Page 8 of Imprisoned

“You’re right.” I straighten my shoulders, pushing away thoughts of Axel’s alluring smile. “I’ve trained for this. I’m ready.”

But am I?

My fascination with the forbidden awakens, and I yearn for a glimpse into his world. This ability to comprehend the shadows in others’ minds makes me good at my job. But with Axel, I fear it might be my undoing.

4

AXEL

The guards’ footsteps echo down the corridor, their boots squeaking against the polished floor. Another day, another shrink to break. Pretty sure Dr. Lanson quit because she was so freaked out when I detailed exactly how I’d like to murder her with a chainsaw, slowly hacking off each of her limbs. I flex my wrists against the cold metal of the handcuffs, savoring the bite of steel against my skin.

“Morrison, behave yourself with the new doctor.” Officer Rodriguez tightens his grip on my arm. “No funny business.”

I flash him my most innocent smile. “When have I ever caused trouble?”

The question makes him flinch. Good. They should all flinch.

Through the mesh-reinforced windows, sunlight streams into the hallway, casting prison-bar shadows across the floor. Such a beautiful day to mess with someone’s mind. The file they’re carrying has my name—thick with papers documenting my greatest hits. I wonder if the new doctor has read every page, studied every crime scene photo, and tried to piece together what makes me tick.

“Here we are.” Rodriguez stops at the doctor’s office door. “Dr. Matthews is waiting inside.”

Dr. Matthews—even her name sounds soft and breakable. I’ve heard whispers about her from the guards—she’s fresh out of school, eager to help, and probably thinks she can fix broken men like me. They’re always so optimistic at first.

The door swings open, and I catch my first glimpse of her. She’s... exquisite. Delicate features, golden hair, and curves that her modest outfit can’t hide. The moment she looks up, her eyes arrest me—bright blue, filled with intelligence and familiarity. There’s a slight tremor in her hands as she arranges her papers, which catches my attention—anxiety radiates from her.

“Good morning, Mr. Morrison.” Her voice stays steady despite her nerves. “Please, have a seat.”

The guards shove me into the plastic chair and secure me to it, but they’re not who my attention is focused on. My entire being zeroes in on her—this delicate creature who dares to be alone in a room with me. The scent of her perfume hits my nostrils, orange blossom and cherry, which makes my cock twitch.

Fuck. What is this?

“These are fixed extra tight, doctor. You don’t want to risk it with this one.” Rodriguez rattles my cuffs.

I keep my gaze fixed on Dr. Matthews, drinking in every detail. A flush creeps up her neck as she meets my eyes. The way she swallows, her throat working against her anxiety—it’s making me hard. Usually, I only get this kind of rush from violence, from watching life drain from someone’s eyes.

“That will be all, officers.”

“Of course, doctor. We’ll be right outside and will do our regular fifteen-minute security checks,” Rodriguez says, eyes narrowing as he glares at me. “Any funny business, don’t hesitate to press your panic button.”

The door clicks shut, and the doctor sinks into her chair opposite me with enough distance to give her a false sense ofsecurity. We’re alone. My pulse pounds, not with the usual urge to destroy but with infatuation. I want to bend her over that desk and make her scream my name. The intensity of it startles me. I’ve fucked plenty of women, men too, but it’s always been about power, about breaking them. This is different. This is hunger.

“So,” she clears her throat, crossing her legs. The movement draws my attention to the hint of thigh visible beneath her skirt. “I’ve reviewed your file extensively.”

“Have you?” I ask. “And what conclusions have you drawn about me, baby?”

She blinks at the nickname, her pupils dilating. “I—I prefer if you address me as Dr. Matthews.”

A smirk tugs at my lips. Blood rushes south as I imagine all the ways I could make her lose her carefully constructed facade.

This is new territory. Usually, my victims bore me until I split them open, watching their insides spill out. But her? I want to take my time and corrupt her slowly until she’s begging for it.

I lean back in the chair, letting my cuffs rattle. For the first time in years, the constant mutter of violence in my head has turned silent. There’s no urge to wrap my hands around her throat, to watch the light fade from those blue eyes, or to carve her up and leave her entrails spread all over this office. My body thrums with a different kind of hunger.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Morrison?” She uncaps her pen.

“Please, call me Axel.” I study the way her throat moves when she swallows. “And I’m feeling unusually calm.”

“Calm?” Her eyebrow arches. “Can you elaborate on that?”

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