The birds are chirping loudly as I sit down on the bench, resting my arms on my knees while Sociopath paces back and forth in front of me. “What the fuck were you thinking, Shon?”

“I didn’t.” How the hell could I, if the fucker got out of prison? I could have lived with the satisfaction that he was rotting in there. But to have him on probation so he could find someone else to torture?

Fucking never.

My hands shake just as I remember torturing him. His cries of pain and his blood pooling under my feet reminded me of all the times when I was the victim and he felt himself the king of the world.

“They are searching for you. You killed him in your house, Shon! I hope you’re fucking satisfied.” He takes out a phone, probably to call Lochlan while I think about his words.

That’s the thing though; I don’t fucking feel satisfaction or pleasure from the fact he is gone. He is dead, which means he can’t suffer, and what’s good about that? If only I’d shown more restraint, I could have kept him alive for a month, torturing him every day, creating awareness in his body with each step so he’d know what I felt. What my mother went through when he made our life a living hell. But the chance is gone.

Because the fucker is dead! I gave him an out, and he took it.

Roaring in fury, I get up and push over the bench that should be too heavy to move, and it falls on the ground. I kick it with all my might, needing to get out my frustration as familiar anger prickles my skin.

With one irrational decision and lack of control, I jeopardized my future and became a killer. My life will bring no justice to anyone, and I just wasted everything I’ve worked so hard for.

“Help me get out of town,” I whisper, even though I know I don’t deserve it. He trusted me when he took me under his wing, and I failed the first time around.

But as odd as it might sound, I don’t want to die or spend my days caught. I want to do something in life. Something that holds fucking meaning for the likes of me.

Sociopath stays silent for a beat and then comes closer, stopping next to me as he lights up a cigarette and exhales a cloud of smoke. “I’ve taught you self-control. Not this mess.”

I stay silent because what can I say to this? He’s right. But nothing could have stopped me in that moment.

“But I understand. In a way. There is one man in this world who I wish to choke with my own hands. And if I had the chance, I probably wouldn’t let it slip either.” He doesn’t elaborate, not that I expect him to. He never talks about his past… or present for that matter.

“Help me,” I repeat, and he exhales heavily.

“One last time, Shon. One fucking last time, I will help you. But if you break my trust, I will kill you myself. Don’t let it destroy you.” He pokes at my chest painfully, and I sway back from his strength. “Stay focused.”

Sociopath with his connections got me a new identity, a new passport, and a new chance.

And I used it well.

Catching serial killers is an exceptional job, because I help save people, most of whom don’t deserve cruelty. And a few times a year, I act like a judge, jury, and executioner, choosing my own victims and getting pleasure from it.

Back then, I thought no one had the power to break the status quo.

If only I knew that a dark-haired beauty would have the power to put me on my fucking knees.

Ella

I sit on a chair, rocking back and forth with my legs raised and my head propped against my knees.

I tried to avoid looking at the monitors or hearing the cries of a man who begged to live.

Tears stream down my face as nausea swirls in me, but I can’t make a sound. I want to scream or shout or defend or try to get free, but I don’t do it.

I just numbly sit there, still remembering the monster he becomes while he is alone with his victims.

The picture will be forever imprinted on my mind.

At some point, he turned the cameras off, maybe an hour ago. Plenty of time to finish.

I hear a sound and then the door opens. Kierian is standing in the doorway in different clothes and smelling like shower gel.

Right.

He doesn’t want to have traces of his victims left on his skin.

Will he wash me off too?

Silently, he uncuffs me from the chair and gently rubs my wrist, but I snatch it back. “Don’t touch me.”

His lips thin at my words, but surprisingly he doesn’t object. Instead, he waits for me to get the hell out of there and I gladly do, hoping to never end up here again.

But once I’m in the living room, I wish I hadn’t left the media room.

Because a black garbage bag lies near the main door, waiting to be disposed of. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns, and I sit on the couch, ignoring him and all the sounds associated with him as he finally gets the hell out.

Loud laughter echoes in the space, grating on my nerves, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me.

Did I think he’d change for me?

How can he choose light if he’s lived in the darkness for so long?

Stupid, naïve Ella. A woman becomes a fool in love hoping to soothe all the edges of her man, not understanding that sometimes all those edges just hurt her.

Knowing all he lived through, can I demand something else from him? Knowing myself, can I expect a future with him?

A love story that was doomed from the very beginning.

Why did I think we would have a happy ending?

He told me himself.

He is not Prince Charming.