Chapter 7
Lynn
Iput my grand plans to stab Cobra in every available space on his body on hold because I actually liked the bastard.
He was combative and a fucking smart-mouth, and he never shut the fuck up, but with every game, it became easier to breathe, to feel the limbs attached to my torso, to feel my toes, my fingers, my heart pumping.
I still had enough drugs floating around my body that the pain was minimal, and if there was some discomfort inside me, it was easier to ignore it when Cobra threw a tantrum after losing to me three races in a row.
“This is bullshit,” he erupted, a vein pulsing on his forehead. “How do you keep winning?”
I snorted, helping myself to a slice of the pizza he’d heated up, coincidentally after my stomach rumbled.
Neither of us acknowledged it; I handled kindness about as well as he handled being kind.
“Sheer talent. Years spent honing my expertise. A mastery of Mario Kart that would stun even its creators. Take your pick.”
“You’re cheating.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Cobra. It’s a bad look on you.”
He showed me his teeth. I showed mine in a grin.
It felt good, beating him into the ground via video game, even if it did remind me of playing with Niall, my kid brother, and Mum yelling at us both to turn it off and go help her with tea.
Memories hit me from too many angles, good and bad and full of grief, then there was the ever-present darkness trying to drown me.
My head had gone under a few times, but I managed to claw myself back to the surface.
“Tell me how you’re doing it,” Cobra demanded, unaware that his tantrum pulled me from the mire of darkness and back to the present. “Are you using cheats?”
“Are you losing your sad little mind?” I drawled, watching him angrily bite into a slice of pizza, chewing more aggressively than he had any need to. I smirked.
“There’s got to be something,” he insisted, frowning at the paused screen. “That or you’re some kind of prodigy. Are you a professional?” he demanded suddenly, like it just occurred to him. “Are you a world fucking Mario Kart champion or some shit?”
“Three-time world cup winner,” I said with a straight face.
He stared at me for a moment, seemed to realise I was fucking with him, then snarled. “I fucking hate you.”
“The feeling’s mutual. You’re a nightmare to play against. I’ve never met a worse loser, and I used to game with my six-year-old brother.”
“Asshole,” he muttered, sinking back into the chair beside me and throwing a sulky glare my way. “So you have a brother. Any more family? You can borrow someone’s phone to call them if you know their numbers.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was full of crushed glass. I shook my head, jaw clenched. Looked at the controller held so awkwardly in my bandaged hands. “Nah, no point. They’re all dead.”
Cobra said nothing for a long moment, then sighed. “Husband? Girlfriend? Anyone waiting for you to go home?”
“Nope.” I started another game, mashing the keys violently enough that my fingers protested, a flash of pain stealing my breath. “You?” I asked, mostly to redirect his focus, to get him talking about anything except me being alone in the world for the rest of my damned life. No children, ever.
“I’ve got a dad and sister. We’re close, but I don’t get to see them as often as I should since joining the Knights.
This shit has a way of fucking you up and I don’t want them anywhere near it.
No husband or girlfriend, though. I’m not relationship material.
” A low, dangerous laugh. “You’ve met me.
Do I strike you as the type to have dinner ready for when my spouse gets home, or go out on cute little café dates, or give loving massages and then wash my wife’s hair in the bath? ”
“You have a very strange idea of a relationship, weirdo.”
“Aw, you picked out a cute nickname for me.” He batted his long lashes at me when I shot a glare his way.
“You really are a fucking nightmare.”
He snorted. “That’s a better nickname, asshole.”
I rolled my eyes, not quite able to get rid of the spiky pain in my chest. Even a bastard like Cobra had a loving family, but I would be alone forever. A fucking hysterectomy. That glass pressed deeper into my throat.
I started a new game because it was easier than talking, than letting the darkness rise again. Cobra took the hint and grabbed his controller, determination pinching his brow, setting his mouth into a flat line. I was still going to destroy him, but I enjoyed watching him try so hard.
The slow-motion scowl he turned to give me when I won made me laugh. A real, deep laugh.
“You’re fucking annoying,” he grumbled. “But I guess you’re pretty fun to play with.”
You’re going to be so much fun to play with. Fight me, bitch. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.
I went cold all over, my face slack, no longer smiling. A cool sweat made me shiver, goosebumps scratching up and down my arms.
“The fuck you looking at?” I snapped when I noticed Cobra’s eyes on me, his head tilted as he contemplated me having a fucking breakdown.
I bared my teeth. He blinked, surprise furrowing his brow. “What just happened?”
“I got sick of your bullshit is what happened,” I shoved out of the chair, cursing myself for getting too comfortable.
My skin crawled, itching all over. What the fuck was I thinking, sitting here spending time with a stranger?
Not just any stranger, but a known psychopath with a reputation for torturing people. What was to stop him torturing me?
“I’m done here,” I said, shoving the chair towards him so there was an obstacle between us. “You’re a piece of shit; I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.”
“Gaming,” he drawled.
“Lapse of common sense,” I muttered, keeping him in my line of sight as I backed up towards the door. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
He held up his hands, ink on everything but his palms. “I was already planning to, asshole. I’ve got shit to do today, but if you wanna game again tomorrow, I’ll leave the door open.”
“I’d rather bleach my fucking eyeballs,” I snarled and slammed the door behind myself, wishing it felt as satisfying as it sounded.
Come on, you were supposed to be fun, a challenge. You can’t be broken already. Thought you were gonna fight me, Lynn. What happened to all that attitude, huh?
I shook my head until my brain rattled and made me dizzy, stumbling too fast down the hallway. I ignored my body as it whined, then protested, then screamed at me to slow down. I didn’t stop until I was in the sanctuary, in the room where I should have died.
Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have had to hear the word hysterectomy.