Page 124 of The Psychopaths

Recognition hits like a physical blow. The same vehicle from before. The same tinted windows hide whoever sits inside. The same air of corporate menace masquerading as legitimate business. I should run. Should get back inside the warehouse, lock the door, return to the twins who, for all their violence, at least represent a danger I understand. I can’t, though. My muscles freeze, my body refusing to follow my mind’s desperate commands

The SUV stops directly before me, the passenger door opening with synchronized precision. “Miss Hayes.” The well-dressed man from before steps out, adjusting his cuff links as if this is a scheduled business meeting. “I believe it’s time we had a proper conversation.”

I back against the wall, key card clutched in a white-knuckled grip. “Stay away from me.”

His smile never reaches his eyes. “I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Two more men emerge from the vehicle, moving with practiced efficiency to flank me. Professional. Methodical. Inescapable.

“The brothers appear to be...indisposed at the moment,” the first man observes casually. “A situation we find concerning for our investment.”

“They’re fine,” I insist, eyes darting between the men, seeking an escape route that doesn’t exist. “Just talking.”

“Indeed.” He gestures toward the SUV. “And now you’ll be coming with us.”

“I’m going nowhere with you.” I lift my chin, channeling the defiance I showed the twins.

His smile widens fractionally. “Oh but you are, even if we have to tie you up and gag you.”

Before I can respond, the men move in perfect tandem, grasping my arms with firm but impersonal force. The key card falls from my fingers, clattering to the pavement as they guide me inexorably toward the waiting vehicle. Inside the warehouse, the twins remain locked in their standoff, unaware that their most valuable piece has just been removed from the board.

Arson

Six steps forward, six steps back.The cell’s dimensions have become intimately familiar over the past hour—concrete walls that absorb nothing, harsh fluorescent lighting that leaves no shadows, and my brother watching my every move with calculated amusement.

“You’re going to wear a trench in the floor,” Aries observes from his seated position on the cot. Despite the restraints, despite the blood drying on his split lip, he maintains an infuriating air of ease—as if his captivity is a minor inconvenience rather than the culmination of my decade-long plan.

I ignore him, continuing my measured pacing.

Six steps, turn. Six steps, turn. Mentally reviewing security protocols, calculating possibilities, searching for weaknesses in a system I designed to be impenetrable.

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Aries continues, voice deliberately conversational. “Can’t say I blame you. She has a certain...quality that’s hard to resist. I should know.”

My jaw tightens, but I refuse to respond. Won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how effectively his words land.

“Though I have to wonder,” he presses, chains clinking as he adjusts his position, “what exactly happened between you two. She seems remarkably attached despite your charming personality.”

“Shut up,” I finally snap, stopping my pacing to glare at him.

His smile widens fractionally. “Hit a nerve, have I? Interesting. I thought you were just using her to get to me. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He leans forward slightly, eyes—identical to mine—gleaming with the particular satisfaction of finding a weak point. “I know what desire looks like, Brother. I recognize obsession. After all, we share the same genetic predispositions.”

I resume pacing, refusing to engage further.

Six steps, turn. Six steps, turn.

“Did she tell you how responsive she was with me?” Aries continues, voice dropping lower. “How perfectly she fit against me? The sounds she made when I?—”

“One more word,” I interrupt, voice deadly quiet, “and I’ll put you back on the floor.”

He laughs, the sound echoing off concrete walls.

“There he is. The monster they created in that place. Always so close to the surface, isn’t he? No matter how hard you try to keep him on a leash.”

I clench my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The desire to cross the cell and beat him unconscious is nearly overwhelming—and exactly what he wants. To prove him right. To demonstrate that I am exactly what they made me.

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