Page 62 of Darling Psycho

Did the ground beneath her feet shift? Or was that her universe turning upside down?

“Joshua Muller will keep his hands to himself.”

Feeling bold and thirsty, surrounded by his cologne, she tipped her chin. “We’ll see.”

Josh had a very steady girlfriend, one he adored. There would be no touching. They’d been there, experimented with bases until they had the t-shirt, now they were firm friends only with no attraction attached.

A hand came up around her throat, almost like he was locking an invisible collar on her, and Angela swallowed. His thumb swept left and right over her pulse, and she thought he was going to kiss her again.

She didn’t think her legs would hold her up if he did.

“Have a good time, angel.” He said. Stepping back, air whooshed into her lungs.

He let her leave, and she was glad of the cold air on her hot cheeks when she was outside.

Tides had changed.

Lawless was behaving... differently.

And she loved it.

God help her. She loved it.

Now she had to meet up with an old friend while she tried to forget about sitting in the lap of a man who may or may not be deranged.

And how she loved him for it.

SIXTEEN

“Enforcer or vigilante. It all resulted in the same murder.” - Lawless

Lawless had mentally committed himself to ending one of the many trafficking rings in North America. Not because he possessed a bleeding heart, or he’d grown a conscience.

But because trafficking had touched its filthy paws on Angela.

And now it meant he was all in without hesitation.

Focused like only a twisted motherfucker could be.

It wouldn’t make sense to many, and he didn’t give a fuck about explaining himself.

Mentally and physically, he dedicated hours to looking into Ruiz’s shadiness. Diving into the underbelly where no average man could stomach the shit he uncovered.

He learned that traffickers, those who did the grunt work and those funding them, were not that bright. The latest maggot strung up by the wrists in the murder shed had been pitifully easy to snatch.

Lawless let him stew for a day, building up his fear. He even gave the fella a drink of water. Fucking humanitarian right there. It was all about gaining access to his white meat.

On day three, exactly a week and a half since he moved back into the cabin and started whatever he’d started with Angela, he walked around the hanging maggot, smelling the B.O. radiating off the half-naked guy like radioactive sewage.

“You are ripe, my friend. Bet you’d like a cold drink of water and a shower, huh?”

The sleep-deprived guy groaned.

Lawless kept a neutral expression amid the whining. He could get off on the rolling fear if he let himself. But that wasn’t why he was there.

Playtime was for another time, maybe with a scowling black-haired badass who liked to hover near wherever Lawless was but pretended she hated him close.

Such a contradictory little girl. And a bad habit he’d break her from. She should always express her wants, to him especially.

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