“Keep this up, I’m sending you for psychiatric testing.” I chuckle and clasp his shoulder. “I’ll go if you go. And we both know you’ll be the one ending up in a padded room and a straightjacket, you fucking psycho.” His jaw twitches and I wait for his reaction. Nothing. “A true psychopath can bullshit their way out of diagnosis, Conan. No one would lock me up anywhere. And if they tried, I’d slit their throats first.” Jesus Christ. I step back. “What happened to you?” I ask. He chuckles.
