Patrick and I walked in silence to the elevator within my apartment. There was s**t going down and yet somehow, I had to put aside the image I had in my mind, the one of me doing what I'd just threatened, my handprint reddening Araneae's ass—make that plural, handprints. After what she's been through, she wasn't ready, but when she was, I was the man for the job. After disobeying my simple demands and drinking that drink, she should be happy if that's the only thing I do.
She didn't realize how important she was. Sneaking out on Dr. Dixon, the thought made my blood boil. What if she'd fallen on those stairs? The next picture in my imagination was of her at the bottom of the staircase, not standing but sprawled out—injured.
That was the problem with what I did, the life I lived. It wasn'
