Devastated (Anger Management, #1)(29)

“Shit!” he snapped when she found the thick stack of folders with her name written across the top in the bottom drawer and felt her stomach drop when she saw what was written on the face-sheet.

Everything.

“You had me investigated,” Kylie said hollowly, as she stood there, staring down at the thick folder as she realized what last night had been.

An interrogation.

“Yes,” he said, as she flipped open the cover and was forced to grab hold of the desk when her legs threatened to give out.

“Why?” she whispered hollowly, feeling sick to her stomach as she stood there, staring down at everything that she’d thought she’d left behind.

“I wanted to know who was working for me.”

“I thought we were supposed to be honest,” she said, throwing last night’s rules back in his face as she looked up to find him watching her with an expression that she couldn’t quite read.

“You’re right,” Hunter said, nodding in agreement because this went beyond a simple background check.

“Then why did you do this?” Kylie asked, shifting her attention back down to the proof that she was never going to be able to get a second chance.

“Because I wanted to know just how badly you’d planned on fucking me over.”

---

“Okay,” Kylie said, slowly nodding as she stared down at the interview notes that his men had typed up from their interview with her parents, as Hunter stood there, waiting for her to cry or-

“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning when she suddenly pushed away from the desk and walked away, leaving him with no other choice but to follow her.

“Finishing our game,” Kylie said flatly as she headed towards the kitchen.

“I believe it’s my turn to deal, right?” she asked, grabbing the bottle of rum he’d left on the counter last night before grabbing a fresh bottle of Coke from the fridge and two glasses from the cabinet.

“Fine,” he said, watching the muscle in her jaw pulse as she sat down and picked up the deck of cards they’d left on the table last night and began shuffling.

“Twenty,” Hunter said, winning the first hand.

With a nod, Kylie picked up the rum, poured a healthy amount into a glass, followed by some Coke before she picked up her glass, took a large sip and bit back a wince as she asked, “What do you want to know?”

“When did you start drinking?” he asked, thinking back to the comment her parents had made about constantly finding her passed out drunk, surrounded by empty bottles she’d stolen and couldn’t help but wonder why they’d said that when it was obvious that Kylie had never taken a drink before last night.

Shrugging, she said, “Last night.”

“I thought we were being honest,” he said, throwing her words back in her face, because if she was willing to play this game, then so was he.

“Oh, did you want to know the first time that I took a sip of alcohol?” she asked, blinking up at him.

When he nodded, she said, “I was six years old and my parents thought it would be fun to get us drunk. So, they filled my favorite red plastic cup with beer and filled a green cup for my little sister. When I refused to take a sip, my father punched me in the side of the head hard enough to slam my head into the wall where I split my ear open. The second time that I refused, my mother called me a stupid bitch, grabbed me by the back of the neck while my father forced the beer down my throat. Would you like to know what happened when I coughed it back up?” she snapped as she reached for the cards and dealt the next hand.

“No?” she asked when he said nothing. “But that’s the best part!”

“Your loss,” Kylie said with a shrug, that muscle clenching harder in her jaw as she dealt the next hand. “From that day forward, I swore that I would never drink because I was afraid that I would turn into them,” she said, as she gestured for him to look at his cards.

Watching her, he gestured for another card. She quickly tossed a card to him. “Stay,” he said, not bothering to look down at his cards as he waited for her to continue.

“Good call,” Kylie said, nodding absently as she took another card without looking at her hand and then another and then another. “Guess I lost,” she said, still not bothering to look at her hand as she picked up her glass and said, “Next question.”

“When were you diagnosed with a personality disorder?”

“Never,” she said, picking up the cards and angrily dealt the next hand.

“According to your parents you were, and they had to kick you out when you refused to take your meds,” Hunter said, checking his cards.

“Yeah, they’re real saints,” Kylie said, not bothering to play this hand out before reaching for her glass. “Except for the fact that they kicked me out because I finally stood up for myself. When my mother went to hit me because I wasn’t moving out of her way fast enough, I’d had enough, grabbed her arm, twisted it to stop her from hurting me and for the first time in my life, she backed off even as she threatened to get her gun and kill me. When my father came home, my mother told him that I’d attacked her. He told me that I had thirty minutes to get out or they’d call the police.”

“Then why did your ex-husband make the same claim?”

“Because I made the mistake of trusting him and he decided to use it against me. He was afraid that I was going to tell his family all the sick things that he was doing, but unfortunately for him, I decided to get a psych evaluation knowing that he would try using the rumors my family started against me in the divorce. The psychiatrist gave me a clean bill of mental health before he informed me that I had PTSD and clear signs of child abuse, but that was it. If you’d like to see the report for yourself, I have a copy upstairs in my suitcase,” Kylie said, meeting his gaze with a furious glare as she took another sip. “Next question.”