Furious (Anger Management #2) - R.L. Mathewson Page 0,21

before fitting in a nap this afternoon, but unfortunately there was nothing within reach that he could use.

“No!” she snapped, sounding angry for some odd reason.

“You sound mad,” Chase said conversationally as he leaned back in his wheelchair, closed his eyes and settled in for that nap he’d been thinking about since that little prick that his sister had sent to disrupt his morning started crying.

“Pissed! I sound pissed!” Sloane snapped as she slammed her body against the door in a sad attempt to break free, but with his wheelchair locked in place the way that it was, she wasn’t going anywhere.

At least not until he grew bored, had to use the bathroom, or found something more entertaining than keeping her locked in the closet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chase asked, really enjoying himself.

“No, I want you to open the door!” she snapped, further expressing her desire for freedom with more pounding.

“Why would you want me to do that? Don’t you like it in there?” he asked innocently, starting to see the benefits of having an aide.

“No,” she bit out evenly, making him smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Oh,” he said, making sure to sound confused even as he continued to smile.

“Are you going to let me out?” Sloane asked after a slight hesitation.

“Probably,” Chase said around a yawn and a shrug, wondering if she’d notice if he rolled away for a few minutes to grab a drink.

Then again, he could probably get her to grab him a drink if he let her go…

“Chase,” Sloane bit out his name coldly, absolutely making his day.

“Yes, Pookie?” he asked, deciding that she needed a nickname.

“Let. Me. Out.”

Chuckling, he flipped the locks off his wheelchair and rolled away, wondering what other fun things that he could do with his aide.

*-*-*-*

“You know what I’m in the mood to do?” the epitome of evil asked while Sloane sat there, glaring at the man whose wheelchair she wanted to shove in front of an oncoming train.

“No, no, I don’t,” Sloane said evenly as she slowly sipped from her water bottle, seriously contemplating suggesting a ride to the train station to work out some of the uncontrollable rage leftover from her time spent in the linen closet.

Smiling, Chase reached over and plucked the bottle of water out of her hand and took a sip. “I could really go for a walk, couldn’t you?” he suggested, sighing long and loud as she shifted her glare from him to the kitchen window that she could barely see out of thanks to all that rain beating against the glass.

“It’s raining,” Sloane said as though she really thought that would make a difference.

“Perfect weather for a walk,” Chase said brightly while she sat there, staring at the window and wondering where she’d gone wrong. One minute, she’d been reaching for a blanket on the top shelf and the next, she found herself pressed up against the shelves, trying to negotiate with a mad man for her release.

“It’s raining,” Sloane found herself repeating, because really, what else was there to say?

“It will be refreshing,” Chase said, looking happier than she’d ever seen him, which of course, scared the hell out of her because she honestly wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

She could deal with asshole patients, depressed patients, belligerent patients, grouchy patients, demanding patients, but she drew the line with patients that started exhibiting the signs of the devil. He was still an asshole, but now he was an asshole who was going out of his way to torture her for his own sick, twisted pleasure and she really wasn’t sure that she was going to survive this without giving in to the urge to slap the bastard.

“No way in hell,” Sloane said evenly, barely aware that she’d started rubbing her temples to alleviate the tension.

A heavy sigh immediately followed, sending a chill up her spine. “I guess I could go for a walk by myself,” the manipulative bastard said with a heartfelt sigh as he reached down, released the brakes on his wheelchair and pushed away from the table.

When she just sat there, rubbing her temples and glaring, he shrugged and released another sigh, this one smaller but no less effective as he slowly rolled his way toward the front door. She should just let him go, Sloane thought, rubbing her temples a little faster. He wasn’t really going, she told herself as she watched him disappear around the corner. If anything, he was just trying to screw

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