Page 9 of Psycho

Still living under his thumb.

I quickly counted the money, pocketed five hundred dollars, separated fifteen percent from the rest and put that in the wall safe for when the psycho came by the next morning to collect. I put the rest in a small secret safe in the floor.

Then I stood, stretched, and walked out the office.

I pulled up short when I found Brody leaning against the wall.

He straightened when he caught sight of me, and I had the distinct feeling that he might be waiting for me, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Hey,” I said, standing there awkwardly. I looked down at my feet. Brody was a handsome man. Quiet and rough, and in another lifetime, I would have been crazy over him. But I felt nothing looking at him now.

I didn’t even think I had ever felt sexual attraction to another person before, and I briefly wondered if there was something wrong with me.

Perhaps so, but that was the least of my concerns.

“Good fight,” I finally finished lamely.

He grunted. “Are you about done?”

I frowned and nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Let me drive you home.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand.

I could refuse, but what was the point?

It was late, I was tired, and we were in one of the worst neighborhoods.

And this wasn’t the first time Brody had driven me home. It seemed to be an ongoing occurrence every time I was there.

“Thanks,” I said.

As usual, we walked out to his truck in silence.

We also drove home in silence, and though it would have taken me at least an hour to walk home, it barely took ten minutes before he pulled up outside the crappy trailer I lived in with Dad.

“Thank you,” I said.

I was about to open the door when he stopped me with one huge hand wrapped around my forearm.

I tensed and looked over at him, trying to keep my heart from racing in fear.

I’d been alone with Brody before, and he had never tried anything. There was no reason to think he would try something now, and I didn’t want to offend him by showing him my fears.

I probably didn’t hide it very well because he let me go quickly.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly.

I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

Another grunt.

This was his usual communication style, and I had grown a little fond of it.

“How is everything going at home?” he asked.

I looked at him, though it was hard to make out his facial expression from the darkness of the car. There was only a crappy streetlight about fifty feet from where we were parked, which wasn’t enough.

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