Page 22 of Precious Hazard

“This one is broken.” She points to a framed photo of a twelve-year-old Asya.

“I know. Your brother slammed my head into it. I haven’t had a chance to replace it, yet.”

“Mm-hmm. I hope it hurt.”

Now that the chicken marsala is done simmering in the pan and the creamy sauce thickened, I start chopping a bit of parsley to finish off the dish. “Probably less than the cut I gave him. How many stitches did he need?”

“Several. Luckily, he was on the mend within days rather than weeks. How’s your wrist, by the way? Did it heal alright?”The concern on her face is as fake as the compassionate tone she’s speaking with. She walks up to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water, then returns to the breakfast bar and sits down facing me. “I hear recovery from a wrist fracture can be very difficult and takes a long while. And, even after, the healed bone is simply not as strong as it once was. Pity.”

My hand, attached to the recently mended wrist, stills mid-chop on the cutting board. I know she’s riling me up on purpose, but I don’t understand why it’s getting on my nerves so much.Ignore her, I tell myself. I won’t stoop to her level or give her the satisfaction of getting the reaction out of me she obviously wants.

“For someone in your line of business, it’s crucial to have a full range of mobility and top-notch reflexes,” she continues to chirp in a honeyed voice between sips of her drink. “I’d hate to hear that the damage my brother caused to your wrist has left you with a handicap.”

I grit my teeth and focus on the parsley, which at this point is a bruised mess after my aggressive chopping.

“Your fine motor skills do seem to be suffering a bit in terms of your finesse, to be honest. That poor parsley looks all but ground down.”

Son of a—

My self-control snaps. I fling the knife up, catch the tip of it as it flips in the air, and send it flying. The blade sails mere inches from Tara’s ear, all the way across the living room until it strikes the solid wood of the front door.

“Huh.” I cant my head. “You might be right. I’m half an inch to the left of my target.”

When my gaze shifts back to Tara, she is staring at me open-mouthed, shock etched on her remarkable features.

A pang of guilt hits me.I didn’t want to scare her, damn it!I just… the hell if I know what. Never have I been so bothered by anyone before. Is it because I haven’t come to grips with Ajello’s sly meddling in my private life? Has she simply become a convenient mark for me to take out my frustrations? Or am I just that fucked up?

Momentarily shutting my eyes and squeezing my temples with the pads of my fingers, I sigh. “Listen, Tara, I’m sorry. I—”

Cold liquid hits my face.

“Don’t you dare come within a mile of me, you sick fuck,” she sneers. Then, she throws the empty bottle at my chest and dashes toward the front door.

Shit.

“Tara!”

I take off after her, catching up just as she’s reaching for the handle.

“Stay away from me!” she screams, pushing my hand off her forearm when I attempt to stop her. Grabbing the handle again, she tries to yank open the door.

I thrust my arm out over her shoulder, and my palm connects with the wooden surface, slamming the door shut. My chest collides with her back, effectively trapping the hissing spitfire. She has nowhere to go.

“Tara. I’m trying to apologize.”

“I don’t need your apologies.” She’s pulling on the handle so hard that a grating creak joins the sounds of her heavy breathing. “I need to leave!”

With the way she’s wriggling, she is grinding her perky ass right over my crotch, which makes my dick hard as fucking steel.

“Tara. I need you to listen to me.”

“No! I might be a screwup who can’t do anything right, but I won’t be terrorized by an overgrown nutjob with anger issues!”

Right.

Change of tactics.

Wrapping my arms around her knees and back, I scoop her up and head toward the living room.

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