Axe put his puss just inches from the key. “I’m still staring at it. Is this working for you?”
Butch took his own sweet time before changing subjects. The thing with liars? Silence and stillness were often the best challenge to their fronts, and he looked for tics, blinks, and twitches.
Eventually, he smiled. “You ever see someone die?”
Not on the list of questions Mary had given him to help her ascertain a trainee’s psychological state. But he was good with winging shit.
“What are you suggesting?”
The thought of his Marissa crying over that dead female made him more aggressive than a bull, but he drew back on that throttle.
“Just asking.” He looked at the key to give the male some “personal space.” “It is one way to get to know you better, isn’t it? An icebreaker, they call them, when two people go on a blind date and have to make conversation.”
“You want to know if I’ve ever killed anybody.”
“Not the question, was it. I asked, have you ever seen death happen?”
When there was no answer for a period of time, Butch glanced up. Axe wasn’t looking at the key anymore. The guy was focused on the middle distance in front of his nose.
Gotcha, Butch thought.
Gentling his voice deliberately, he murmured, “Who was it, Axwelle.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why, it’s your name.”
“I don’t answer to it.”
“Why.”
An angry glare went point-blank on Butch like a gun muzzle. “Because I fucking don’t, okay?”
“Fine, back to the Grim Reaper. Tell me the story.”
“Fuck you.”
Under any other circumstances, Butch would have lunged across the desk and grabbed the cocksucker’s neck for that kind of attitude, but there was too much purpose behind this.
“Hmmmmm,” was all he said.
Axe slammed himself back in the chair and did the re-cross thing with his arms. As his shoulders bunched up, it was hard not to approve of the heft of all that muscle. Strength without brains and a copious lack of psychotic, however, were going to do none of them any good.
“Can I go now?” Axe demanded.
“No, son, I don’t think you can. And before you get all huffy on my ass, I’m going to point out to you that this wonderful little bonding time we’re sharing is the first of at least three sessions.”
“Are you a shrink?”
“Fuck, no, are you kidding me?” He laughed. “I take pride in my own little stretch of madness, as a matter of fact.”
After all, he was seriously religious, putting his faith and the course of his life willingly in the hands of a belief system that was not concretely verifiable. And that was nuts, right?
Then again, the fact that his religion enriched his mortal coil and centered him and brought him meaning even after he had been “turned” into another species was enough proof for him.
With a shrug, he said, “The only way to get out of this office is to tell me what happened. As soon as you do, you’re free to go back to the weight room and power-lift until either your knees give out on you or you begin to vomit. So much to look forward to, right?”
If Craeg had thought that sitting behind Paradise in class was bad? That was nothing compared to watching her do pull-ups.
Across the mats, and to the accompaniment of the clanking of free weights, Paradise was lifting her body in perfect form up to the chin bar and then releasing … and up … and releasing. Her knees were cocked parallel to the floor, her ass was … painfully tight (for him, not for her, clearly), and her torso was in control from pelvis to shoulder.
Every time she hit the low point, her breasts punched up against the loose shirt they all wore—
“Fuck,” he groused as he lay back down on the bench and gripped the bar above his head.
Popping the four hundred and fifty pounds off its support, he took the weight down to his pecs and shoved it back up like the thing had insulted his dead mother.
“You want a spotter?” Novo asked.
When all he could do was grunt, she assumed the position behind his head, keeping her hands just under the now-bent bar.
“Three…” she counted. “Two more. One … good. You got it.”
As she helped guide the load back into its holding position, he flopped his forearms onto his chest and caught his breath.
Novo put her face in his line of vision. “I think you need to take a break.”
“Fuck that.”
“No, I mean it.”
“I got at least four more sets in me.”
“Your endurance ain’t what I’m worried about.” At that, her eyes went down to his hips. “Not that I don’t appreciate the view. Just not sure what the virginal object of your affections is gonna think.”
Craeg lifted his head. And then sat up quick.
Novo laughed. “Yeah, why don’t you take care of that and come back?”
“Damn it,” he hissed, jumping to his feet.
Marching across for the door, he glanced at the Brother Vishous. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
Vishous smiled darkly. “Yeah, you do.”
Punching his way out into the corridor, he wondered if everyone had noticed he had a hard-on. The only good news? Paradise seemed oblivious—which meant she was either incredibly good at hiding her reactions, which he doubted, or she was as clueless about his little problem as he hoped.