I sit on the couch, waiting for Doctor Anna to finish her report. She sends me a reassuring smile as I study her office and find it boring.

White walls, chairs, desk. A few photos of loved ones, but besides that, she has everything in order as if nothing can throw her for a loop. Her son is in art class with me, and he is as calm as she is.

Always fucking friendly with everyone.

“How are you?” she asks. When will they stop with their never-ending, stupid questions?

I shrug, repeating the same thing all over again. “Good.”

Her lips thin in displeasure as she bites on the pen. “The reports from your teachers show that you’ve upped your grades by sixty percent. That’s excellent. And you joined the football team,” she reads with surprise.

After much consideration, I figured out that education was my only out, so I focused all my attention on my studies, which with the current situation was a piece of cake.

Turns out Mom’s death brought more peace than expected. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, felt sorry for the kid whose mom committed suicide and he had to find her. Neighbors pitched in to bring clothes and food, making sure I was always fed. School didn't nag me about my grades, but instead gave me time to focus on my answers. Even the kids backed off; they didn't want to be friends with me, but at least no one touched me. It was as if I almost didn't exist.

Dad still smacked me around on occasion, but other than that, it was almost bearable to live with him. He was waiting for the attention on us to die down; I just knew it. He couldn't give me long-lasting bruises, because people would see them. He spent a lot of time outside town, claiming it was work, but I didn't believe him. But as long as he didn't bother me, I was good. The neighborhood moms watched over me. After all, that’s what they are “supposed to do,” quoting the words right out of their mouths.

I don’t appreciate their help or feel all that grateful. They should have helped when my mom suffered. Why were they so blind for so many years? Didn’t they hear the screams? Or is it easier to feel like a hero while taking care of an orphaned kid instead of helping an abused woman?

Though their support means nothing to me, I use it well.

“Sports are a good way to get a scholarship.”

Her brows furrow, probably because I’m not supposed to think about college just yet, but I do. My dad will never pay for it, so being fast on the field is my only out.

I think all sports are stupid, but if it provides me with a ticket to another state? I’ll do anything to stay on the team.

And chemistry. It became my salvation, learning different chemicals that can be matched together to create the weirdest combinations. Teachers thought I was too damn smart for my age, but all this played to my advantage. I chose as many electives as possible.

“Right. Today is the anniversary of…” She clears her throat, adjusting her collar. “Your mom’s death.”

I know well what is expected from me, so even though I don’t want to do it, I manage to squeeze out one single tear from the corner of my eye that slides down beside my nose to my chin. She takes out a tissue and gives it to me. “I’m so sorry.”

I just nod, hoping it will be enough and she’ll let me go. I have homework to do and she is interfering with my plans.

If she only knew, I don’t feel anything; I’m a completely blank state. The only driving force for me is to get what I want. And with people so willing to accommodate my desires, I’ve learned to play with them.

It is funny on good days, and tragic on bad ones.

“It’s okay,” I manage to get out, as she walks around the table to me and pats me on the back.

“That’s it for today. Just remember I’m always here to talk.”

I get up quickly and get the hell out of the office while wondering what awaits me at home.

I’m on my way to the bus when I halt, my eyes widening in shock as I see my father standing a few feet away with a woman around Mom’s age, who smiles at me brightly as he squeezes her hand.

It’s barely visible to anyone else, but I don’t miss the wince that mars her face and is quickly replaced with indifference. A small girl with pigtails is jumping around her, as if chasing someone and counting something under her breath.

“Hey there, boy,” Dad greets me, his voice gentle. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” He walks closer while continuing to talk. “This is Suzanne; she will be your stepmother. She’s agreed to marry me. And that’s her daughter, Kim.”

The woman extends her free hand to me, but I step back. “Hi, darling.”

I don’t reply or react as the little girl waves at me happily.

The only things I can focus on are the faint bruises spread on Suzanne’s neck along with deep fear settled in her green eyes.

With clarity, I understand that Dad has found a new victim and a perfect excuse for everyone to leave us alone.

The monster is back.

Ella

Fluttering my eyes open, I wince in pain as I shift my leg, and my brows furrow. “What in the world?” And then I glance down to see fresh bruises and everything from last night comes back.

Sighing heavily, I rub my forehead while gazing at the ceiling and pondering what to do next.

Yesterday’s experience was surreal to say the least, nothing I expected. Although I know he wants to hurt me, I can’t figure out why.

He can’t do it, and that pisses him off; that much is clear. Not that it gives me an answer to what is really going on.

Or how to handle this situation, for that matter.

I get up and then notice a dip in the other pillow that tells me Kierian slept next to me. Placing my hand on it, I pat it softly and wince, because the truth doesn’t change my love for him.

But it doesn’t mean I’m willing to die or to be destroyed for this love.

Padding softly to the living room, I look around, but he is nowhere in sight.

The kitchen table has breakfast ready for me with a note.

Well if this doesn’t send a message, I don’t know what else should.

“Good boy. Catch!” Kierian’s voice is coming from outside through the wide-open door, so I go there, and the picture in front of me makes me blink.

A Tamaskan dog runs around the field in the direction of the ball then snatches it into his mouth and brings it back to Kierian, wagging his tail. Kierian takes it from him and repeats the action, while his bare muscles flex with each movement.

Standing on the grass barefoot in his sweatpants with his hair loose, his handsomeness shines brightly under the sun in all his masculine glory.

Because that’s what you’re supposed to think when a serial killer kidnaps you.

The dog notices me, stops midway, and raises one ear as he cocks his head.

Keeping in mind that this dog bites human flesh, I don’t do anything when he slowly strolls to me, circling me and nuzzling my knees, until finally he sits down in front of me, whimpering.

“He doesn’t bite.”

I chuckle, although it lacks humor and is laced with nervousness instead. Easy for him to say. Gently, I pat the dog’s muzzle and he lifts it, his tongue out, clearly enjoying it. “That’s your wolf, huh?”

“We are a team.”

I can’t help but bite at him. “You even turned a poor animal to the darkness.”

He comes closer; my hair prickles on the back of my neck as, next to me, he says, “His name is Rex. I found him in the ring for fight dogs. He was barely alive. Trust me. I didn’t introduce him to the fucked-up world. We just found each other.” He rubs the dog, the bond evident between them.

Of course.

After all, they have pain and a secret that binds them together.

I flip the Post-it note up. “So that’s your plan? Kill people until you get caught?”

He shakes his head and grabs a bottle of water from the grass. He gulps it greedily and then adds some to Rex’s dish. “There is always a greater purpose in life. I found mine. Yours is catching serial killers, or so you think.” He heads back inside and I trail after him, confused even more, if it’s possible in the current situation.

“My purpose is to serve the people.”

He munches on a pancake, nodding, and then points with his fork. “People, or your family?” I freeze, my mouth hanging open as he continues. “Tell me that each case doesn’t bring you back to your parents and sister that you failed… at least in your mind. You didn’t come in time. Or early enough. Or didn’t die with them. Just who are you saving each time? Aren’t all the cases surrogates for your family?” Since I have nothing to say, he cracks a smile. “Right. But because I have different thoughts about justice, I’m the bad guy.”

“It’s incomparable. Just because you think justice failed you—”

He leaves all pretense of eating and focuses his harsh stare on me, and I shut my mouth, stepping back, because the killer is clearly back.

“I do not think justice failed me. I wouldn’t work for the FBI if I thought so. People always blame justice or the system, claiming it does nothing for kids, families, or others. But what can justice do if people allow it? How many people do you think ever asked my mom if she was okay? I’ll tell you. None!” he bellows, and I swallow, afraid of his next move. “Because it’s okay to tell on your neighbor if his fucking grass is too high and he doesn’t take care of his yard. But God forbid interfering in their private business, right?”

I have nothing to say to that, because in a way he is right. “Killing people is not the answer. You can put them behind bars to rot in prison and—”

“And you think that helps? They will get out and continue to do this shit with another victim. I cannot help those who do not seek help.”

This conversation is leading us nowhere.

“Why am I here, Kierian?” I finally ask about the big freaking elephant in the room. “I was in a cage yesterday, now I’m in the house, and you treat me to breakfast. Why did you kidnap me? It wasn’t enough to just have me as your girlfriend?”

“You want to know?” he asks as something dark crosses his face, but I don’t bother to read the signs anymore.

I can’t walk on eggshells around him.

“Yes! I don’t need breakfasts as if everything is normal. Nothing about this situation is!” He doesn’t even flinch at my shout; he just grabs me by my elbow and drags me in the direction of the basement. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you exactly what you want.” Rex barks at us, but Kierian snaps at him. “Stay.” And then we go downstairs, and all the while I pull at my hand, but it’s useless.

He throws me inside and places me on the chair located right in the middle. “It’s brand new,” he tells me, and I blink in surprise.

I hadn’t even considered that other people might have died on it. “I should appreciate the small things, I guess,” I mutter, while he straps me down and tightens the ropes on my wrists behind me as well as my legs. I have to keep my back straight—there is no other option—as the metal painfully digs into my skin and my bare feet become cold from the concrete under them.

“You are awfully cheery for a person who is about to get tortured,” he says, although something is off about his voice.

And then it hits me.

It lacks confidence. Does he hesitate to hurt me?

But he shatters my illusion as he takes the silver knife that glistens in the light, its tip so sharp. He rests his hand on the back of the chair as he traces the skin on my neck, but he doesn’t put enough pressure to draw blood. “Do you know what was constantly on my mind through all these months?” He slides the knife lower near my artery. “To see how you’d look here in my hell with blood decorating your skin. How I’d have the chance to fuck you after giving you pain.” I force my gaze away from him, hating the words. “And here you are in my basement, alone, helpless, completely at my mercy.” The blade travels lower to my breast, my stomach, and finally reaches my thighs as he dips the tip in a few places, deepening the previous wounds. I cry out softly. It hurts as if thousands of ants bite me.

He repeats the action on the other leg and then pulls my hair, angling my head back while I groan in pain, and he holds my stare. “How do you feel about love now, Ella? Is it worth it?” he asks, bringing the blade dangerously close to my cheek, but he doesn’t do anything with it. “In my fantasies, after I was done with this, I use other torture arts I’ve learned.” His hands move lower; he reaches my restraints and lightly squeezes the sensitive skin. I close my eyes, and although it doesn’t hurt me much, it still stings.

“Are you happy now?” I whisper, needing to know if hurting me soothes his raging desires, but he just growls and pushes back.

“No. Because it doesn’t bring me pleasure. I get no satisfaction from it.” He voice is laced with self-disgust and loathing, as if he prefers to hurt me than love me.

Than show me his tender side.

To have this excuse behind which he can hide from me.

That’s when an epiphany strikes me, and all the puzzle pieces make sense in my head. How could I have not seen it sooner?

“It’s not about punishment,” I breathe through the pain, as he freezes near his equipment, his hand pausing midair gripping his kitchen knife.

My skin burns from the tight rope wrapped around my wrists digging painfully into my flesh, while the cuts leak blood down my thighs, but I don’t pay attention to that.

“It’s about love, isn’t it?” I ask but don’t wait for his reply as the muscles in his back tense, yet he doesn’t move to face me. “It’s about seeing how far you can hurt me to destroy my love for you.” My humorless chuckle fills the space. “That’s why you wanted a relationship with me first.” Licking my dry lips, I pray for enough strength to survive this. “You are trying to understand how much a woman can love a man to be able to live with all this. Why she lived with it.”

He spins around, reaching me in two short strides, and locks his fingers around my chin, squeezing it hard. “Stop talking.”

Instead of listening to his warning, I continue to fire at him with my mental blows, barely croaking the words through his hold. “Despite the pain he inflicted on her and you, she stayed. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t blame him. You can’t forgive her that, so you try to understand. But I’m not her.” He lets go of me, breathing heavily. His hands travel to my hair, gripping it painfully, as I wince in pain but do not defer my assault. “I won’t love you despite everything, Kierian. If there is a chance to kill you and escape my captivity, I will.”

He doesn’t reply, but instead presses the blade to my neck, threateningly close to an artery, many expressions crossing his face as if he doesn’t know what to feel. “And that kills you, doesn’t it? Because compared to your mom, I have nothing to live for. She had you.”

He growls and unties my hands, clearly wanting to get rid of me. “Shut. Up!” he screams in my face, deafening me for a second, but I can’t stop.

Kierian is a prisoner of his psychological trauma that unfortunately my presence triggered. Why? Because the minute he saw me, he wanted me.

A normal man would have chased me down, and in time, we’d call it an instant attraction that led to a relationship.

But because he can’t explain his desire, he transformed the first attraction into this grand plan.

Killing any chance we might have ever had.

“I won’t!” Fisting his shirt, I bring him closer as he shakes with the impact of my words. “You will never break me. Never.” Licking my dry lips, I add, “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, but I can’t be with a man who wants to hurt me.” I don’t see where I put my other hand as I reach out for him and my palm connects with the knife, bringing forth an instant scream. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” The blood pours from the wound, and it hurts so freaking much. The skin prickles around it, and it seems deep. I suspect it will need stitches.

“Fuck!” he roars, and it surprises me so much I close my mouth. He frees me and picks me up, almost running upstairs.

There he places me on the counter in the bathroom as he takes out the first aid kid, then turns on the water and wipes away the blood. I can’t help the whimper of agony that slips out of me and the tears that are unstoppable at this point. So much for my stoic front.

“Why did you have to do something so stupid?” he asks gruffly, displeasure written all over him as he focuses on my palm and puts on gloves to clean it up properly. “You’re hurt now.”

In any other circumstance, that would have been sweet, his worry.

But now?

It’s quite funny.

“Wasn’t it what you wanted? I just sped up the process.”