Page 4 of The Reaper's Vice

“Hmm.” Another round of furious note-taking. I flex my hand, resisting the urge to rip the little piece of plastic from his hand and shove it through his jugular.

“What the fuck could youpossiblybe writing?”

Dr. Kebler freezes, a small tugging at his thin lips as he raises his gaze back to mine. “Observations. Is that a problem?”

“It’s fucking rude is what it is.”

“And how does my… perceived rudeness make youfeel?”

Like I want to murderyou.

“It makes me angry,” I say, grinding my teeth at the haughty expression that takes over his face. “Really fucking angry.”

Dr. Kebler puts down his pen, leaning back in his armchair and crossing his slack-covered chicken legs. “It seems many things make you angry, Mr. Adair.”

“I think it’s pretty understandable, considering the state of the world.”

“And what state is that?”

I clench my jaw. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m a psychiatrist—it comes with the profession.”

I shift my gaze to the browning plant in the corner of the room, a new wave of murderous rage pulsing through my veins. “YourDracaenais dying.”

“My what?”

“Your snake plant.”

Dr. Kebler twists, taking in the sad state of the succulent. “Ah, yes. My wife often complains about my black thumb.” With a shrug, he turns back to me, his eyes holding a deeper sheen of interest. “I’m more interested in your use of the scientific name.”

I turn my attention to a piece of dirt lodged under my nail. “I like plants and animals. I hardly think it’s anything to write home about.”

“Hmm.”

“And that’s another thing.” I bring my gaze up to Dr. Kebler. “You keephumming.”

“Humming?”

“Yes.” I grit my teeth. “It’s distracting.”

Dr. Kebler raises one wiry brow. “Do you always change the subject this often? Or is it just when someone tries to find out something more than surface-level with you?”

I flex my hand. “Maybe I just don’t appreciate some old coot trying to get into my head.”

“Neither wishes to be here,Mr. Adair, I assure you. I find you just as—if not more—unpleasant, pestilent, and insufferable as you do me. No part of me wants to be anywhere near yourhead.”

“That’s what your wife said last night,” I murmur, leaning back with a smirk. “Of course right after, she wrapped her lips around my cock, so I have to assume you’re lying as hard as her.”

Dr. Kebler sighs, pulling his glasses from his face and placing them lens-down on the coffee table. “I have other patients whowantto see me, Mr. Adair. Instead of wasting my time, perhaps you would like me to call Mr. Funnel to escort you back to your cell…” Dr. Kebler moves to stand, and I let out a defeated sigh, causing him to sink back into the worn leather.

“Are you agreeing to talk?”

I nod, picking at a stray orange thread hanging from the inseam of my jumpsuit. I grit my teeth as the cheap metal handcuffs scrape the inflamed skin along my inner wrists, which Dr. Kebler mistakenly takes as a sign of mental anguish.

“It’s okay, Mr. Adair. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re in a safe place.” He reaches for his pad and pen, then sits back with that same inquisitive gaze from earlier. Like I’m an obedient little rat in a cage. Nothing more than a test subject, a case number in his next paper.

He has me sorely mistaken.

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