A Psychopath For a Boss

Chapter 47 Offer

Hello assorted gremlins, cretins, sadists, readers- the assorted and unique seashells to have arrived on this sandy shore- I have returned with an update. I had to figure out where I was going with this before writing. Sorry for the enormous gap, but I hope you enjoy the little video I attached. It sums up my editing sentiments and probably the main reason this took a fat four days since my last update to release.

Travis's POV

My mind keeps reeling me back to my actions.

A barely-living drug dealer at the end of a heavy bat. The feeling of raising the weight of it in the air, like an extension of my arms, before letting gravity do the work to bring it down. Deliberation and anger were driving me, with an undertone of fresh, hot pain scoring my back. There had been red blocking my vision, a driving force in me that carried on through the night and blotted out all but loud sounds and short thoughts—

BAM. Damn it.
BAM. Messy blood.
SMACK. Fuck him.
SMACK. Fuck him.
SMACK. FUCK HIM!

Wait. The red had lifted with a dizzying rush.
Why did I do that?
Why does it feel... better?

The sound of a car, an arm around me.
How did this become my life?

I was passed a gun.
I am not your sweetheart, asshole.
BANG.

Here he goes again.
A change.

You will listen to me.
James did.
There was no longer danger.

— Snap snap snap-

"Travis? Travis."

I was dragged unceremoniously back to the present by fingers snapping in my face, a lifetime of memories from one night uncovering themselves before being stowed away. The present was with me, sitting at a restaurant bar beside James.

"Order."

"Right, I will have a grilled cheese and some water." I hand over my menu to a man who I recognized by face. I came to this place plenty of times, back when I watched Brandon on the perfect-picture TVs. Now I was a stranger, coming by at just past six in the morning for drinks and delicious sandwiches. The place had barely opened the doors before we sat down.

"Grilled cheese? This early?" James asked, apparently not seeing the issue with so many margaritas this early in the morning. Still, coming this early saved me the cost of Mr. Psychopath having a hangover. Or so I hoped.

"It is a wonder that there are no laws forbidding you from drinking this early." I marveled, flicking a hand towards him. As much as that deflection might have provoked him, I had a feeling he would not act out. Worse than a feeling- I was starting to read him.

James' mouth twitched in disapproval, but he said nothing. When he was angry, his fists clenched. His eyes narrowed. Pupils dilated with rage. If I wasn't careful, his mood could flip like a switch. But I could read the signs- the very same ones that Alistair had managed to set off all at once last night.

And this was the way to redirect James' rage. Margaritas.

Last night, Alistair had said something that nearly caused James to go off the deep end. At that moment, I could read his anger just from James' hands. The night had made James furious like... possibly worse than when I slapped his face or hit him with the headboard. Those were the peaks of rage I witnessed, and there was more he could conjure.