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

were to meet my brother at the same time instead of stretching this out,” she announced with a bright smile that looked a little brittle and failed to comfort them.

There was an awkward pause before she continued. “Once again, I’d like to apologize for my brother. Since the accident, he’s been...isolated. He’s a little rough around the edges, but once you get to know him, he’s a real sweetheart.”

Several of the women shifted nervously while Sloane had to bite back a smile. It sounded like the patient was going to be a terror. That didn’t bother Sloane. She welcomed a challenge. She’d rather have a pissed-off patient than someone who just laid in bed, waiting to die. Judging by the expressions on the other women’s faces, they didn’t share the same opinion.

“If you’ll follow me,” Mrs. Harris said with a forced smile as she gestured toward the house, “I’ll introduce you to my brother.”

As they followed her inside the house, Sloane couldn’t help but notice the anxious looks the other women were shooting each other as they entered the small foyer. She also couldn’t help but notice the stench of body odor, old food, and the thick layer of dust covering everything. The dirty clothes thrown everywhere with old pizza boxes and Chinese takeout boxes lining the walls was a nice touch and probably just made getting rid of the competition a hell of a lot easier.

“As you, ah, can see, there will be some light cleaning involved with this position,” Mrs. Harris said with another one of those forced smiles that actually looked like it was starting to hurt.

Sloane barely stifled a chuckle. Light cleaning? She was going to need a dumpster and a biohazard suit to clean this mess. Ah, but that was no problem for Sloane. That just meant job security, which was a good thing in her book.

“Chase?” Mrs. Harris said brightly, still trying to maintain a hold on that smile. “Chase, there are some people here that I’d like you to meet.”

A moment later, a man in a wheelchair rolled into the foyer and glared at Mrs. Harris while Sloane quickly looked him over. He had dark hair, shaggy and unkempt, a month’s worth of whiskers hiding part of a thick scar that ran from the right side of his temple to his jaw and wore a wrinkled shirt that looked slept in and a pair of boxer briefs that definitely needed to find a new home, preferably in a dumpster somewhere far, far, far away.

“Get. Out,” the man that she was assuming was Chase, bit out.

When no one moved, he clarified his point in case there was some sort of misunderstanding.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Chase roared, startling two of the women, who decided that it was in their best interest to leave as fast as their white orthopedic shoes would allow them.

Excellent.

Two down and two to go.

Sighing softly, Sloane leaned back against the wall, waiting for the patient to do the work for her. With the way things were going, it looked like she’d be sleeping in a boyband-free room tonight.

*-*-*-*

Chase watched as two of the women scrambled for the door, tripping over their white orthopedic shoes in their rush for freedom and probably fresh air. Not that he cared. He was used to the smell by now, even that weird odor coming from the corner in the living room was starting to grow on him.

He threw a glare at his sister as she glared right back at him. When the hell was she going to move on and forget that he existed like everyone else had? It was really starting to fucking annoy him. He’d accepted his new life and so should she. The sooner, the better. He wanted nothing more than to live in peace and quiet while the rest of the world went and fucked itself.

He glanced at the two women trying to hold their ground in front of him. They looked like the nurses back at the rehab they’d stuck him in with their starched white uniforms, bleached sneakers, and resting bitch faces. There was no way that he was having either one of them in his house, not that he planned on accepting any of them. He didn’t need anyone. He shook his head before glancing at the woman casually leaning against the wall, looking incredibly bored.

Now she definitely didn’t look like any of the nurses that he’d seen in the past year. She had short black hair, killer