Page 92 of Madness & Mercy

I stop him there, narrowing my eyes.

“Drugged you?”

He stiffens.

I don’t believe him at first. Just about everything that comes out of Julian Cross’ mouth is complete bullshit. But that moment, the shift in his gaze, the way he falters like he let something slip he didn’t mean to, that’s real.

And it makes me wonder:

What else is he hiding beneath that pretty mouth and all those carefully curated lies?

“What did he drug you with?” I mutter.

Julian tenses like I just laid a blade against his spine.

“Why the hell does that matter?”

I lean in. My gaze sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“Because I’m trying to decide what I’m going to drug Braga with before I carve his heart out.Eye for an eye,piccolino.”

His jaw locks.

“I’m not telling you shit.”

My grip shoots across the table and clamps down around his wrist. Tight. Bone-close. I feel the tendons twitch beneath my fingers.

“You’re going to tell me. Right fucking now.”

His breath comes fast, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ—fine!” he snaps. “Coke. Pills. Whatever the bastard could get his hands on. He made me a junkie. Is that what you wanted to hear? He dosed me until I couldn’t think straight. Until I’d do whoever he wanted without question. You happy now?”

I don’t answer. Not right away.

Instead, I stare at him.Hard.Like I’m trying to see straight through his skin.

“Why thefuckwould I be happy that some bastard abused you like that?”

He blinks, caught off-guard. A hint of something raw flashes across his face—shame, anger, maybe grief—but he tries to bury it too fast.

“He didn’t—” he starts, but the lie stalls on his tongue.

“Yes, he did.” My voice drops, almost a whisper. “I’ve seen what that kind of abuse looks like. And I’ve seen what it turns people into. That wasn’t your fault, Julian.”

His lips part, like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t.

Something fragile and furious flashes behind his eyes before he turns his head away, like if he looks at me too long, he’ll shatter.

I don’t let go of his wrist.

“Look at me,” I say quietly.

He hesitates.

“Look. At. Me.”

Slowly, he does.