Page 39 of The Psychopaths

I feel it in her neck as her throat swallows, clenches,takes. My body is shaking with it—legs rigid, stomach spasming as I keep her there, pulsing into her until I’m drained and twitching.

“Swallow it,” I grit out. “Every last fucking drop. Keep it. Carry it.”

When I finally release my hold—on her hair, her throat, her mouth—she falls back onto her heels like a puppet with cut strings. Her breath comes in broken gasps, and I’ve never seen something so fucking beautiful. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

I crouch down, thumb swiping a thick line of spit and cum from her chin, smearing it across her cheekbone like war paint.

“You offered to help,” I whisper. “Now you know what that means.”

I’m tempted to pick her up and put her back in the bed, but I remind myself that this was a punishment. It was psychological warfare. Fighting against the compelling need to care for her, I put my softening cock back into my boxers and clean myself up.

The look on her face as I slip out the door stays with me—fear mingled with fascination, confusion with desire. I already know that she won’t stop pursuing this. At least I’ve regained some measure of control over the situation.

I move through the darkened hallway with renewed purpose, retracing my steps to the stairwell. The night attendant is still asleep, as oblivious to my exit as he was to my entrance. Outside, the campus is silent, streetlamps casting pools of light that I easily avoid.

In my car, I examine the recovered treasures.

The journal will need careful study—what secrets of Aries’s does it contain? What has he written about her? About me? The watch is meaningless except as a symbol, a token of her affection that he kept but never wore. And the USB drive—this will require immediate attention.

Satisfaction settles deep in my chest. For the first time since she complicated my carefully laid plans, I feel like something has finally gone right. I’ve reclaimed control of the narrative and reminded her of the power dynamic between us.

There’s only one problem.

Even as I tell myself I’m in control, her scent lingers on my skin, the warmth of her wet mouth haunts me, and a treacherous thought forms: in punishing her, have I also punished myself? In trying to scare her away, have I only made her more curious, in turn dragging her deeper into the darkness?

I guess there’s only one way to find out…

Lilian

The two cars in front of me continue driving as I pull over to the side of the road and kill the headlights. Darkness surrounds me, and with it comes a sudden rush of fear.

I should go back to the dorm. I have no right to know or try to understand what is going on with Aries. I mean, up until last week, he had forgotten I existed. Now we are in this twisted game of cat and mouse, and I sure as hell don’t plan on being the mouse.

Hell. I can still taste him in the back of my throat and feel the way he used me. I’m scared—no—yes, I’m scared of him doing that to me again. Even as I think about it, I can’t get myself fully into the lie.

It hurt. It felt good. Dammit. Even if it’s the only way to get him, I want it.

Yet no matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, I can’t make myself turn the car around. The warehouse district looms ahead, abandoned buildings with broken windows standing alongside still-functioning facilities. He turns off the road and into a lot beside what used to be Northstar Pharmaceuticals.

I wait five minutes. Five minutes feels like a million years. Then I turn my headlights on and start driving. I turn into the industrial park and drive past the building, parking two blocks away behind a defunct shipping company.

Years of moving silently through our house to avoid unwanted concern have made me stealthier than anyone would guess. I’ve learned to regulate my breathing, to place each foot carefully in front of the other, and become invisible in plain sight.

I pull the lapels of my jacket tighter around my face to protect myself against the cool night air. Then I slide out of the car, my legs shaky. The evening air carries with it the scent of rust and abandonment. In the distance, I hear the occasional car passing by on the highway, but here, in this parking lot, it’s eerily quiet.

Each step I take is slow and easy. I try not to notice the way my pulse quickens as the building comes into view. It’s not the erratic rhythm my doctors always warn about, but the controlled tempo of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

For once, I’m not following doctors’ orders or my parents’ expectations.

Something about this moment is so exhilarating that for one fleeting second, I don’t want it to end.

The Northstar Pharmaceuticals warehouse rises like a shadowed fortress against the darkening sky. Unlike the truly abandoned buildings nearby, this one shows subtle signs of use—recently cleared loading areas, a security camera disguised as broken, and fresh tire tracks in the gravel.

I crouch behind a dumpster and get a good look at what I assume to be the entrance.

A square black box outside the door tells me I’ll need a code if I plan to get in or out of this place. Whatever the hell this place is.

Maybe the reasoning for Aries’s disappearance is inside this building? I creep closer, keeping to the shadows. The warehouse is massive—three stories of industrial concrete with rows of blacked-out windows. Each is sealed, except for a few on the ground floor that look like they’ve been recently replaced. The loading dock on the far side looks partially operational, its bay door lowered but not completely closed.

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