Page 75 of The Psychopaths

His hand shoots out, gripping the back of my neck—firm, unyielding. Not pain. Not comfort. A quiet assertion of power.

“Not yet, but once you know the truth, once you hear all the terrible dark things, you will be. You aren’t ready to hear my story yet. Finish packing,” he finally says, releasing me abruptly. “You’ve got five minutes before I carry you out of here, ready or not.”

The threat should continue to frighten me. Instead, it makes me want to disobey, makes me want to tempt the beast, just to see what happens.

Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.

“You know what I think?” I stand, fix my pants, and deliberately brush against him as I reach for my charger. “I think you like that I ask questions. You like that I’m not afraid of you.”

His hand catches my wrist, squeezing. “I think you’re lying to yourself that you like the illusion of darkness, but you aren’t ready to give yourself over to it fully.”

I step closer instead of pulling away. “That’s not true. I just want you to stop treating me like I will break if you tell me something that I don’t want to hear or like.”

“You will break.” He yanks me against his chest. “That’s a promise, not a threat.”

The violence in his touch is undercut by how his thumb strokes my pulse point, how his body responds to my proximity. I use it to my advantage.

“Try me.” I push back against him, making him groan. “Show me the worst of what they made you.”

His grip tightens painfully on my wrists. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.” I turn my head enough to see his face. “Unless you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he snarls, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. “Least of all breaking you.”

His kiss is punishing, all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. I match his aggression, biting back, pulling his hair, making him growl. When he pulls back, his eyes are black with desire and rage.

“Time to go.” He releases me. “Now.”

All I can do is shake my head. I’m so confused, and turned on by his darkness.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, shoving the last of my clothes into the bag. “I don’t need a babysitter. Or a jailer.”

“No?” Arson zips the bag with more force than necessary. “Tell that to the men who just proved they can grab you anywhere, anytime.”

“I can take care of myself.”

His laugh is sharp enough to cut. “Right. Like you took care of yourself breaking into my warehouse? Following me around campus? Pushing every button I have?”

“That’s different?—”

“No.” He crowds me against my desk, one hand gripping my chin. “That’s exactly the problem. You think you’re clever, think you can handle the danger. Just like you think you can handle me.”

I meet his stare defiantly. “I am handling you.”

Something shifts in his expression.

“Fuck this,” he growls.

Before I can react, he grabs my bag with one hand and throws me over his shoulder with the other.

“Arson!” I pound his back ineffectively. “Put me down!”

“Done playing games.” He strides toward the door. “Done letting you think you have any control here.”

“Someone will see?—”

“Let them.” His hand comes down hard on my ass, making me yelp. “Let them all see what happens when you push me too far.” I should be terrified. Should be fighting harder. Instead, heat pools between my thighs as he carries me out of the dorm like a caveman claiming his prize. Maybe this is exactly where I wanted to end up all along.

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