“Mommy, he is so beautiful,” I whisper, clapping my hands as a tiny puppy searches for the source of the pat I’m giving, and the lady laughs softly.

“I think he already likes you.”

Tearing my gaze away from the Labrador, I raise my eyes to her hopefully. “You really think so?”

She nods, grinning widely, but then she winces and a light sneeze escapes her. “Sorry,” she apologizes, but I just shrug.

Christmas lights brighten up the neighborhood, as everyone has gone out of their way to decorate their houses, some with Santas, others with sleighs and reindeer, and some with both.

People are laughing all around us, engaging in snowball fights while running toward the end of town, where the biggest Christmas tree is located.

My mom catches my longing stare toward the kids who are inexplicably happy and hugs me closer, running her fingers through my hair, as I exhale heavily. “Do you like the puppy, honey? How about we give it a home?” she asks cheerfully, and I blink in surprise, because I know the rules as well as she does.

No one is allowed inside the house without Dad’s permission.

The lady’s face brightens as she extends the puppy to me while he leans and licks my nose, barking softly, and a giggle slips through me. “Here, take him for free. Merry Christmas.” She sounds relieved, since it’s the last puppy she needs to find a home for. Her dog recently had a huge litter, and since she had no way to keep them all, she just gave the puppies to anyone who wanted one.

We probably wouldn't have even encountered her if it weren’t for Dad’s order to go out a few times this week to stroll around the neighborhood and wish everyone happy holidays so no one would be suspicious. He mostly spoke to my mom, and I didn't understand half the stuff he said.

“Thank you,” I whisper, bringing it closer to my chest and hiding my face in the soft fur, happiness unlike any other spreading through me when images of how we can play together dance in my mind.

A companion and friend who’ll be with me all the time, even when Mom cries in the bathroom or when she sleeps the whole day because she took magic pills.

At least that’s what she calls them.

Mom pushes me in the direction of the house just before a car pulls up. She freezes, and I tighten my hold on the puppy as Dad gets out of the car, waving at the lady and smiling at us warmly.

Oh no. This usually means bad things.

“Darling,” he greets Mother, placing a grocery bag in her arms, and then ruffles my hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling painfully, but I don't show it.

No emotions in front of people. His list of orders is always never ending. “It’s cold out here.” The puffs of air leave his mouth as he points at the door. “Let’s get inside.” We go in, and with each step, my heart beats faster and faster, and I feel it in my throat, as I don't know what to expect next from him.

Once we are in the hallway, the door shuts behind us, and Mom’s painful gasp echoes through the house. My shoulders sag and I close my eyes, tears welling up in the corners.

I hear the bag fall to the floor, and I spin around to see him dragging Mom by the hair to the living room, not caring in the least how she hits her hips and knees against the furniture. He throws her on the floor, slapping her cheek harshly, which knocks her head to the side. “What kind of clothes are these?” He fists her small jacket and shirt that barely cover her from the cold since he refused to buy her new stuff for the winter, claiming she would use it to seduce someone. Whenever I asked Mom what it meant, she just told me to forget about it, but how could I? Is there a child who can forget his or her mom’s tears?

“You bought it,” she croaks, and then sends me a smile as if reassuring me everything is okay.

“I never bought this. You just want attention. Well, I’m here to give you mine.” He rips the clothes from her as she tries to hide her naked skin from his gaze, and then he unbuckles his belt. “Get ready.”

“Please, Matt. Don’t. Not today. Not on Christmas.”

Dad laughs sadistically while squeezing her chin so tight her lips come together and she breathes deeply through her nose. “Why would I give a fuck about that?” He’s right though. We don’t have a tree or toys or gifts. He doesn't even allow Christmas songs. He claims to hate it, and whoever does what he hates… always has to face his wrath.

He removes the belt from the loops with a loud whoosh. Immediately, I scratch my skin, remembering the last time he hit me with it across my back and how the bruises didn't fade for days, even though Mom put ointment on them daily. Dad even excused me from PE in school so no one would know.

The puppy chooses this moment to whimper in distress as he shifts in my arms, eager to get down, but I don't let him. Dad stops what he’s doing and narrows his eyes on me. “Just what are you holding there, boy?” I step back, not answering, but that doesn't fly with him. He flings Mom on her back and she groans as he snatches the puppy from me, while I shout, “No!” He dangles it in the air, swaying it from side to side, disbelief written all over him, then drops it, but thankfully the puppy lands on his paws although a little unsteady.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters, and then grabs me by the nape, squeezing so hard I choke. “Who allowed you to bring this here?”

Mom covers her face, ready for his blow once he knows the truth, but I lie, wanting to protect her.

“I did. Mom didn't see it.”

His brow rises as he leans closer, his breath fanning my face, as he asks, venom lacing his voice, “So you are brave enough to make your own decisions, huh?” He pats my cheek, delivering a hard blow with each touch. “Then get the fuck out of my house.” Then he kicks the stumbling puppy and it hits the wall, whimpers spreading through the room. I run to him and pick him up; the frightened and injured puppy trembles and whines in my arms.

Dad opens the back door and throws me outside. I land painfully in the snow, but I still hold the dog. Mom begs him, “Please, Matt, please. He didn’t mean it.”

“Rules are rules. Say goodbye to your bastard.”

“Mom!” I call, but all I see is her terrified face as he shuts the door. I rest my back against the steps as my soaking wet clothes become colder with each breath and the puppy’s breaths are raspy against my chest. “Sshh.” As light snowflakes settle on my skin, I pat him, hoping Dad’s blow didn't do much damage.

My body is shaking, my teeth chattering against each other as the frigid air registers in my mind more and more, but I use all the warmth from the jacket on the puppy. “If we live, I’ll call you Max,” I whisper in his ear, relieved to hear light snoring coming from his muzzle.

However, I can’t block the sounds coming from the house as dishes shatter, and Dad roars, “Useless piece of shit!” Then flesh is slapping against flesh, probably him using the belt on her, because that’s his favorite torture when she doesn't manage to make good tea for him.

“Matt, please. My baby—” Another slap.

“Your bastard.” She screams in agony, and I don't have to see it to know he kicked her in the side while she is probably lying on the floor, soaking in the hot tea spread in our kitchen. “Repeat after me if you want to see him in here. Your bastard.” Nothing happens as he obviously waits for her reply, but I can’t hear her response before something else crashes, and he yells, “You bitch!” I can hear them better now, which means he’s dragged her back into the living room. “Bastard. Say it.”

Mom finally gives up, defeat evident in each word. “My bastard.”

“Good girl. And now you know what to do to lift my mood before I have to see your bastard, don’t you?”

I close my ears, because I can imagine what will follow next.

I start to sing my favorite song and picture a different place, hoping to eliminate everything else, although Mom usually keeps quiet during these moments.

I’m on a beach, reading a book, the ocean caressing my toes, as I enjoy the sun and sand while my mom laughs softly behind me. A place where Dad has no access and I’ll never have to be afraid.

A place where I don't have to watch my every word or expect pain every single day.

A place that doesn't exist.

I don’t know how many hours pass, but I’m almost numb from the cold as my eyelids close, sleep claiming me by the time my mom opens the door and gets me inside, instantly wrapping her arms and a soft blanket around me.

“Mommy,” I say groggily, “Max—”

“Get that dog out of my fucking house, now,” Dad orders from the couch, his football game blaring loudly where some man comments on an amazing quarterback… and I hate it.

Hate it with all my heart.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Mom says as she takes Max away. I try to stop her, but it’s useless and she lets him out. “I will try to do something about it in the morning.” But what will change in the morning anyway? She shouldn't have allowed me to have him, then!

She gave me hope! At those thoughts, I snap back to reality as guilt flashes through me for feeling angry at Mom. She is not at fault.

He is.

“No, Mom, please. He’ll die.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks, but she just shakes her head and takes me up to the bathroom, where she makes me a warm bath all while applying antiseptic on her wounds.

In the morning, the first thing I do is check the backyard for Max, hoping to get him to someone who can love him freely because they don't live with a monster.

But all I find is his dead body lying on the piles of snow.

Let it be your lesson, boy.

Someday, I will teach him a lesson too. That is a vow I intend to keep.

Psychopath

As quietly as possible, I unlock the cage and step inside while Ella lies on the mattress, the blanket softly covering her body.

A single bulb shines above with its buzzing adding to her captive experience. I walk to the sink and turn off the water, as the sound starts to grate on even my nerves. I wanted to have her unsettled so all her survival instincts would come into play and I could see how she reacted when danger hit her, but I fucking couldn’t do it.

Leaving for an entire day, although I was just upstairs, didn’t help me ease my hectic emotions regarding her or the fact that what I’m doing doesn’t feel right.

My fists clench at the sight of untouched food and water—fucking stubborn captive.

Her face looks so peaceful as she rests her cheek on her hand, breathing evenly with not a care in the world. She must not have expected me to come back so soon; otherwise, she would have never allowed herself to fall asleep.

Where was her FBI training? I expected more fight from her than this quick surrender.

The search party started the minute I reported her missing, and the team has been crazy ever since but has come to dead ends everywhere they look.

I act like a worried lover, but at the same time hate myself because part of it is true.

I’m a fucking worried lover who is attached to his victim.

Kneeling in front of her, I trace my finger over her face, closing my eyes at the softness of her skin, and breathe in her scent.

I should be using my knives on her to see her break, so she will admit she has nothing to hold on to.

That’s all I want.

But I do none of those things. Instead, I silently watch her, hating her worn-out state.

She flips onto her back, exposing more of herself to me, and suddenly her eyes snap open, our gazes clashing. A smile spreads on her face, as she stretches her arms, confusion crossing her face. “Why are you awake?” she asks sleepily, and then rises slightly to fist my shirt. “Come here, sexy guy.” She pulls me to her and I fall, our chests pressing against each other as she runs her nose along the crook of my neck as she always does in the mornings.

Sexy guy.

That’s what she called me anytime she was in the mood for sex.

Her hands travel up my stomach, lightly grazing the skin under my shirt, but then they slide up to circle my neck. “Relax, Kierian.” She nips on my chin, lifting her hips a little, begging me to thrust.

She doesn’t realize where she is or that I’m no longer just her “sexy guy.” The haze of her sleep consumes her, so she still believes we are back in our apartment, where I made her body crave my touch.

Her mind might reject me, but her body? Her body fucking remembers everything.

A better man would have walked away, but I never claimed to be a saint. Maybe this will help both of us.

I remove my shirt then roll back to her. I smash my mouth on hers and she moans, rather loudly, but a weird emotion slips through me as her hands fumble with my zipper and she seeks my tongue with hers. Her velvety softness sucks on my tongue and my hands grab her hips, bringing my hard-on closer to her pussy, which is probably dripping for me.

Then a stunning thought slams into me like a ton of bricks, halting my movements as I realize I’ve missed this complete acceptance from her.

Where she welcomes me into her arms instead of fighting me.

Palming her face, I hold her stare as she gasps for breath and I freeze, hating the beast that rages for me to hurt and protect her… at the same time.

Why is torturing her not easy?

She laces her fingers in my hair, begging for my mouth as she brings us closer, and my eyes close while I breathe her in.

But then it happens, and I have no time to react.

She bites painfully on my lip, drawing blood as a piercing pain assaults my side. I huff in surprise, looking down to see she’s stabbed me with a knife.

The fucking knife I must have forgotten earlier.

My state allows her to push me to the side as she quickly gets up, the keys for the house dangling in her hands that she must have taken from the loop on my jeans.

Blood coats my hand as I concentrate on a different place so it will help me ignore the pain and move forward.

A field, a green field where I don’t have to do anything.

In seconds, I have control back and stand up, running on adrenaline alone, but then I realize she is nowhere in sight.

And that’s when the door shuts loudly above me.

My little prey threw a challenge my way.

Big mistake.

Ella

My lungs fill with fresh air as I try to study the view in front of me but fail because my vision is still blurry. The massive brick house behind me seems to be located in the middle of a huge field with a forest on the horizon and no other houses or civilization in sight.

Desperation fills me, but I don’t give up. Instead, I hold the hem of my dress up and rush forward, seeking either help or a hiding place from the man who without a doubt will chase after me within minutes.

For a minute, guilt penetrates me for what I’ve done to him, but it quickly disappears the minute the pain in my entire body registers.

He doesn’t deserve my pity. My anything for that matter.

The sweat drips down my back as I inhale the smell of lavender and roses, and my legs take me farther and farther into the field. The only sounds are my feet smacking the ground and my gulps for air while I put all my power, or what is left of it, into running. I ignore my blisters and how hunger almost makes it impossible to move, let alone fight.

I can’t let him get me; it will mean he wins.

Not noticing the slippery spot in front of me, I fall down on my ass, causing pain to burst through my body. Biting down on my lip, I allow the metallic taste of blood to enter my dry mouth that hasn’t had water or anything else to drink for ten or more hours straight now.

Maybe I shouldn't have been that stubborn. But I just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of me eating food after he used my body as his personal toy. It responded to him, and I hated myself for it. He knew this would break me, but he did it nevertheless.

And I knew me not eating would alter his plan, so I used it. No matter how much he claims I mean nothing, I don’t believe it.

No, I’m not a lovesick fool to think he does it out of love.

He just cannot bear someone or something else bringing me pain besides him; that’s how his twisted mind works.

He certainly didn’t expect me to take the stand I did, and silent laughter escapes me along with a little whimper.

Did he really think I would accept him and beg him to touch me? I might love him, but no fucking way will I develop Stockholm Syndrome.

He can go fuck himself!

Placing my hand on the grass, I glance down to study the bloody fingers and stubby fingernails I’d bitten off with worry.

I wonder if this escape and whatever the future holds are worth it.

But despite what everyone might think, despite being alone in this world, my life does matter.

And I will fight for it till my last dying breath.

Slowly, black leather boots come into view right under my nose as Kierian’s sadistic chuckle echoes over the field. “Little spitfire, aren't you? Quite the fight for your life you gave me.” He kneels and grabs my chin while I struggle away from his hold, but it’s useless.

My strength is nothing against his.

That’s when I notice the blood oozing from his wound, but he doesn’t even flinch in pain. In fact, he has a hollow expression, as if he’s a different man.

He created a sub-reality in his mind to distract from the pain, smart fucker.

Raising my chin up, our gazes clash, and I can’t help but whimper in despair as his unmasked face reminds me once again of the fool I have been.

Because all these weeks chasing the psychopath, I never once anticipated it was him.

And now he has come to collect the most valuable thing I have to offer.

My life.

What I did back in the basement is probably unforgivable in his mind, but I don’t care.

I’d rather die trying to escape than because I gave up in a dingy, dark basement.

“You are mine now, Ella. The hunter has won his prey,” he mutters, as he leans down and licks the blood from my lips.

His blood.

He throws me over his shoulder, marching in the direction of his sanctuary.

I can’t move my muscles, and no matter how much I kick, he doesn’t budge under my assault. All my training was shit, because, apparently, I can’t take down one single guy.

Part of me feels sorry for everything he’s had to endure in his life that led him to this.

Not that it matters.

The end will be the same.

Either I kill him, or he’ll kill me.

Till death do us part after all.

Psychopath

Entering the house, my ears are almost deafened by her screaming, but I ignore it, focusing my entire attention on the brown door down the hallway. I use all my strength to continue to my bath as she shivers on my shoulder. She asks, “What are you doing?” Her head shifts slightly as she grabs my waist to look beyond me.

I don’t give her much though, as I drop her on the floor. She sways a little and I steady her, but she immediately steps back, fury crossing her face. “What? You brought me here to inflict more damage?”

“Quite a stupid statement for a professional like you.” Before she can say anything else, I point at the shower. “Take one and dress in the set of clothes on the counter.” Her brows furrow as her eyes widen in surprise. “And then come back to the fucking living room.” I close the door behind me, grab the first aid kit on the way, and drop onto the couch with an exhausted huff.

Only then do I allow myself to come back, and the pain follows, hitting me from every corner. I notice she didn’t touch any important parts, and I can handle patching myself up.

In other words, the wound isn’t dangerous enough to kill me, but it hurts like a motherfucker, alerting my other senses.

The man in me is proud of the skill she possesses, but the serial killer?

The serial killer wants to wrap his hands around her pretty throat and choke her until she regrets her decision.

Clearly my first tactic didn’t work.

But I’m nothing if not adaptable.