Page 93 of The Diamond in the Rough

Hart also didn’t accept it, arguing back, his voice just as low as Raj’s, although there were a couple moments when he gestured widely in my direction, suggesting that he was very clearly trying to convince Raj to make use of me.

I saw the moment the shifter agent came to a decision, huffing out a heavy breath that made his shoulders drop a little. He said one more thing that I assumed was something likestay here, since Hart crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet as Raj came over to me.

I stiffened, fear rising—I didn’t think he would physically hurt me, but I was afraid of what he was going to say to me.

He stopped a few paces away, several emotions flickering over his face that seemed—at least in my poor judgment—conflicting. I wondered about what, and experienced a flash of hope that one of them meant that he was maybe a little bit happy to see me again… or, at least, not disappointed.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly. “I won’t ever hurt you.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I’m sorry about the dreams and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry I kept doing it and?—”

Raj held up a hand, his features startled. “We are not going to talk about this here or now,” he said sharply.

I stopped talking, feeling my face heat.

Raj took a step closer, then cleared his throat. “Did Hart pressure you into being here?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I mean that, Rayn,” he said, his voice firm. “If you don’t want to be here…” He trailed off, waiting.

“I don’twantto be here,” I said, half swallowing the words. “But I want to help. And if here is where I can help, then…” I also trailed off, shrugging.

Raj let out a soft huff. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said firmly. “No matter what it is or who is asking. Hart, me, any of the other agents or LEOs. Understood?”

“LEOs?” I asked.

“Law enforcement officers,” he replied. “Police. It’s FBI slang, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter who asks you to do something, if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. Do you understand?”

I nodded, not looking at his face, my gaze focused down on his shoes. Loafers—black ones, with thick soles and stitching around the bottoms. Practical shoes rather than fashionable ones, the toes a little scuffed, the surfaces marred by what looked like dust and dirt.

“You aren’t obligated to do anything for anyone. The minute you decide you’ve had enough, you can be done. I’ll call you a cab, if that’s what you want, so that you don’t have to stay here. Understood?”

Despite the gruffness of his tone, the words he was saying were generous, kind, concerned. They were words that cared about my well-being. Maybe notme, exactly, but at least about my health. I glanced up, finding his gold-brown eyes fixed on me. I nodded again.

“You need a break, you just say so, okay?”

I nodded again.

Raj sighed heavily. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” he asked me and it almost seemed as if his tone had softened, but that might have been wishful thinking.

“No,” I answered honestly, once more dropping my eyes. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

Raj hadme start in the offices, sitting in a chair that Hart had covered with the same blanket from Taavi’s memory, pulled from his trunk, so I didn’t have to risk accidentally touching the arms of the chair.

Every now and then, someone would pass me something—a dusty coffee mug, a monogrammed pen, a set of manila file folders for patients all assigned to the same doctor. Dr. Robert Garraway.

He had hated all of us.

Every single patient file was a wellspring of vile, vicious thoughts about the sub-humanity of every single one of them.

This one was a violent monster who needed to be subdued with nearly constant sedation, kept in near-total isolation, kept on a reduced diet, and discouraged from social interactions for the ostensible safety of others. He was also an orc. Or, rather, he had been. He’d died here, the autopsy—to which Dr. Garraway had referred as anecropsyin an act of final indignity—revealing that he’d barely weighed more than a human of comparable height… meaning that he’d essentially starved to death.

Another was marked as having severe body dysmorphia, believing herself to be human when she was not. He’d conducted repeated therapy sessions in which he’d encouraged her to give up on any aspirations of higher educationor career and suggested that she resign herself to manual labor or janitorial work. She’d been a faun, and had committed suicide in an act Garraway thought of asa fitting end,thatshe’d at least given herself the last dignity of removing the stain of her corruption from the world.