Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Angie
He’s kidding, right?
Ralph seriously thinks I’m going to fuck him in his hospital room? With Tabitha right outside? Hell, with a whole staff of nurses and orderlies outside?
It’s not as if we can lock the door.
Though that’s the last reason why I’m not going to fuck Ralph.
“You’re delusional if you think that’s happening,” I reply, crossing my arms. “I’m not whoring myself to save anyone. Certainly not to someone like you.”
Ralph grins, a sick pleasure in his eyes at my obvious disgust. “Then I guess Dr. Lansing had better start preparing for prison. You might want to get him a butt plug—a big one—unless you’re already working his back door, like I said.”
God, he’s sick. The threat in his words is as tangible as the coldness in his voice. A chill curls at the back of my neck, but I stay steady. I refuse to let Ralph see that he’s getting to me.
“Last chance, Simpson,” he taunts, his gaze lingering on me with disgusting lust.
I grab the end of his hospital bed, fighting the urge to shake him until he sees sense. “You’re seriously underestimating Jason if you think he can’t handle a little jail time.”
A low chuckle escapes Ralph’s lips as he adjusts himself in his bed. “You underestimate me if you think I’m doing this for fun. We both have something at stake here.”
“Oh, really?” I sneer. “And what could you possibly lose?”
“More than you can imagine,” he replies.
“Try me,” I say, curiosity briefly overtaking my anger.
“Nothing that concerns you directly,” he says. “Let’s just say it involves a certain na?veté of yours about the true character of your beloved Jason.”
I huff at that. “You’ve already done your worst to taint my opinion of him, and it hasn’t worked. So either spit it out or shut up, Ralph.”
His mouth twists into a smirk. He seems to be measuring, calculating. Seeing how far he can push me before I break.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” he finally says. “After all, it won’t change the outcome of things.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand, the suspense gnawing at my nerves.
He leans back against his pillows, seemingly gathering his strength. His eyes lose focus for a moment before snapping back to me.
“Jason,” he begins, his voice barely a whisper, “isn’t who you think he is.”
I feel my eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“He has a past,” Ralph continues. “A dark past. One that he’s kept hidden from everyone…including you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Ralph chuckles weakly. “You don’t have to believe me, Simpson. It’s the truth.”
The skepticism must be evident on my face, because he sighs and shakes his head as if disappointed in my ignorance.
“You know what they say. The truth always comes out. Eventually, you’re going to find out everything about your precious Jason.” He burns his gaze into me. “And when you do, I hope you’re ready for it.”
A knot of dread begins to form in my stomach, but I refuse to let it show on my face. “So what? Everyone has a past. Including you.”
He grins, a ghastly sight with his swollen face. “But not everyone’s past is as bloody as Jason’s.”
“Bloody?” I repeat, my mind spinning with unvoiced questions.
“Very bloody,” he confirms. “Jason has killed before, Angie.”
The words echo in my head. Killed before killed before… My heart thumps so loudly I can hardly think.
“That’s impossible,” I say.
“Why?” Ralph challenges. “Because he’s a doctor? You think people like him are incapable of killing?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “Jason wouldn’t kill without reason, if he’s killed at all.”
“Remember what he told us in anatomy lab? That, as surgeons, we would kill a patient one day, and we’d have to live with that?”
I mull over the words. I was just thinking about them the other day. Jason did say that, and I didn’t think much of it because I’m not going into surgery.
“That’s what you mean? Making a mistake in surgery isn’t murder, Ralph. Christ.”
“What if I told you that his wife didn’t commit suicide?” Ralph says.
He thinks that’s going to surprise me? I already know Jason’s theory. He doesn’t think the note is in Lindsay’s handwriting.
But how much of that do I want to divulge to Ralph?
He’s already falsely accusing Jason of beating him. Now he wants me to believe Jason is responsible for Lindsay’s death?
“You’re full of shit,” I say, my voice gaining an edge. “You don’t know anything about Jason’s past. You’re just trying to get under my skin.”
“And succeeding, it appears,” he replies with a smirk. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“The truth?” I laugh. “Is that what you call your deluded ramblings now?”
He shrugs. “Call it whatever you want. It won’t make any difference when the truth finally comes out.”
My heart is pounding, and I struggle to keep my voice steady as I ask again, “What do you mean his wife didn’t commit suicide? You’re not making any sense.”
Ralph looks at me for a moment before sighing deeply. “His wife was murdered, Angie,” he says flatly. “And Jason isn’t as innocent as he claims to be.”
“You’re full of shit.” I look into his eyes. God, he looks evil. “And no way will I ever fuck you, so get that out of your head now.”
“Fine.” He shrugs. “I was willing to make a deal. But now Jason is going to get what’s coming to him.”
A knock at the door.
I turn toward the sound. “It’s okay, Tabitha. I was just leaving.” I open the door.
But it isn’t Tabitha. A tall man wearing scrubs with cold gray eyes is standing there.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I thought you were my friend.”
The man walks past me, stands at the foot of Ralph’s bed. “Mr. Normandy, I need to speak with you privately.”
Saved by the bell.
“Fine by me.” I grab my coat and head out the door.