Page 71 of The Psychopaths

“Careful, Lilian.” I stalk forward, backing her against another wall. “I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here.”

“No.” She holds her head high even as I crowd her space. “You be careful. You want answers; well, so do I. I’m done being pushed around. Done being protected and sheltered. I’m not weak or fragile. I’m not the enemy. I came here to help you, remember?”

“Help me?” I laugh, the sound harsh and broken. “I don’t think you understand what is happening. They weren’t supposed to know about you. About us. About?—”

“About what?” She pushes me again, a little harder this time. “About how you can’t decide if you want to threaten me or fuck me? About how you’re so obsessed with hurting Aries you can’t see you’re turning into exactly what they made you?”

I snap, something inside me—that carefully constructed control I’ve maintained since escaping the institution—evaporating.

She sees it happen, recognizes the moment the monster breaks free of the chains, but instead of running, she pushes me one more time.

“Come on, Arson. Show me what they really created in that place. Show me the animal they?—”

I don’t think. I simply react, wrapping a hand around her throat before she can finish. I give the slender column a squeeze, stopping her from speaking or screaming for help—not that anyone would be able to save her. Her blue eyes reflect that danger; she knows this isn’t the seductive grip from our previous encounters.

This is pure, uncontrolled violence.

God help me, she’s still standing here, her eyes shimmering with both fear and determination. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t scream or cower.

My fingers flex against her throat, muscle memory from years of institutional violence taking over. A little more pressure, and I could silence her forever. End this complication. Remove this variable that’s making me feel things I buried deep between padded cells and chemical restraints.

Emotions lead to mistakes, loss of control, they lead to giving a shit, and I have no room to care for her, not with my need for revenge burning so brightly. As I watch her, though, I realize I’mpast that point. Meeting my gaze steadily, her small hand comes to rest over my mine, the one wrapped around her throat.

Not fighting. Not surrendering. Something else entirely.

“Is this what they taught you?” Her voice comes out rough under my grip. “How to hurt anyone who gets too close?”

Stupid girl. Always tempting the monsters in the dark.

“Shut up.” The words scrape out of me, animal-raw.

“Make me.” She presses herself into my hand. “Show me what they turned you into. The monster under the bed. The bogeyman they used to scare the other patients?—”

“I said shut up!” I snarl into her face. The desire to hurt her surges up, wild and blistering. It screams through my bones, coils around my spine, and demands release.

I could end this. Shut her up. Break her down. But I don’t.

My grip doesn’t tighten, and instead my fingers tremble. Like even the darkness inside me flinches at the thought of hurting her.She’s not afraid of me.Sheshould beand that makes me even more dangerous. Dammit, she’s in my blood now. In my head.

Wrapped around every fucked-up part of me like silk on barbed wire.

We stand locked together, her pulse fluttering under my palm, both of us breathing like we’ve just ran a marathon. If I had any sense, I’d finish what I started. Snap her like a twig and walk away before she ruins what’s left of me.

That’s no longer an option, because somewhere along the way, she stopped being the pawn I needed to use, and became a weapon to be used against me.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” It’s an honest observation, and one that has me curious.

Her thumb strokes my knuckles, the gesture incongruously gentle against our violent tableau. “Because this isn’t you. This iswhat they programmed you to be. Their attack dog.”It’s true.“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it already.”

Memories flood me—orderlies teaching me where to hit so it wouldn’t leave a bruise, doctors explaining how violence was my natural response, nurses sedating me when I tried to be anything else. I give my head a shake to break free of the thoughts. It doesn’t matter if she’s right. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what I went through to get here.

“Don’t act like you know me, Lilian, because you don’t. You know what I want you to know, and that’s it.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you, but I do know they hurt you.” Her other hand comes out of nowhere, and her gentle fingers skim across my cheek. I can’t tell if she’s stupid or fearless, especially since I’ve still got a tight grip on her throat. “I know they used you for their own benefit, that they wanted you to become a weapon.”

“Become?” I tilt my head at her. “What makes you think I’m not a weapon for them to use already?”

“Maybe you are. I don’t know. What I can tell you is that you aren't the monster you pretend to be.”

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