Page 50 of White Raven (Nevermore Duet #2)

TANTALIZING TENSION

“And how did that make you feel?”

This was so fucking ridiculous. Do people really buy into this bullshit?

Brent laid across a small leather couch in a stuffy office that was dimly lit and smelled like musty old books, and way too much money.

Money that was manipulated from thousands of other poor souls that thought this doctor was anything but a quack.

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and he sighed through it, shaking his head.

“I dunno, how the hell would it make you feel? My father was evil, and it didn’t end with me.

I’ve been thrown around in his pot of shit ever since I learned how to speak.

Was it a surprise that he shot me? No, not really.

Do I wish I’d killed him myself?” He paused, thinking hard on that.

Would he have even had the balls to do it?

If he believed that to be true, why didn’t he— before he had taken Wren and brutally abused her.

Before he’d plotted to use his ex-fiancé for crimes far beyond what a sane individual, and a supposedly-respected elected official would commit.

Was he right the entire time? Did Brent have mashed bananas for nuts?

“Brent?” Dr. Lennox pushed, urging him to finish. “Do you wish you’d killed your father?”

He didn’t see the point in saying no, when the bastard was probably already dismembered and being studied at a university somewhere.

“I do.” He swallowed and dropped his hand to his belly…

over the scar that was left from Conrad’s assault.

“You gonna try to tell me that’s normal?

Understandable? That I’m not just as fucked up as he was? ”

“I’m not here to judge you, Brent. I’m here to listen, and to help you.”

“And how do you propose you’re going to do that, exactly?

” He sat up, brushing a hand through his hair, and staring at the slightly wrinkled woman.

She might have been attractive once. She had a straight nose, lovely blue eyes—even if they were crowned with crow’s feet—and high cheekbones that vexed the sag of her aging skin.

Her hair was dry, and obviously dyed to cover the gray in it, but she didn’t appear washed-up.

It was a soft brown that set off her entire face, making her seem less daunting, and easier to speak with…

confide in. She was very good at her job.

“I’m curious…if our roles were reversed, how would you help me? ” she asked, resting her pen on the notepad she had on her knee.

“Other than drugging someone to forget?”

“I’m not in the business of putting one’s problems on the back burner.

Usually, people tend to forget they’re simmering back there and then that pot boils over.

That doesn’t help anyone. But some medications do help to compartmentalize everything.

Organize all your thoughts and feelings so that you have an outlet to prioritize them. ”

He chuckled through his nose and stared at the ugly brown rug on the floor. “Well, unless you have a magic pill that makes it all disappear, then I’m not interested.”

“Sadly, there is no such thing. Maybe that’s a grace. Otherwise, I’d be out of a job, yeah?” she smiled. “So, back to my question. How would you help me?”

Brent shrugged. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know how to answer your question.”

“Let me ask you something else. What would you say you’re doing to help yourself? ”

Psh…nothing.

“I don’t know how to answer that, either.”

“Dr. Ambrose mentioned in her notes from your stay at the hospital that you don’t have many people to lean on. Is that true?”

Not anymore. He had Wren. Even if they never moved forward with what they started, that night at the mansion would connect them forever. They’d always have each other in that. Brent felt the small smile before he could hide it. “I have someone.”

“Oh?” Dr. Lennox’s eyes lifted in their wrinkled corners. “Tell me about her.”

“She was the one my father kidnapped. My ex’s best friend. We’ve had a…pretty volatile relationship. Until after this happened.”

“And you don’t now?” she pushed.

“I don’t really know,” he started, straightening and looking across from him at the adjacent wall. “We—we uh…”

“You had sex?” she finished, causing his cheeks to flush.

Brent swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit too exposed, and not exactly sure if he was comfortable. “Y-yes…we…we did.”

“Do you feel like your shared trauma brought the two of you together?”

Well, obviously…but it was more than that. They both knew it, and neither one wanted to acknowledge it before shit hit the fan and they couldn’t help themselves. Brent felt tension creep into his muscles, and he found himself laying back down on the small couch.

Dammit…this old crone was really good at her fucking job.

Me: that better not be your hot doctor’s fancy couch…

Wren flipped back to the picture Brent had just sent her of his legs crossed on an ugly leather setup in an office about as bland as Conrad’s mansion on the high-falooty side of town. Three dots bounced below her message, and she waited until the phone pinged, smiling at his challenge.

Bitch-boy: Her wrinkles are turning me on…and the mothball smell in this room. Come make it more interesting. Dare you. ;)

She was supposed to be at Nell’s fifteen minutes ago, but Rhaena wasn’t up yet, and she promised not to leave her. Wren fired one back.

Me: don’t patronize me Stratford.

She dumped grounds into the coffee maker as Brent typed, and heard a toilet flush down the hallway.

It had been a long night for Rhae-Rhae. After four unresponsive tests, she’d sent Wren back to the store for more expensive ones, and then it took her over an hour to generate enough piss to take six more.

Out of those six, only two said negative…

the rest were also unresponsive. Neither of them were sure if that was good or bad news.

Neither one was wholly convinced, either.

Rhaena had cried a lot. While she wasn’t an unsympathetic asshole, Wren also could admit she wasn’t very good at consoling someone.

It felt awkward and unhelpful, but what she gave must have been enough, because Rhaena asked her to stay.

She’d only snuck out long enough to shower and get dressed and then came back here to make coffee and see if she’d gotten up yet.

Ping.

Bitch-boy: This old lady could get a confession out of a murderer the way she Jedi mind tricks you.

I’ve only been on this couch twenty minutes and she’s already pulled our dirty secrets outta me.

Now all I can think about is how your voice sounds when you’re screaming… and not because you’re pissed.

This idiot.

Something about spilling dirty details to an old woman made her wanna gag—especially when it was about her, of all people.

However…the flashbacks of all the ways he made her moan were causing an ache between her legs, and she hated him all over again for how easy it was to make her feel anything now. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

Me: zip it, or you’ll be screaming for a different reason…I happen to enjoy your balls where they are…not in your throat.

He wasted no time in responding and the three little dots almost seemed to race her heartbeat.

Bitch-boy: I’d rather they be in yours instead…

Damn his preppy…fucking tantalizing genitalia…

Wren sent seven middle finger emojis and pressed the button to start the coffee as she bit her lip, smiling.

Ping.

Bitch-boy: How much do you hate me right now?

Clearly, he’d excused himself to a bathroom. He accompanied the text with another picture of his cock in his hand…and her face broke out in a thin sheet of sweat at her hairline.

Me: oh…I fucking despise you.

She turned her screen off, tapping her foot as Rhaena made herself known in the living room. “Morning,” Wren offered, peering around the kitchen doorway. “Coffee?” Rhaena wrapped herself in a blanket and plopped into the armchair, hanging her legs over the side.

“Please. Black as my soul.”

Ping.

Bitch-boy: You know how much I love it when you hate me, Vintorri. I still have the taste of that hate in my mouth. My new favorite flavor.

She was going to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. She pressed call, and it rang once before he answered it—snickering.

“Look, bastard,” Wren whispered, ducking back into the kitchen and pulling two mugs from Rhaena’s cabinet. “I’m about two seconds away from drop-kicking you.”

Brent giggled, making her grin and roll her eyes. “But you’re so pretty when you’re mad, Wren. And why are you whispering?”

“I’m at Rhaena’s. She’s—she’s had a rough night.”

“Does she not know? About…”

“She does. I’m trying to be respectful and not make her purge her breakfast, okay?

” Something about the way he asked made her feel like he thought she was ashamed.

She didn’t feel ashamed at all. The opposite in fact.

But this was still new territory, and an unfamiliar one at that, and Wren was carefully navigating it.

“Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. What time will you be freed from your gilded cage?”

“About lunch. Wanna meet up?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Wings at Bunker’s?”

“It’s a date.”

“So it is… gross ,” Wren laughed.

“Fuck you,” he chuckled.

She hung up, and poured their coffee, bringing it around the doorway and into the living room. Rhaena missed nothing, and so often, Wren forgot that her hearing was good enough to hear a gnat fart.

“If I’m keeping you, don’t let me. You don’t have to stay here; I’m just being a sodden pussy right now.” Her voice was hoarse from all her sobbing last night. Wren handed her a mug.

“In this particular instance, I’d say your reaction is just.” She sat down on the couch across from her and sipped her coffee, palming the mug and warming her hands. “Did you ever hear back from Brandon last night?”