Page 74 of The Psychopaths

“Don’t what? Ask for more information about the people threatening me?” I move to my dresser, deliberately putting my back to him. “The ones who seem to own you?”

I sense the change in temperature, and in half a second he’s behind me, caging me against the dresser. “They don’t own me.”

“No?” I reach for my underwear drawer, and his entire body tenses behind me. “Then why did you panic when you saw their car?”

His hand slams down on the drawer before I can open it. “I don’t panic.”

“Right.” I lean back slightly, letting my body brush against his chest. “That wasn’t fear that I saw, just like what I’m feeling right now isn’t desire.”

He grips my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Careful, little girl.”

The threat in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly.

I turn to face him, lifting my chin. “Or what?” My voice is ice. “You’ll hurt me? Lock me away? Pretty sure that was already in the itinerary.”

His fingers tighten around my hip, a subtle warning. “You really think this is a game?”

“Isn’t it?” I reach up, smooth a wrinkle from his collar. The touch is small, almost tender—intimate enough to make his jaw tick. “You play the big bad wolf, and I’m the helpless little lamb. Isn’t that how this works?”

“There’s nothing helpless about you,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. His free hand lifts to my chest right over my surgical scar—not pressing, just resting there, like a promise.

A reminder.

“If you really believed that,” I whisper, pressing into him, “why treat me like I’ll break?”

He leans in, breath scorching the shell of my ear. “Because you don’t have the faintest fucking clue what I’d do to you if I stopped holding back.”

A shiver cuts down my spine, but I don’t flinch. “Then stop holding back.”

The silence between us sharpens. His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me hecould.And then he releases me.

“No,” he says flatly. “Finish packing.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t step back. His body cages mine against the dresser. My hands remain on his chest, both of us breathing too hard, too fast.

“The men in the car,” I push, my voice threading through the tension. “What do they really want?”

“Lilian.” My name is a curse. A plea. A threat.

“Just tell me?—”

His mouth crashes down on mine, brutal and unrelenting.

The kiss tastes like punishment, like control slipping through fingers too bloodied to hold anything steady. When he finally breaks the kiss I’m gasping for air, my heart pounding like I’ve been dropped from a great height.

“Pack. Your. Things.”

This time, I don’t respond. I turn and gather my clothes with shaky hands, but my eyes keep flicking back to him—to the way his fingers tremble, to the tight pull of his shoulders. He’s unraveling, and I’m the reason.

“Is Aries alive?” I ask, shoving clothes into a bag without care. “If we’re going to be roommates, I think I deserve to know.”

His jaw ticks. “You know he is.”

“Do I?” I walk into the bathroom, sensing him behind me, his presence like a second skin. “Haven’t seen him in a week.”

“He’s fine.” His reflection joins mine in the mirror. “Better than you’ll be if you don’t quit pushing me.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Stop with the damn threats, Arson. You already know I’m not scared of you.”

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