Page 102 of The Psychopaths

Guilt punches me in the gut when I get close enough to touch her.

You did this to her, too.

I caress her cheek. The gesture is so careful and gentle that it surprises even me. Her skin is cool, most likely from the water, but the chemicals can have a negative effect on those with medical conditions. I’ll need to get her warmed up soon. If her body temp drops too low, then we’ll have another issue on our hands. My gaze shifts back to Aries’s retreating form. He hasn’t noticed I’m conscious.

Fucking asshole, thinking he’s won, thinking he can just walk away after doing what he did.She deserves better, more.The mistake will cost him everything. I thought he cared.

That he cared enough about one thing, more than he cares about himself. I’m a piece of shit for letting it get this far. Ignoring the protest of bruised muscles and cracked ribs, I move slowly at first, then faster. Pain is a part of life, the same as breathing.

Get Aries into the cell, then take care of Lilian.

I follow Aries silently, bare feet making no sound on the wet concrete. Every step sends a fresh wave of pain into my ribs, but I push it aside, compartmentalizing it into the same box where I’ve stored every hurt for the past decade. He’s heading toward the security exit, his movements too confident for a man who just broke out of captivity. Except there’s something off about his gait—there’s a slight sway, a momentary hesitation when he turns a corner.

The drugs I pumped into his cell are still circulating in his bloodstream. Working as a sedative now that adrenaline isn’t pumping through his veins, they’re finally slowing his reactions and dulling his senses.

Advantage: mine.

I walk a little faster, keeping to the shadows. Water still drips from the overhead pipes, masking any sound I might make. He pauses at a junction, head tilting as if listening, but he doesn’t turn. Doesn’t see me closing the distance between us.

Ten years in an institution taught me that patience is key. Taught me to wait for the perfect moment rather than rush in. I could take him now, but it would be a fight. Even drugged, he’s dangerous. Better to wait until he’s fully exposed and vulnerable.

The corridor opens into the main warehouse space, the moonlight that filters through high windows casting everything in silver. Aries pauses, scanning the area, likely looking for clothes, maybe a weapon…anything to aid his escape.

His back is a map of violence—Lilian’s nail marks crisscrossing over older scars that were left from our previous fights. The sight of those scratches renews my rage.

She marked him.Despite the chemicals, despite his brutal taking, she fought back even as she wanted it.

He moves toward a storage cabinet, his attention focused on one singular thing.Perfect.

I close the last bit of distance between us in three silent strides, timing my attack with the distant rumble of thunder outside. When I reach for him, I’m prepared and lock my arms around his throat in a practiced chokehold, the move perfected through years of institutional survival. As predicted, he reacts instantly, muscle memory overriding the drugs in his system.

He drives his elbow into my injured ribs, and pain ripples through my chest. Thankfully, his movements are sluggish and predictable, so I’m able to shift at the last moment, and his second blow lands against my hip rather than my rib.

“Should’ve made sure I was dead, Brother,” I hiss against his ear, tightening my grip as he continues to struggle.

He tries to speak, but my forearm pressed against his windpipe cuts off both his air supply and the opportunity to speak. Meaty fingers claw at my arms, but I’m not worried. His strength is slowly fading from the lack of oxygen. In a last-ditch effort, he slams us into a support column. Pain zips up my spine, but I ride out the impact and maintain my grip.

“The drugs make it worse, don’t they?” I observe clinically, feeling his movements grow more desperate but less coordinated. “Fighting just pushes them through your system faster.”

He’s no longer struggling, his body finally giving in, going slack in increments until finally, his knees buckle. I follow him down, maintaining pressure until I’m certain he’s unconscious.

When I release him, I roll him onto his back and check his pulse—strong despite the chokehold.Good.I don’t want him dead. Death is too simple, too clean. I want him awake, aware, forced to watch as I reclaim what he tried to take from me.

I’ll admit that I fucked up—that bringing Lilian into this made things worse—but there’s no changing what happened. All I can do is ensure he doesn’t get his hands on her ever again.

His face in unconsciousness looks younger, the hatred and rage smoothed away. We could almost be mirrors again, like when we were children.

Before the boathouse. Before I lost my brother. Before everything shattered.

My mind flashes back to me stepping up to my father’s angry demands.

“Its my fault. I did it.”

Anger reclaims me back in the present, and I slap him, my palm stinging, reminding me that this is reality, that he did this to us. His head lolls with the impact, but he doesn’t wake.

The combination of drugs and oxygen deprivation will keep him under long enough for me to get him back in that cell.

“You never did know when to stop, when to let go,” I tell his unconscious form, hauling him up by his arms.

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