Page 23 of The Monster and the Masochist

Least of all Theodora fucking Fairview with her lingering looks and beautiful but chronically bruised face.

The rest of the night was uncomfortable.

I couldn’t focus on anything anyone was saying to me because Theo’s smoldering gaze followed me everywhere.

I could feel my face burning beneath her scrutiny, and the gooseflesh on my skin became a permanent fixture.

To make matters worse, the bartender seemed to have a hyper-fucking-fixation with her, and by the end of the night, she was basically pressing her tits up in Theo’s face. Theo didn’t shy away from appreciating the view either, which just pissed me off even more. My monster was having a field day in my head, telling me all the different ways we could dissect the pretty bartender.

All I had to do was let it out of its cage.

The longer it whispered violent fantasies in my ears, the better all its gore-laced plans were beginning to sound, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore it.

I’d already been frustrated when I’d arrived because my rightful appointment as partner was being withheld over someone as creepy as that reverend, and now Theo’s weird decision to crash my party without even bothering to talk to me the entire night had left me in a decidedly bad mood.

I was doing my best not to take it out on my colleagues, which was not a strength of mine. So when people finally started filtering out of the restaurant, I was relieved.

Once the restaurant was practically empty, I decided to confront Theo. I hadn’t wanted to do it in front of my peers.

Straightening my blouse, I turned on my heel and leveled Theo with one of my most terrifying glares.

This was a look I had used to break murderers in the witness stand, so I expected at least a wince from the object of my frustrations.

But of course. She was unbothered.

Always so, so unbothered.

What was that like?

She just met my gaze with one of her annoyingly cool, laid-back grins.

She raised that damn eyebrow at me again, and I scowled.

That’s it. Enough was enough.

I stalked over to her, making sure she could tell from the look on my face that our conversation was not going to be a pleasant one.

She shifted slightly as I approached, swirling a fresh Manhattan in her hand.

As I got closer, I noticed she’d covered the bruise on her cheek with a bit of makeup. It was barely a shadow now, but it was there.

I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

I wanted to demand who she’d let hit her this time, so I could hunt them down and stab them in the fucking face.

I wanted to ask her why she seemed to be so obsessed with a sport that constantly hurt her.

Didn’t she care about her own safety?

Didn’t she care that it made me crazy to see her so beat up all the time?

Instead of screaming all the questions that had been eating me alive since the day she’d been stabbed, I focused on a much less damning question.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed once I was standing in front of her.

She allowed her gaze to slowly peruse the length of my body, and another sheet of chills erupted beneath my skin.

“Hello again, princess.” Her voice was like thick honey. So calm, relaxed, and perpetually even-toned. “Twice in one day. How lucky am I?”