Page 118 of The Psychopaths

Is that what I want? To kill my twin?The answer isn’t as clear as it once was.

“I want freedom,” I say finally. “Beyond that...I haven’t decided.”

Her expression suggests she doesn’t believe me, but desperation makes for strange alliances.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I explain quietly, leaning forward as if making threats while actually outlining my plan. “I’m going to start intimidating you. It will look real, sound real. I might grab you, but I won’t actually hurt you.”

“And if I refuse to play along?”

“Then we stay here until Arson decides what to do with us both.” I let that reality sink in. “He’s unstable, Lilian. You’veseen it yourself. Whatever connection you think you formed with him didn’t stop him from throwing you in here.” She flinches at the reminder of Arson’s betrayal, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she masks it.

“I promise,” I add, the sincerity in my voice surprising even me, “I won’t hurt you. I just… I need you to be with me on what happens next, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can see from the look in her eyes that she’s in. After a moment, I slip the mask of cruelty into place.

“Time’s up,” I announce loudly, straightening from my position on the cot. The sudden shift in tone makes Lilian flinch. “I’m done playing nice.”

I move toward her with calculated menace, chains dragging across the concrete floor—still appearing secured though ready to be discarded at a moment’s notice. My expression hardens into something cruel, something I’ve perfected over the years.

“Stay back,” she warns, playing her part whether intentionally or not, pressing herself further against the wall.

“Or what?” I laugh, the sound deliberately cold. “He threw you in here. Abandoned you. What makes you think he cares what happens to you now?”

Her eyes dart to the camera in the corner, a silent plea to our unseen observer. Perfect. Keep his attention fixed on her, on the apparent danger and not on my careful positioning.

“He’ll come back,” she says, voice shaking slightly—genuine fear or excellent acting, I can’t tell.

“Maybe.” I take another step toward her, bringing me within arm’s reach of her. “But will he get here in time?”

I lunge, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward me. She gasps, the sound sharp and startled as she collides with my chest. My free hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat.

“Should we give him a show?” I suggest loudly, making sure the intercom catches every word. “Prove to him that I can do better than I did last time.”

Her pulse races wildly under my fingers, her breathing quick and shallow. Despite knowing this is partly performance, genuine fear radiates from her—a reminder of what happened the last time we were this close.

“Please don’t,” she whispers, eyes fixed on mine, searching for confirmation that this is still the plan, that it is still for show.

I give her the slightest nod, invisible to the cameras, before raising my voice again. “Begging won’t help you. It didn’t last time, did it?”

My grip on her hair tightens just enough to appear threatening without actually causing pain. I force her down to her knees, positioning us so her body blocks the camera’s view of my hands—allowing me to loosen my hold while maintaining an illusion of control.

“I wonder if he’s watching,” I continue, voice pitched to carry clearly through the intercom. “Watching me take what he thinks is his.Again.”

I tug at her shirt—a show for the cameras while whispering urgently against her ear, “Make it convincing. Struggle but don’t hurt yourself.”

She responds perfectly, twisting away from my grip with a convincing cry of fear. I let her scramble a few feet away, maintaining the performance while actually maneuvering us both closer to the optimal position near the door.

“There’s nowhere to hide,” I call, voice echoing off concrete walls. “Nowhere to run, Lilian. No one to save you.”

My eyes flick to the observation window, catching the shadow of movement beyond.Almost there.Arson’s restraint is fracturing, just as I predicted.

Time to push him over the edge.

“He wants me to hurt you,” I announce loudly, circling Lilian like a predator. “He wants to see what I’ll do to you. Why else would he put you in here with me? This is your punishment.” I grab her again, rougher than necessary for the performance but careful not to actually hurt her. She yelps—a perfect sound of distress that carries clearly through the intercom.

“Did you hear that, Brother?” I call toward the ceiling, where the cameras capture every movement. “Did you enjoy that sound? Should I make her scream louder for you?”

My hand slides to her throat, applying visible pressure but carefully positioned so her airway remains unobstructed. From the cameras’ angles, it looks like I’m choking her. Lilian plays along brilliantly, hands clutching at my wrist, face contorting with apparent distress.

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