Page 87 of Psychopath

“Your.”

“Umbrella.

“Locks.”

“Zane,” Quinn groaned. “The first thing that comes into your head.”

“All that’s in my head is you changing your locks.” He shrugged. “There’s an easy fix. Promise me you will.”

“No. Tree.”

“Lock.”

Quinn shook his head. “Anger.”

“Smith.”

Quinn balled the piece of paper on his desk in his fist.

“Destroying valuable data. Tut-tut.”

“Earth,” Quinn said.

Zane sighed. “New.”

“Destruction.”

“Keys.”

Quinn glanced up from the word selection he was reading from. “Why do you want me to change them so bad?”

“It’ll help me sleep easier,” Zane replied.

“You didn’t even know about the locks until today.”

Zane rubbed his chin. “Not true, I had thought about it, but I didn’t think you’d be that stupid not to have at least asked for the key back.”

“Right.” Quinn began to gather his things. “I think we’re done—”

“I’m sorry.” Zane pressed his hand to the glass between them. His eyebrows twitched. “Stay?”

“Are you going to stop being an arsehole?”

“Never, but I am sorry for calling you stupid…again, but you can’t blame me for getting worried.”

“Worried?”

“About you.”

Quinn shook his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but I am.” He slumped. “I don’t know Damon, but I’ve been in here long enough to know there’s some messed up people in this world, and I don’t want to risk even the possibility that Damon could be like that with you.”

“He’s not,” Quinn said. “He may not be perfect, but he’s not…he’s not—he won’t hurt me. Not physically.”

“Will you consider changing them?” Zane pressed his hands together in a prayer pose.

“I’ll talk to my landlord, okay?”

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