Lovegame(112)

My jaw clenches despite myself and I force myself to relax. Force myself to let it go when all I really want to do is reach across the table and wipe the smug look off his face. Instead I just shrug, keep my voice low as I answer, “In what world would I have hit that?”

He laughs. “Good point, good point. But you best get on that, son. Prime * like hers isn’t gonna wait around forever.”

It takes a lot of restraint not to plow my fist into his filthy mouth. At this point, it’s only the knowledge that he’s expecting it—no, not just expecting, but hoping for it—that keeps me from breaking a couple of his teeth. “She’s not really my type.”

He laughs, full and loud. “Now we both know that isn’t true, don’t we, bro? Tall blondes with long legs and good racks have been cranking your tractor since you were fourteen years old.”

“Cranking my tractor?” I deliberately go a little heavy on the twang when I repeat him. “Who knew all it took to turn you into a redneck was fifteen years locked up in Texas?”

He shrugs. “I’m adaptable. It’s part of that whole survival of the fittest thing.”

“I’m pretty sure Darwin wasn’t referring to rapists and murderers when he proposed evolution.”

“See, that’s your problem right there. You’ve always underestimated me. Because I’m pretty sure guys like me—guys like you—are exactly who he was referring to.”

“I’m nothing like you.” It slips out before I can hold it back.

“Oh, brother, you are exactly like me. It’s what freaks you out so much. What had you running to the FBI like the little * you were. Because you couldn’t handle what’s inside of you. Just like you can’t handle it now. But we both know that if you had your shot at little Miss Veronica Romero, you’d take it. You’d spread her out and f*ck her like an animal, wouldn’t you?”

My stomach pitches and rolls, but I hold it in and glance very deliberately at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got seven minutes left. Is this really why you wanted me to come?”

“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 f*cking come all over her, come all over your f*cking 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 f*cked 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 f*cking 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.”