Page 9 of The Psychopaths

Why is he looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?

“Why? You followed me here, didn’t you? In that little lace dress—come on, Lilian. Youwantthis. You want me.”

“No, I?—”

“Stop with the act. We all know why you’re wearing this. You want attention.” His hand skims higher. “And now you’re getting it.”

Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back and shove at his chest again. He catches my arm and tightens his hold. “Relax,” he whispers, while his other hand fists the hem of my dress. “Let me make you feel good…”

My head spins, and all I can think is that I have to stop this.

Stop him.I’ve already allowed it to go too far. He gives the dress a hard yank, and the fabric rips. Icy panic trickles into myveins when his fingers press against my bare skin. He traps me between his tall frame and the wall.

“Let me go—” I whimper and fight against his hold, but he’s strong, so strong. I’ll never be able to escape him.

“Fuck, I love it when they fight. It turns me on so much more.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to sink into some dark place in my mind. But then something strange happens. One moment, his entire body weight is holding me in place, and the next, he’s gone.

My heart stutters inside my chest.Aries.I blink my eyes open, and a small gasp escapes me when I spot Aries pinning Adam to the adjacent wall, the drywall cracked from the impact of his body.Shit.I need to stop him before he does something stupid. If he hurts Adam, then I’ll have to explain everything to my mother.

I try to move, to open my mouth and speak, but nothing comes out. With his nose pressed against Adam’s, Aries speaks in a deadly calm tone. “If you ever touch her again. I will cut off your hands. Then you can explain to your mommy and daddy what happens when you touch things that aren’t yours. Got it?”

All Adam can do is nod, which must be good enough for Aries because he releases him and takes a step back. “Now. Get. The fuck. Out.”

Adam doesn’t need to be told twice and bolts, stumbling over himself to get away. The door bangs shut behind him, and now I’m alone with the one man who goes out of his way to ensure we’re not ever alone. A man who came to my rescue when he shouldn’t have. How dare he step in and play the hero? He’s no hero.

“I had it covered,” I tell him, my voice splintering with emotion.

Aries doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but stare at me.

After a heartbeat, he finally speaks. “Sure you did. Is that why your dress is ripped?” He gestures toward it. “Why you have tears in your eyes? Why you’re looking at me like I’m your fucking savior?”

I flinch, lips parting to respond, but nothing comes out. My brain is still stuttering through the past five minutes, still stuck on Adam’s weight and the sound of tearing lace.

Aries takes a step toward me, rage rolling off him. “Oh wait,” he says, low and biting, “youhad it…right before he raped you?Right?”

The words crack through the air like lightning, and I gasp from their impact. I’m ashamed, so ashamed, and while my lungs fight for breath, my skin burns as if he had slapped me. He didn’t have to say it like that. So crude. So hateful. Like my pain offends him.

“I’m not a fucking child, Aries,” I manage, barely.

His eyes never leave mine. “No. You’re worse.”

Worse? How am I worse?I want to slap him, to scream that he doesn’t know a thing about me, but I can’t because part of me doesn’t know if he’s wrong. Even now, I feel like a naive little girl.

“You don’t get to act like you care,” I whisper, chest rising and falling too fast. “You don’t get to come in here and act like I belong to you. Like you saved the day.”

He takes another step forward, closing the space between us in one breathless second. The air thickens, and I can feel the heat of his skin, the barely leashed violence coiled beneath. “I don’t get to…?” His voice cracks on the edge of fury and hunger. “Then tell me why I can’t stop watching you. Thinking about you. Tell me why you’re inside my head and under my skin. Why I want to fuckingmurderevery guy who even thinks about touching you?”

The room is shrinking in on me. I hate how my body betrays me—tightening, trembling,achingfor something I know I shouldn’t want and can’t have.

“I hate you,” I whisper, and I hate myselfmorefor how weak it makes me sound.

A laugh escapes his lips, but there’s no humor behind it. Just pain and madness.

“No, you don’t,” he rasps. “You only wish you did.”

One second, he’s standing—his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists—and the next, he’s pressed against me, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to commit sacrilege. Something he’ll never come back from. His eyes snap open, and his gaze flickers as if he’s still trying to talk himself out of this. Like the guilt is clawing up his throat, and he’s swallowing it down anyway.

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