Page 33 of Twisted Trust

“Yes, I do. If you hadn’t shown your ugly face around here, then I wouldn’t be off my game, so yes, it’s entirely your own fault.”

“If I hadn’t shown up, you’d be dead in that parking lot.”

Maeve’s shoulders tense suddenly and she looks back out the window with her head tilted, ignoring me the best she can.

But I can’t have that.

Now that she’s talking to me and her voice is pouring into my soul like liquid honey, I can’t stop.

Even though she hates me and I hate her, I think, I can’t stop pushing.

It’s like pressing on a bruise you know will hurt because there’s some kind of satisfaction there too.

“You know, if my presence was such an issue then you could run away. You’re good at that.”

Even with her head turned, I can see her eyes narrow.

“Kind of the only thing you’re good at,” I continue, trying to goad her into talking to me again. “If all it took was one elevator incident, then maybe you’re kind of terrible at your job.”

“Fuck you!” she snaps and her thick, dark curls bounce around her face as she spins to face me. This time, she adjusts herself in her seat so her entire body is angled toward me. “You don’t know me, so don’t you dare sit there and act like you do.”

“Of course I don’t know you. You broke my heart and ran for the hills because you’re ice cold, Maeve. Maybe your boss saw that and realized it was chilling the guests.”

“I’m ice cold? How dare you sit there and accusemeof being the one who ran after the shit you pulled?”

“Me? I only everreactedto your bullshit, Maeve. That’s all I’ve ever done and probably why you found it so easy to manipulate me.”

“I’mthe manipulator?” Maeve’s eyes widen in anger and her words develop a sharp, dangerous edge. “How can you sit there and say that? You in your fancy fucking suit thinking the whole world revolves around you when it’s your decisions that kill the people around you!”

I can’t stop.

I should stop and ask for clarity but I’m enjoying talking to her far too much to care about anything else.

“Sounds like you’re projecting. I mean look at you, Maeve. Why are you even here? Who really runs away to Las Vegas? Did you think you could lose yourself in the noise, is that it? Did you lose your kid’s father too?”

Maeve suddenly picks up one of the small bottles of alcohol resting on the drinks cabinet across from her and launches it at me with a yell. “Don’t fucking talk about my kid!”

I duck the bottle and it hits the back windshield with a crash, sending a small wave of bourbon and a hundred glass shards all down the back of the leather seats.

Chip is going to bepissed.

“Does that make you feel better?” I challenge, not in the least bit fazed by her anger.

It’s better than this weird, cold, uncaring attitude she had in the elevator. “That anger inside you, it’s there because you know it’s over, don’t you? You’ve spent all these years running from what you did but there’s nowhere to hide now. I’ve got you, Maeve, exactly where I want you.”

She doesn’t falter.

Maeve grabs a second bottle and smashes it down on the counter, sending another small wave of alcohol over the pine wood shelf and onto the smooth floor.

Brandishing a shard of glass clutched in her palm, she waves it toward me.

“Let me out!”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

“Do you really want to test me?” she snarls. “You’re convinced I did something awful so ask yourself if I wouldn’t do something equally awful to get back to my son. Now let me out of the fucking car!”

Just as her yell of rage pitches high in fury, Chip’s gentle voice drifts over the speaker above us. “We’re here.”