Page 119 of The Psychopaths

“Remember last time?” I taunt words aimed directly at Arson now. “How responsive she was to me? How perfectly she took my cock inside her? I bet she’s still thinking about it. Still comparing. I have to say, it felt like heaven when she came, squeezing me like a vise, like she was made for me.” Lilian’s eyes widen at the provocative words, understanding darkening her gaze. She follows my lead, adding her own performance.

“Don’t,” she gasps, the perfect note of desperation in her voice. “Please, not again.”

“Shhh,” I soothe mockingly, loud enough for the intercom. “It’ll hurt a lot less this time if you don’t fight me.”

My free hand moves to the waistband of her pants—a visible threat without actual violation. Just enough to trigger Arson’s possessive rage. Just enough to force his hand.

“Come on, Arson!” I shout, finally dropping all pretense. “Come save your girl! Or are you going to let me have her again while you watch from the shadows? What kind of man throws a woman to the wolves, then hides when she screams?”

I position us carefully as I speak—Lilian partially shielded by my body, both of us angled so I can see the door in my peripheral vision. The chains hang loose, ready to be discarded the moment the lock disengages.

“Last chance, Brother!” I call out, voice taunting. “She’s mine if you don’t want her. Just like everything else in our lives.”

A beep from the door panel—the first indication that security protocols are being overridden. The sound sends adrenaline surging through my system, muscles tensing in preparation.

“Get ready,” I whisper to Lilian, low enough that only she can hear. “When the door opens, stay down. Don’t move until it’s over.”

Fear and determination war in her expression as she gives an almost imperceptible nod. The hydraulics of the door begin their mechanical whine—Arson is coming.

I release her, pushing her gently toward the floor.

“Stay down,” I repeat urgently, already turning toward the entrance, mentally calculating angles, timing, and the required force.

The chains fall away completely now, no longer needed for the illusion. Freedom after weeks of captivity—the sensation is almost dizzying in its intensity.

The door slides open, revealing Arson’s silhouette. His expression is cold fury, body coiled and ready for violence. The moment of truth arrives with the sound of the door locking into its fully open position. Everything narrows to this single point in time—my brother in the doorway, Lilian on the floor behind me, and the narrow window of opportunity opening before me. I launch myself forward, every muscle, every reflex, every ounce of training focused on this one chance at freedom. I should have anticipated the Taser. Should have known Arson wouldn’t enter unprepared, wouldn’t let emotion completely overridetactical thinking. The probes hit my chest mid-lunge, electricity instantly seizing my muscles in paralyzing agony.

“Please,” Lilian sobs, her voice small and broken-sounding. “Don’t let him hurt me again.”

I crash to the floor, body convulsing as the current pulses through me. Through watering eyes, I see Arson step carefully over my immobilized form, never taking his eyes off me as he moves to Lilian.

“Get out,” he orders her, voice clipped. “Wait upstairs.”

She hesitates, looking between us with an expression I can’t read through the haze of pain. For a moment, I think she might refuse, might stay—though whether out of concern for me or fear of him, I can’t tell.

“Now, Lilian,” Arson says, softer but no less commanding.

She rises shakily to her feet. My gaze is blurry, making it difficult to see her, but I swear she looks back at me one last time before hurrying through the door. The moment she’s clear, Arson hits the emergency closure button, sealing us alone together in the cell.

The Taser’s effects begin to fade, muscles still twitching but my control gradually returning. I push myself to my knees, laugh breaking through clenched teeth despite the pain.

“Predictable as always, Brother,” I manage, voice rough. “Using a woman as your weakness. Some things never change.”

Arson’s expression remains coldly clinical as he produces new restraints—heavier, more secure than the ones I compromised. “The only predictable one here is you, thinking I wouldn’t be prepared.”

“You weren’t prepared,” I counter, still catching my breath. “You came running the moment you thought she was in danger. Just like I knew you would.”

Something flickers across his features—acknowledgment, perhaps, that I’ve identified a vulnerability he didn’t know he had.

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, ignoring my observation.

I comply. There’s no point resisting with the aftereffects of the Taser still rippling through my system. The new restraints click into place, tight enough to border on painful.

“You care about her,” I say quietly as he secures the ankle cuffs. “More than you want to admit.”

“Shut up.”

“Does she know? Or are you playing the same game I did—keeping her at a distance, telling yourself it’s for her protection?”

---