Page 17 of From Hell

“I didn’t.” He gives a wry smile. “The nurses were talking about you. It’s hard not to listen to gossip.”

“The staff love to talk about what’s none of their business.”

“Unlike you?”

“For the record, I don’t approve of medical humanitarian PR stunts to polish your shit for the press and the medical board.”

“Polish my shit?” Jaxon repeats, the first smile breaking over his devastatingly handsome face, making it harder to keep my composure.

“Don’t humor me. You signed up only for yourself.”

“Every unselfish act is selfish, is that it?”

I give him a pointed look. “There are better ways to save the world.”

“Is that why you dropped out?” Jaxon asks, seemingly genuinely interested. “To save the world?” His words echo my earlier outburst, and without warning, my cheeks heat, and the scar under my collar seems to throb. Only my parents know why I left medical school. Getting revenge on your murderer doesn’t leave much time for study.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Your mother said you dropped out to write a book?”

I shoot him a look. She never seems to pay attention to anything I tell her, and of all the things I’ve told her, that’s what sticks? Years ago, it was a flyaway comment when she wouldn’t stop asking what I was doing with my life. “I am.” If you count actual words, I’ve barely started.

“Impressive,” he says. “What are you writing it about?”

“The impact of extreme altruism,” I say reluctantly, blush staining my cheeks even more. I’m a walking, talking hypocrite, wallowing in self-pity. I haven’t done anything impressive, shy of killing a few rapists and murderers. When he raises a brow, I explain, “Activities or behaviors that help others but are outside socially accepted and legal boundaries.”

He cocks his head. “Like?”

“Like euthanasia or robbing the rich to give to the poor. Where you take matters into your hands.”

“Hunting down murderers?” he says casually.

I stare at the condensation running outside my beer glass, a lump suddenly emerging in my throat, almost closing it. “Yes, like that.”

“Interesting,” Jaxon muses.

“It’s just an idea. I probably won’t publish it,” I say quietly, keen to change the subject.

Jaxon smiles conspiratorially. “Too busy catching the murderers?”

“W—what?”

“Research for your book.”

A tightness sinks into my bones.He doesn’t know. It’s just a coincidence.“Hah. I’d rather dig through your father’s club’s library for book research.”

He gives me a bemused look. “The Lucian Foundation, why?”

“The Foundation is said to have an extensive repository of historical medical texts.”

“It does. You think it’ll help you with your book?”

“Medicine is renowned for its altruistic ideals. A double-edged sword, with certain groups in positions of power blurring the lines between genuine care and exploitation for monetary gain. It could be an interesting chapter in my book, shedding light on the origins of the complex ethical issues within the medical profession,” I say carefully.

Jaxon snorts, looking me right in the eye as he drinks his elderflower. “You make me want to be a better man.”

“Help me access the library, and you will be.”