“Ahem,” I say in the guise of a cough, mostly to break the silence that’s fallen over us.

I know that giving in to his little game isn’t the professional thing to do.

But he fucking got to me.

Even if it was just for a second, I feel like I’ve slipped up and lost my advantage. For the rest of this session, I need to stay as removed as possible and just complete my psychoanalysis.

“So, Jaxon,” I start. “What were some of your interests as a child? Did you play sports, play any instruments, or anything like that?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” I reply. “So, what did you do?”

“I spent a large majority of the time either getting harassed in school or harassed at home. I didn’t have the energy for sports or music like the other little fucks around me.”

“Did that ever bother you?” I ask, staring intently into those icy eyes.

“Not in the slightest. While everyone was off playing with one another, I sat. I watched. I learned.”

“And what did you learn, Jaxon?”

“How to break them. Each and every one.”

I try to remain neutral, but I know my eyes and my hand creeping over my mouth are starting to give me away. I shift positions and adjust myself.

“What do you mean?” I ask, slowly sliding to the edge of my seat.

“By the time middle school rolled in, twelve of my classmates had transferred out of public school, begging their parents to homeschool them or send them to private schools. I would like to think I helped them realize they weren’t really cut out for interacting with me on a daily basis.”

“Jaxon, how did you help them?” I find myself asking in a more captivated tone than I’d ever want to admit to a patient.

He just smiles back at me, leaving me right there on the edge with that cliffhanger.

What a shit.

In all of my time so far in this field, I haven’t once encountered a living, breathing textbook psychopath. I never really expected to.

And here I am, legitimately interested in hearing the anecdotes of one.

What am I becoming?

I really can’t risk the integrity of this case by feeding into him, and the better part of me knows that. But the dumb part, the naive part, really wants to. That part wants it so badly, she can feel it between her legs, pooling up in her panties.

This incredible fascination with someone so off limits isn’t only new territory; it’s absolutely irresistible.

I have to know more. I jot down a few notes about Jaxon on my clipboard in regards to his ‘influenced’ classmates before moving on.

“Jaxon, outside of being called your nickname, have you ever physically harmed another person?” I ask.

“Oh, shit. Of course I have.”

A shiver travels down my spine. My face is beet red. I don’t even truly know how I’m supposed to react.

“What have you done, Mr. Covington?”

“Oh, you know, I’ve knocked people out, pistol-whipped them, run them over. Basic shit. It shows people who the fuck the boss is.”

His carefree deliverance is so unique but so sexy at the same time. I just find myself getting off task, digging deeper and deeper into the mind of Jaxon Covington. To help myself, I keep running down the list of what I’ve already covered.

“So your classmates in school…how many of them left public school at your hand?” I ask.

“Oh, probably about twenty, maybe twenty-four,” he responds.

Interesting.

I write it down.

“And how did you influence them?” I ask again.

“Well, with most, all I had to do was change their grades on their report cards. Suddenly, they’re not getting the attention they need and boom, they’re out,” he explains.

“Ah,” I respond.

This guy is seriously loony. Does he understand I’m taking notes?

“If you’re going to lie, at least remember the story you’re telling,” I say, meaning to only think it.

Shit.

“I’m lying, huh?” he says. “What makes you so sure I’m not telling you the truth the whole time?”

“Well, I have it in my notes. I wrote down what you told me the first time I asked,” I explain.

“And?”

“And...your answers are different this time,” I say.

“Maybe I went to several schools. Maybe it was different in different places, Doc,” he returns, as matter-of-factly and condescendingly as he possibly can, his eyes gleaming and locking with mine.

His stare has me under a spell. I find myself becoming more lenient with him, entertaining the possibility that he might be telling the truth.

The intense gaze we share has me swaying my hips around in my seat, feeling just how wet I am sitting across from him. That charisma paired with those looks is such a dangerous combination.

“Are those panties still the same shade of blue as they were earlier, Doc?”

“I think we’re done for today, Mr. Covington,” I say, pointing the end of my pen up to the clock. “I’ll be reviewing my notes, and someone will get back to you.”

Using as much restraint as one can, I refuse to look at him at all as I stand from my seat and while I wait to be buzzed out by the guards.

“Alison,” he says as I exit.

The hair on the back of my neck raises, and I shuffle out as quickly as possible and make my way to my office, catching the quickest glimpse of him as I turn the corner.

He’s watching me, a charming grin on his face.

My heart pounds as loud in my head as my footsteps along the tile.

I throw myself into my office and land in my chair, breathing hard and trying to process what the fuck just happened in there. I decide that after I compile what little notes I have, I’ll take the rest of the day off.

I need to get out of here for a minute and get my mind off of this. Tomorrow, I’ll be back in, and I’ll be on my game. Especially now that I know what to expect.