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“Yes, ma’am,” Aurora answers, her whore-customer-service voice coming out to play. It’s repulsive.
The waitress drops the menus in front of me, and I hand one to Aurora.
“Thanks...Daddy,” she says with a snarky smile.
I didn’t think I looked old enough to be her father, but I guess that’s a better answer than trying to explain she’s a whore I picked up to potentially sell. Or kill.
The waitress takes her notepad from her raggedy apron and wrestles out the pen that’s speared itself through the newest hole. “Mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli with cheese, and a steak, very rare,” she spouts before I can open my mouth.
“That’s exactly right,” I say. I like my meat like I like my women—bloody and raw. When the waitress turns toward Aurora, I speak for her. “Same for her. But make it medium-well.”
She seems like a medium-well kind of girl.
The waitress nods and heads toward the back. Aurora and I sit in painful silence while waiting for our meal. I don’t usually have to force a conversation with these bitches. Mostly, they just beg for their lives and I mock their final breaths.
“Who’s the ‘daddy’?” she asks, pointing to the tattoo on my neck.
“What?”
“Who got the daddy tattoo? The one on your neck. Was it Tobin or you? It certainly wasn’t Jax.”
I don’t answer her. I just tap the fork on the cracked tabletop. Her face draws into a tight frown; the sound clearly drives her nuts. I can’t kill her, but I sure enjoy irritating her. And degrading her. I just wish she reacted more to the degradation. If she wasn’t such a stoic whore, she’d almost be tolerable. Since I’m finally getting a rise out of her, I tap the metal harder.
She slams her eyes shut. “Can you stop?”
I point the fork at her. “You suck off the handle of a urinal without a peep of protest, but this is what bothers you?”
She glances around the diner as a few people stare at her because of what I’ve just said...a little too loudly. Heat flushes her cheeks, and I revel in her embarrassment. It’s not as good as choking the life out of her, but it’s enjoyable.
“Why are you the way you are?” she clips in a whisper. “Have you ever thought about trying to be even a little pleasant to be around?”
A lot has happened to me to make me the way I am, but I can’t answer her question. It’s something I’ve asked myself many times, but that locked box just remains locked. I am walking, talking evil, but the source of that black fountain is buried too deep.
“I’m incapable of pleasantry,” I say.
“Bullshit. I’ve seen exactly what you’re capable of.”
I laugh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “Jax and I are not the same person. We may share a body, but we couldn’t be more different. He’s a disgusting little simp, and I’m not.”
I couldn’t be like Jax, mentally or physically. Despite him holding pieces of my trauma, he’s so kind. And he can fuck. He probably likes pleasing a woman and making love. Jax is the light I could never shine on this world.
He and Tobin are capable of emotions I have no desire to feel. Integration is possible for many people with dissociative identity disorder, but it has never been my end goal. Our system works for us, even if it’s a little fucked-up to everyone else. But that’s the beauty of it. It isn’t meant for everyone else. It’s a safety plan designed just for us. We compartmentalize in ways most others can’t, and that’s how we continue to function.
Or it was how we functioned until Aurora came along. Her attitude is like a screwdriver for me. Her pussy is like a drill for Tobin. Her beauty and charisma are a hammer and nails for Jax. Without even trying, she’s tinkering with our machine. If we aren’t careful, if Jax and Tobin can’t get on the same page with me, we’re fucked.
Chapter Nineteen
Aurora
Spit gathers beneath my tongue as Kane’s eyes darken. I swallow it down. I tried to get him to loosen the fuck up, but having a nice conversation or sharing banter doesn’t seem to be in his wheelhouse. Bringing up his alters like that was probably a low blow, but it’s not my fault they’re more enjoyable than he could ever be. They’re the only reason I’m still alive. They’re also the only reason I’m not screaming for help right now.
The waitress appears beside our table and sets our plates in front of us. I start to eat, looking away from Kane as he dives into his bloody steak like he hasn’t eaten in a month. When he finally slows down, red-tinged grease drips from his lower lip. He stares at me as he sensually licks it away. It’s not meant to be a sensual gesture, though. It’s meant to be intimidating. It’s meant to scare me.
That’s just too bad. I don’t scare easily.
I reach across, stab my knife and fork into his steak, and cut a piece away. I rip it off the fork, open my mouth, stick out my tongue, and squeeze the hunk of meat until red juice drips into my mouth. A metallic tang hits my tastebuds.
My little act seems to work. He goes back to gnawing on his slab of E. coli, and I return to pushing my fork through the pile of mashed potatoes.
