Page 126 of Chasing Hadley

I feel like I’m being tested and not exactly sure how to pass, I just answer honestly. “I’d say no.”

He says nothing, shucking off his jacket and handing it to the man beside him. Then he rolls up his sleeves, taking his sweet time. In the background, the redhead has stopped beating Austin, apparently done punishing him. Well, either that or Austin is passed out on the floor. I can’t see from where I’m sitting, so I’m unsure.

“You’re insane. Do you know that?” Amelia whispers with a huge grin.

“Okay …” I slant away from her because her insane grinning is making me super uneasy. Plus, it’s weird that she’s sitting right beside me, yet her father doesn’t even seem aware that she’s here.

“Just relax.” She places a hand on my leg. “I think this is going to work.”

“What is …?” I start to ask, but then Axel slips on a pair of brass knuckles.

I’m not certain if I feel relieved he took out the brass knuckles or not. It could be worse. He could’ve taken out his gun.

“What do you know about me, Hadley Harlyton?” Axel asks as he paces the floor in front of me with his hands tucked behind his back.

I fight back a gulp. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

“You’ve been so honest up to this point and I haven’t hurt you yet, so what do you think?” He stops in front of me, waiting.

I swallow hard. “I’ve heard that you’re corrupt, that you run illegal gambling sites, that you hate Mr. Porterson, and that you’re kind of insane.”

“Kind of insane?” he muses thoughtfully. “And what’s your assessment on that so far? Do you think I’d pass a sanity test?”

I shrug. “That all depends on what sort of a psychopath you are.”

His brows lower. Totally not the answer he was expecting.

He motions at me. “Please explain.”

I uncross my legs and grip the back of the sofa. “If you’re a smart nutjob, you could probably lie and pass the test with flying colors. But if you’re stupid, you’ll fail.”

“And do you think I’m stupid?” he asks.

I’m smart enough to know there’s only one right answer to his question. “No. If you were, you wouldn’t have a room full of people who I’m assuming will do just about anything you ask.”

He stares me down for a slamming heart race of a second then sharply claps his hands, startling me so badly my bladder threatens to reveal that my cool act is total bullshit.

“Bravo,” he says while clapping. “You’ve answered that question better than anyone else. And I’ve asked it a lot.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” I give a nonchalant shrug, vomit threatening to force its way up my throat. If I puke right now, he’s not going to be so impressed with me anymore.

“Usually, people are crying by now too,” he adds, lowering his hands to his side.

“I’m not really a crier,” I admit honestly. “Besides, if I started crying now, all that’d happen is I’d end up with swollen eyes, a headache, and a snotty nose, and what good will that do me?”

“Spoken like a Maeiriellie.” His gaze bores into mine. “Who taught you that?”

“Taught me what?” I ask. “How not to cry?”

“How not to feel.”

That’s not what I’m doing …

Is it?

No, I feel.

I felt for five minutes last night when I bawled my eyes out on the kitchen floor. But I’m not about to tell this dude that.

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