Mack (King #4)(8)

“Who was that?” I asked.

“A friend. And before you ask which sort, I’ll save you the trouble—I used to f*ck her. Now I don’t. She does favors for me, hoping I might change that.”

The word “f*ck” instantly triggered nude images of Mack sliding between my thighs, his firm bare ass pumping hard, his back flexing with powerful muscles, making every inch of my body burn with ecstasy.

I swallowed down a nonexistent glob in my throat. “Good to know,” I said, masking my involuntary response. “So I take it she’s not one of these people you’re hiding from.” Mack had mentioned that “they” were looking for him.

“No.”

I waited for more, but he wasn’t giving. And for the time being, I needed to pick and choose my battles. The priority was helping Mack realize why he was really here: He wanted and needed help.

“So are you ready to begin our session?” I asked.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind.”

What? “Meaning?”

“Exactly what you think it means.”

“But you—”

“A moment of weakness,” he said, cutting me off. “I see no point in mulling over my situation with a stranger.”

Dammit. Why did it have to be so dark in here? He really needed to see the annoyance in my eyes.

“Then why did you say you agreed to my terms?” I asked.

“Because I thought I might like to seduce you. One last f*ck with an attractive woman before I go.” I watched the dark shadows of his shoulders shrug. “Who can blame me? You look like you’re in need of a thorough f*cking. And it’s been a while for me.”

I couldn’t even begin to respond to his shocking statement, but the space between my legs knew what to do: Agree with him. Not that he was the one to end my sexual drought. The man was not right in the head. And he was my patient.

“I see you’re silent on the matter,” he said. “So I’ll take that as a confirmation.”

I shook my head at him. “Whatever you’re doing won’t work,” I said flatly. “I’ve met far worse than you.”

“Really?” He leaned forward a little in his chair. “Do tell.”

I normally wouldn’t discuss other patients, but I needed him to open up. So that meant I had to make the first offering. “I once treated a man awaiting trial for murder. He made Hannibal look like a kitten.”

Mack chuckled. “So he tried to eat your liver?”

“No. He said he would hunt down my mother, rape her, and then eat her liver. He kindly offered to videotape the event and supply me with a copy.”

That had happened over a year ago, and of course, I hadn’t been one for panicking or reacting, so that had just made the insane man angrier. Yes, he had been restrained for our sessions.

“And this man,” Mack said, his tone full of cockiness as if he didn’t believe me, “what became of him?”

“After three sessions, he was IDed by the police as a suspect in another murder case. He’s now serving a life sentence.”

“What was his crime?”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Raping his ex-girlfriend’s mother and then killing her. He was apparently unhappy about getting dumped. He thought that was a good way to get that across to his ex.”

Mack was no longer chuckling. “So this man, you say, didn’t frighten you and, therefore, I do not frighten you.”

“Are you planning to eat any of my body parts?” I asked.

He paused for one moment too many, giving my brain the opportunity to make up an inappropriate, sexually explicit response related to which body parts I might enjoying him “eating.”

Jeez. Focus, Ted. Focus.

“I am not a fan of liver,” he finally replied.

I shrugged. “Then there you go.” I took a seat at the small table pushed against the wall, not too far from the door, and set down my notebook, folding my hands in my lap. “I’m a very good listener, Mack.”

“And I said I’m not interested in talking.” His tone was firm, and his masculine voice sent a ripple of shivers over my skin. I knew I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, but I did. I felt so alive, like I was sitting in the lion’s den, all my senses on high alert.

Then, nothing happened. Fine. Hardball it is.

“All right. I understand.” I got to my feet and turned toward the door. “I’ll have your discharge papers ready within the hour.”

“I’m not leaving,” he declared calmly.

“We had a deal—you broke it. So I say you are leaving, and I have two large orderlies who will agree with me. And if you try to hurt anyone, your next stop will be jail or the county psych ward, where you’ll be sedated—because, sorry, we don’t prescribe meds here. We’re all about talking.” The part about sending him away was all a lie, of course. I wouldn’t send him anywhere. Not in a million years. Whoever this man was, I felt a gnawing need to keep him.

I resisted the urge to laugh at myself. I wasn’t afraid of being in a dark room with a man who declared I would die from some sort of curse contagion. I was afraid of never seeing him again.

“You play a mean game of ultimatums, woman,” he said with a hint of a smile in his baritone voice.