Page 16 of Imprisoned

“Tell me about your childhood.” She glances down at her notes.

“Daddy was a drunk. Mommy was a punching bag.” I keep my voice casual. “Until I fixed the problem.”

Her pen pauses. “Fixed?”

“You know what I did. It’s all there in your file.” I nod toward the papers on her desk. “Did you read that part before bed last night? Did it keep you up?”

A slight flush creeps up her neck. “Let’s focus on how you felt afterward.”

“Free.” The word comes out like a caress. “For the first time in my life, I felt powerful.”

She swallows hard, and the movement sends images flashing through my mind—her writhing beneath me, those blue eyes clouded as I wrap my hands around her throat. The things I could teach her about power...

“And the subsequent incidents?” Her voice brings me back to the present.

“You mean the others?” I state, loving how she tenses. “Each one was special. Different. But none of them...” I pause, lettingmy gaze trail over her face. “None of them were quite what I was looking for.”

She fumbles with a necklace around her neck, and I track the movement. God, the marks I would leave there.

“What were you looking for?”

“Someone who understands.” I hold her gaze. “Someone who sees the beauty in darkness.”

Her pupils dilate. Just slightly. But enough.

She flips through my file, pretending to read notes she’s probably memorized by now. Such delicate fingers. I imagine them trailing across my skin, leaving marks of their own. Would she fight? Or would she melt into my touch, finally letting that darkness inside her break free?

Willow thinks she can hide behind her credentials, but I see right through them. She’s like a butterfly caught in my web—the more she struggles, the more entangled she becomes.

The guards outside think these chains keep everyone safe. They don’t realize my mind is the most dangerous weapon in this building. Her mind is going to be such a delicious playground. I’ll take my time unwrapping each layer of propriety, peeling back her defenses until she’s raw and exposed—until she begs for the very things that terrify her now.

I’m going to enjoy this game. Drawing her in slowly makes her question everything she knows about herself. Every session will be another thread in my web, another step toward her inevitable descent into depravity. When she finally breaks—when that carefully constructed facade crumbles—I’ll catch her.

8

WILLOW

Igrip my pen, pretending to take notes while glancing at Axel. His presence fills the small space, making drawing air into my lungs difficult. The sterile glow of the lights casts eerie shadows across his sharp cheekbones and highlights the intricate tattoos that snake up his neck.

A dragon.

A skull.

Words I can’t quite make out.

“Tell me about your childhood relationships beyond your parents.” My voice wavers.

His green eyes find mine. “You’re blushing, Dr. Matthews.”

Blood rushes to my face. “Let’s stay focused on?—”

“You know what I think?” he asks. “I think you’re tired of asking these bullshit questions as much as I’m tired of answering them.”

The wild percussion of my heartbeat drowns out all else. I should call the guards. End the session. I’m frozen, caught in his gaze.

“These past fifty-five minutes, I’ve been a good boy. Telling you exactly what you want to hear.” His lips curl into aknowing smirk. “About my daddy issues. My impulse control. My rehabilitation.”

I swallow hard. “Mr. Morrison?—”

---