Born, Madly (Darkly, Madly 2)

was I?”

I breathe in deeply, savoring her scent. I set her free so she could lock my demons away. “There’s give and take in every relationship, doc.”

“There is,” she says on a breathy whisper. Then her eyes drill me. “I’ve studied your brain scans repeatedly. I’ve shown you the proof of them. There are no signs of schizophrenia, Grayson. Your fear of inheriting your mother’s mental illness only goes so far.”

So she’s discovered Mother dearest. “And how is Becky these days?”

“Nonresponsive.”

I nod slowly, absorbing the information.

London doesn’t stop. “After your official diagnosis,” she says, “you could’ve left. Ended the sessions. You didn’t need me, not in that way anymore. You’re feeding a deluded fear of an illness that doesn’t exist. May never exist—”

“It will,” I cut her off.

She wets her lips. “And when it doesn’t, when you never fall victim to your madness, how will I fit into your puzzle then?”

I can’t help the smile that steals across my face. “Do you honestly believe you’re expendable to me?”

She shrugs with a shake of her head. “I believe that everyone becomes expendable when their usefulness runs its course. You chose me because I was the best?” she says in a mocking tone. “No, Grayson. You chose me because I was good enough, and I had a secret you could exploit. A means of manipulation for if and when our arrangement was no longer beneficial to you.”

I don’t deny it.

Her arms hug her slim waist. “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why?” she demands.

I breathe out slowly. “Oh, London. Don’t tempt a man. It’s cruel.”

“Where are the copies of my patient tapes?” she suddenly asks.

My expression hardens. “With your confession footage, of course.”

My admission doesn’t faze her, either. I figured she’d eventually put it together; I wasn’t hiding it from her—more like saving the best for last.

“Insurance policy?” She cranes an eyebrow.

I huff a humorless laugh. “Not the way you think. I was protecting you.”

“From whom?”

“From yourself,” I say. “From Lydia, apparently. We’re human, London. We waver. We doubt ourselves. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

She nods harshly. “You couldn’t risk losing your investment. After all, you put in over a year of hard work. What good would Dr. Noble be to your cause if she was broken?”

I run my fingers up the bar, wishing I could touch her. She’s fire right now.

At my silence, she looks down the corridor. The guard is surfing his phone. London lowers her voice. “Manipulation is like foreplay to you.”

I chuckle. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll give you flowers.”

Her eyes spear me. “Next time?”

The way she says it, so incredulously, sends a current of livid heat whipping across my skin. “Why are you here?”

She doesn’t answer right away. The question hovers between us, a livewire that, if severed, will detonate our suddenly fragile connection. “Because I saw your home, Grayson.” Her eyes glisten, forcing me to drop my gaze. “I saw where you were raised…how you were raised. Since the moment you designed your first trap, setting yourself free, you’ve been seeking an answer. I understand what my initial purpose was to you. Fear of your mother’s illness, of losing your mind, made you cling to the hope that I could treat you. But there’s something else. What are you searching for?”

I move back from the bars, putting more distance between us. It’s a physical pain that I still have yet to comprehend when she’s too far away. The pain feels real. Tangible. I use it.

“Five minutes!” the guard shouts.