off by Chastity, waiting to be woken up. Every time he walked up to the door, his gut would clench, knowing he wouldn’t find her there. Knowing what an asshole he’d been and how much time he’d wasted pushing her away. And now it was too late.
Shit . The only thing he ever found was Landon’s ass, drinking all of his booze and sharing his miserable existence. “Hi, honey. I’m home,” he called out before heading into the living— dying —room to check in with his babysitter.
“Damn, Turner! What the hell did you do?”
“I cut in front of an old lady at the grocery store.” He turned his face to the side. “Think it’s going to bruise?”
“I wish.” Landon’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t seem surprised at the mess of a face Mitch was showing off.
Something that would leave a normal man limping or bleeding or whining for weeks only bothered Mitch for about a day. A bonus of not getting his daily dose of Jolie’s poison perhaps. Like a fucking athlete, Hyde took good care of the body he constantly wanted to consume. And in return, Mitch did whatever he could to make it harder for the bastard, hoping that the healing would diminish. It never worked. Already his wounds were itching as the blood vessels and skin got reacquainted, the bones started building themselves back up, and the bruises started to fade.
“ Please tell me the other guy could walk away,” Landon said.
Mitch walked around him and headed into the kitchen for some ice. “Of course he can walk. I barely even touched his legs.”
“You need another hobby. Or, hell, why not go back to your job?”
“Too dangerous.” For his former clients. “Plus, I haven’t found a suitable replacement for my assistant-slash-betrayer.”
“You hiring?”
“You applying for the job?” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Landon. You’re good with the whole keys-and-cage thing, but how fast can you type?”
Although, the guy definitely needed something to do. He was a disaster—jobless, basically squatting at Mitch’s, and drinking anything he could get his hands on. And the house’s maximum depression and total loser-dom limit was already over capacity. Any minute, Mitch imagined alarm bells would start ringing and both of them would be ejected out of a skylight.
As Mitch shoved an empty pizza box over, he thought he probably should hire someone, at least to clean up. “Clean up this shithole and I’ll pay you in booze. But you’re so far in the red already, it may take a while to work off.”
“So are you going back to work or not?”
“Sure. Just as soon as I find someone who will slip a let’s-fuck-Mitch-over cocktail into my morning java. Jolie was so good at that.”
“It’s probably a bad idea. With a face like that , who the hell would want to be in a room with you?”
“A face like what?” He reached up, running a hand over his chin, wincing only slightly whenever he reached a bruise or cut.
“Like you got mugged. Every day. For the past couple weeks. By four assailants trained in Krav Maga.”
Mitch put his index finger along his nose, trying to judge how badly-offset tonight’s break had left it. “It’s not that bad.” And it would be better tomorrow. Damn it.
“Why do you let them beat the crap out of you?” Landon asked. “I know you’re holding back. I know you could drop them in the first few minutes. So why do you drag it out?”
“For the pain.” He went to the sink to wash off his face.
“I should’ve known.” Landon rolled his eyes. “I’m living with a sadist.”
“No, not their pain. My pain. Fighting, letting someone beat the shit out of me, numbs out the rest.” The bruises were reminders that distracted him from what was happening inside. And as soon as they disappeared, he had to think about that shit again. So he spent a lot of time in the ring.
“That’s frigging deep—deeply disturbing.”
“It satisfies him. Makes him easier to control.” He watched the
Shit . The only thing he ever found was Landon’s ass, drinking all of his booze and sharing his miserable existence. “Hi, honey. I’m home,” he called out before heading into the living— dying —room to check in with his babysitter.
“Damn, Turner! What the hell did you do?”
“I cut in front of an old lady at the grocery store.” He turned his face to the side. “Think it’s going to bruise?”
“I wish.” Landon’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t seem surprised at the mess of a face Mitch was showing off.
Something that would leave a normal man limping or bleeding or whining for weeks only bothered Mitch for about a day. A bonus of not getting his daily dose of Jolie’s poison perhaps. Like a fucking athlete, Hyde took good care of the body he constantly wanted to consume. And in return, Mitch did whatever he could to make it harder for the bastard, hoping that the healing would diminish. It never worked. Already his wounds were itching as the blood vessels and skin got reacquainted, the bones started building themselves back up, and the bruises started to fade.
“ Please tell me the other guy could walk away,” Landon said.
Mitch walked around him and headed into the kitchen for some ice. “Of course he can walk. I barely even touched his legs.”
“You need another hobby. Or, hell, why not go back to your job?”
“Too dangerous.” For his former clients. “Plus, I haven’t found a suitable replacement for my assistant-slash-betrayer.”
“You hiring?”
“You applying for the job?” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Landon. You’re good with the whole keys-and-cage thing, but how fast can you type?”
Although, the guy definitely needed something to do. He was a disaster—jobless, basically squatting at Mitch’s, and drinking anything he could get his hands on. And the house’s maximum depression and total loser-dom limit was already over capacity. Any minute, Mitch imagined alarm bells would start ringing and both of them would be ejected out of a skylight.
As Mitch shoved an empty pizza box over, he thought he probably should hire someone, at least to clean up. “Clean up this shithole and I’ll pay you in booze. But you’re so far in the red already, it may take a while to work off.”
“So are you going back to work or not?”
“Sure. Just as soon as I find someone who will slip a let’s-fuck-Mitch-over cocktail into my morning java. Jolie was so good at that.”
“It’s probably a bad idea. With a face like that , who the hell would want to be in a room with you?”
“A face like what?” He reached up, running a hand over his chin, wincing only slightly whenever he reached a bruise or cut.
“Like you got mugged. Every day. For the past couple weeks. By four assailants trained in Krav Maga.”
Mitch put his index finger along his nose, trying to judge how badly-offset tonight’s break had left it. “It’s not that bad.” And it would be better tomorrow. Damn it.
“Why do you let them beat the crap out of you?” Landon asked. “I know you’re holding back. I know you could drop them in the first few minutes. So why do you drag it out?”
“For the pain.” He went to the sink to wash off his face.
“I should’ve known.” Landon rolled his eyes. “I’m living with a sadist.”
“No, not their pain. My pain. Fighting, letting someone beat the shit out of me, numbs out the rest.” The bruises were reminders that distracted him from what was happening inside. And as soon as they disappeared, he had to think about that shit again. So he spent a lot of time in the ring.
“That’s frigging deep—deeply disturbing.”
“It satisfies him. Makes him easier to control.” He watched the
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