cage. Just because I’m not Jason.
Fuck. Just fuck. I wanted to kill him for even saying Veronica’s name. Wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he couldn’t talk anymore. Until he couldn’t call her any more ugly names. Until he couldn’t imagine any more ugly things to do to her.
I shut him down, but not soon enough. His words still swim in my head—every nasty, gleeful description of what he imagines I’d do to her. I hate that he’s right, hate that he knows me well enough to see what no one else can. Hate even more that there’s a side of me that so closely resembles him—the same side that did to Veronica all those things he said and more.
Is it any wonder she kicked me out of her life? Any wonder she wants nothing to do with me? I might not be the monster my brother is, but I’m far from innocent.
Nausea swims through me, but I force myself to stand up. Force myself to start the walk to the back of the parking lot where I left my car.
I make it two rows before I’m bent double again. Only this time I’m dry heaving, my whole body revolting against what just happened. Against what he said and what I did.