“Is this seat taken?”

The still unnamed brunette sheepishly lifts her eyes to mine. They are more unique than I first perceived two weeks ago. There are more gold flecks mottled throughout the green than I realized.

This will work well—very very well.

Even though she doesn’t answer me, I fill the empty seat next to her. We are on a thirty minute allotment of free time. It is an experiment the counselors thought would help “clear the congestion from our minds.”

The only thing it is helping with is my escape plan.

I lean in close to the brunette’s side, noticing the hairs on her nape prickle from my nearness. That’s not unusual. My attention does that to both men and women. The women want to fuck me. The men want to be me. Sometimes it is hard being this brilliant.

“What’s your name? Have you been here long?”

My back molars crunch. I sound like I’m striving for a date, not a pawn to be used and thrown out like trash the instant I get what I want.

“Do you want to play a little game? Show the professionals their years of study weren’t squandered?”

My sick and twisted game hits a snag when the brunette shuffles her chair away from me. I’d feign hurt by her rejection if it didn’t expose a vault load of information. One scrape of her chair and three guards’ eyes popped up. One pair is Bryce’s—his doesn’t count—but the other two give away fascinating clues. They aren’t eyeing me with worry; they’re warning me to back off. Their gazes are slit, and their jaws are tense. They’re reacting exactly as I had hoped.

Never one to back away when challenged—and also interested to see how far I can push the boundaries—I scoot my chair closer to the brunette. Probably a little to close when the scent of her shampoo streams through my nostrils. It isn’t the smell of the shampoo supplied in every penitentiary three states over. It is fresh and fruity—almost enticing.

“Your hair smells pretty. Did someone gift you fancy shampoo? Was it one of the guards?” Because my first comment isn’t a lie, it covers up the interrogative nature of my questions.

Silence, nothing but dead silence greets me. I’m not even sure she is breathing since she’s so still. Her frozen in fear stance is even more alluring than her zesty shampoo. I like that she’s a hard nut to crack—a challenge. I’ve been void of stimuli for many years, so I’m well overdue to flex my muscles.

Outside of this environment, I’d be on my game, but this is different. I’m not being forced to act like an ordinary man. She already knows I’m fucked in the head, or I wouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t that make the game easier?

“Why are you so quiet? Are you doped up on meds?” I pinch her chin between my thumb and index finger and return her eyes to mine. She comes without too much protest, revealing she is more submissive than first perceived.

Another impressive development in my campaign.

If I look past the infinite number of secrets in the pretty brunette’s eyes, they are clear, almost lucid—for a psycho. She’s not tripping on personality-stripping drugs. This is who she is—plain and demure. She will learn well.

I drop my hand from her face as if it scorched me when a deep voice says, “Step back, Mr. Elias. We don’t touch people without permission; Bryce said you know that better than anyone.”

Lee laughs like he is funny—like he isn’t five seconds from losing an eye. It is a pathetic attempt to act like he doesn’t want to beat me to a pulp for touching what he believes is his. Lee is like all ill-informed men. He thinks machoism outranks intelligence. In some cases, it might, but nothing compares to deeply mind-fucking someone. Not even real fucking can compare to that.

Deciding to test a theory, I say, “I wasn’t touching her without permission. She wanted my hands on her. She likes it. Don’t you, sweetheart? You love my big, strong fingers stroking that little freckle on the inside of your thigh.”

The brunette’s eyes rocket to mine, her pupils expanding into giant black orbs. She’s not shocked about my finger’s figure eight pattern on the silky smooth skin high on her thigh; she’s stunned I am aware of the tiny dot generally hidden from view. She shouldn’t be. I watched Cleo for months before I made contact, and although I have no intentions of playing the same game with this unnamed brunette, I need her to finish the one I started years ago, so I’ll monitor her just as closely. She may only be a pawn on my chessboard, but every piece has its place when it comes to the king’s entertainment.

The little skizo’s eyes expand when Lee kneels down in front of her. The longer his slit eyes take in my stroking finger, the tighter his jaw becomes. Confident I’ve got him right where I want him, I remove my hand from the silent little mouse’s thigh. Her disappointing whine is barely a whimper, but it doesn’t need to shatter my eardrums for me to know of its arrival. I can smell her arousal lingering in the air. She wants my touch as much as Lee wants to cut my fingers off for touching her.

Incapable of harnessing his jealousy, Lee asks, “Is that right, Claudia? Did you give Dexter permission to touch you? Do you like his touch?” He sneers my name the same way I do Marcus’s anytime I reference him.

Claudia remains quiet. She doesn’t need to answer Lee’s question for my unasked ones to be resolved, though. Lee’s reaction answered them on her behalf. He’s a rook who just got shadowed by a king. One wrong move, and he’ll be taken down.

Realizing we’re only at the beginning of our game, I jest, “I’m kidding, Lee. I didn’t ask permission. I just touched her. I couldn’t help it. I’m toey. Even fuckers like you who get to go home to a warm bed every night know what it’s like being locked up here for hours on end. Everyone gets a little edgy.”

Lee’s eyes drift to mine. They are icy and lifeless, an exact replica of mine. “Then how do you know about the freckle on Claudia’s thigh?” His words sizzle out of his mouth, his anger both volatile and impish. He should never play poker. He’s too easy to read. He’d be flat broke before the second round—if not dead.

I lean in close to his side, ensuring my words aren’t overheard. “I learned of its origin the same way you did.” I muster up a grin that warns his days are numbered. “We can look all we like, as long as we don’t touch. Am I right?”

My eyes lower to the gold band circling his finger to emphasize the words I can’t say. I’m watching you just as much as I am her, motherfucker. I’ve seen you eye every female patient as if they are selections on a menu. I’ve watched you lick the evidence from your fingers when you move from the female ward to the male’s. I know what you’re doing, how you’re doing it, and when you’re fucking doing it, so maybe your focus should switch to something other than skirt-chasing before your fucked-up ideas on “helping the needy” lose you more than your job. Your days are already numbered, Lee, but they diminish even more for every second you spend mocking me.

As if he heard my thoughts, Lee stands to his feet. He slides his hand into his trouser pocket to hide the wedding band that’s been on his finger so long, the skin beneath the gold is as white as his cheeks. He heard the threats I couldn’t vocalize; he feels the danger surrounding him, he’s just unsure if it is one of my supposed multiple personalities speaking on my behalf or me. One wrong move and he’ll soon find out.

“As I said, Mr. Elias. We don’t touch without permission.” His calm and neutral voice impresses me. With how hard his thighs are shaking, I was anticipating an equally nervous reply. “Do it again, and your privileges will be revoked.”

I hold my hands in the air, acting scared by his threat. Fucker should be grateful I’m playing nice today. If I weren’t in game mode, he’d be licking his blood off my boots.

Stupidly believing he has me backing away like a coward, Lee shifts his focus to Claudia. “Come on, Claudia. You’ve got a meeting with Mrs. Whitlock this afternoon, remember?” He nudges his head to one of the many exit doors of the rec room. It isn’t one that leads to the counselors’ offices. It is the female sleeping quarters.

Although I can feel Claudia’s wide eyes peering at me beneath a screen of dark hair, begging for me to intervene, she stands to her feet before moving to the door Lee gestured to. Her steps are as cagey as the look she gave me when I touched her. I doubt Lee has the balls to put moves on her now that I’ve marked my territory; he just wants her away from me. He should. I’m dangerous. Not just to Claudia, but to him as well.

This afternoon’s foray went exactly as I anticipated, but Lee’s machoism is sparking a side of me I haven’t seen in years. I want the guards eating out of Claudia’s hand, which in turn will have them eating out of mine, but if they succumb to temptation too quickly, my entire plan will go to shit.

I need Claudia eating out of my hand before she consumes Lee’s dick. To do that, I need her to trust me, to believe I’ll place her safety above my own. I won’t, but as long as she thinks she’s my equal, the less time she’ll glance over her shoulder, waiting for the inevitable stab in the back.

I played the same game with Cleo, the whole keep your friends close but your enemies closer thing. I’m still strategizing my next move in our drawn-out game, but there won’t be a game to finalize if I don’t get Claudia on my side.

Realizing what I must do, I stand from my chair and shout, “Hey, Lee!” My voice is loud enough to wake half the continent.

When he turns his massively dilated eyes to me, I scan the room, seeking something to use as a distraction. Spotting a set of exercise balls at my side, I secure one in my hand, then ask, “Wanna play catch?”

Not giving him the chance to respond, I peg the ball at his head. My years on the pitcher mound come in handy when the ball grazes his left ear before hitting the wall behind him with a loud thud. I didn’t miss. I want to distract him, not knock him the fuck out.

“You missed. Here, try again.”

I continue hurling balls across the room until my ruckus disturbs the other patients. Half join my game of patient versus guards dodgeball, whereas the other half scream in hysterics.

The only one not hollering like a maniac locked in a psych ward is Claudia. She slips out through the door unnoticed, her exit as quiet as the silent thanks streaming from her eyes.

She shouldn’t be thanking me. Very soon, she’ll be sucking Lee’s cock—just not until I tell her to.