Page 40 of Brutal
“It would be a shame,” I concur. “I haven’t gotten enough use out of you yet.”
“Exactly. You want me to die because you meant to do it, not because you screwed up and caused an infection.” Mimosa smiles, then adds, “I really don’t want to die though. Could you please get your shit together?”
She really does have to be feverish and delusional.
I snort. “Yeah. Whatever.”
I set her down onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over her.
There’s nothing kind or compassionate about it. I’m not going soft.
I don’t want to have to deal with a dead body, and it’s easier if she’s in my bed so I can watch her.
And that’s all it is.
It’s not that she’s new and interesting. It’s not that she’s quick-witted. I’m not worried at all.
I’m not intrigued.
Nope.
Not at all.
CHAPTER 10
Mimosa
At least it doesn’t hurt to walk anymore.
That’s the only small consolation I have, because everything else in my current situation is probably as bad as almost getting drowned several days earlier.
Brutal parks the car next to a bunch of other luxury vehicles. The only building in this isolated forested area is an eyesore of concrete, completely out of place in the middle of all this nature.
The flimsy clothes he put me in aren’t doing much to keep me covered, given how sheer the fabric is. It matches my orange hair, though. I wonder if he picked it on purpose or if he just happened to have it lying around.
He doesn’t seem like the type to have been so deliberate with clothing, though.
He helps me out of the car and wraps an arm casually around my shoulders. “We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, Mimi.” His voice is laden with excitement, and it doesn’t even sound like the dark amusement he reserves for me. It’s like he’s taking me to a surprise party for my birthday or something innocent.
There’s nothing innocent about this.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
He hates it when I don’t show emotion—but that’s probably why I do it. It’s my innocent rebellion, the one that gets me punished but shows me so much about him as a person.
One thing I’ve learned over these past few days is how much he wants to be in control. He talks about his friends derisively, that they’ve lost their spark or their touch, but there’s jealousy there too. He wishes he were like them.
Drake Brutal knows that his position is precarious.
He knows he isn’t as collected as they are, and every reminder that he isn’t sets him off and has him punishing me.
At least he hasn’t been too creative since the near drowning, but that makes me especially wary of what’s going on in this building.
When we get to the door, a big guy with muscles nearly bulging out of his skin looks me and Brutal over. He must recognize Brutal because he waves us through.
Brutal walks in with the certainty of experience — or maybe it’s just the arrogance of someone who can buy any building or business he walks into. That might not be the case here, given the price tags on the cars outside, but that doesn’t stop him from acting the part.
It’s dark, the air saturated with cigarette and cigar smoke. It’s oddly quiet, though I can hear the murmur of voices coming from just ahead.