“I told you to fucking clean it yesterday,” Dad’s voice bellows from downstairs, and I snap my eyes open and turn on the bedside lamp, rubbing my forehead. There is a loud crash and a stifled cry as he raises the volume of the football game louder so it will eliminate all other sounds.

My door opens, a crack of light from the hallway visible as Kim slips in and quickly jumps on my bed, hiding under the covers as she plasters her small body against me. She trembles all over, whispering something under her breath, probably a song.

That’s what she usually does.

I roll my eyes; the kid is annoying. No matter how many times I’ve told her not to come in here, she won’t listen.

Oddly enough, the old man has left me alone since he married Suzanne, but she continues to get bruises once a week. He doesn't beat her like my mother for every small screw up; after all, we still have the attention of the neighborhood on us… but nevertheless.

She stays with him, just like my mom, albeit she never lets him touch her kid.

Or me, come to think of it.

She just whispers that he’ll change and once again become that loving and caring man who she fell in love with. I barely stifle my laughs any time she mentions it, because honestly, the fucker isn't capable of such emotion. However, he never gets as violent with her as with my mom, and I did wonder when his barely contained fury will once again spill all over our house.

Showtime is here, it appears.

“He’s angry again,” Kim murmurs, peeking from the blanket, and I look down at her.

She has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and sometimes that pleading look begs me to do something I cannot refuse.

Maybe because I recognize myself in it. Only I had no one to beg back then.

“Please, no. Matt—” Suzanne doesn't finish, as another crash sounds in the distance, and I know what it means.

“He’s hurting her,” Kim says, ready to run and defend her mom, but I stop her and tuck her back in as I rush to the door.

I call over my shoulder, “Do not come. Stay put.” No child should see his or her mom being beaten. Those scars would stay with her forever.

I take the stairs three at a time, only to see Suzanne on her knees in front of Dad who has wrapped his black leather belt around her neck, a smile gracing his features while she holds on to it, trying to free herself while gasping for air. Her face has turned blue, and she is barely keeping herself up.

What a fucking asshole. “Let go!” I shout, and he turns his attention to me, surprise reflected on his face, but then the wide grin comes back.

“Oh, you finally decided to come, huh?” Approval laces his voice as he drags her to the side, loosening the tight hold for a second as she gasps for breath but then tightening it again. “Do you miss me torturing your mom like this? Want to stay and watch just like old times?” He licks his lips while Suzanne’s mouth gapes open, remorse and shock written all over her features as she gazes at me.

“Let go of her,” I repeat.

“You are too cocky for your own good. You think I won’t teach you a lesson since you’ve grown bigger and have the support of everyone?” True, slowly but surely, I’ve made friends with the popular kids, upped my grades, and generally built a circle of support around me so Matt won't have access to me.

But most importantly? I managed to convince the local biker who lives three blocks from school to give me lessons in boxing, so I’d know how to protect myself in case the old man decided to go back to his old ways. I knew it would happen sooner or later, especially when he had an available victim in his vicinity.

His interest in me allows Suzanne to slip away from him. She begins to crawl to the far corner of the room, aiming to get to the phone, but he stomps on her back and she falls on her stomach, groaning painfully.

“You are a monster,” she says, breathing rapidly, and I want to add “Duh,” but don’t.

My father is scaring the kid upstairs though.

And I will always protect any kid from the kind of things he is capable of inflicting.

I see small droplets of blood staining the white carpet, taking me back in time to when it happened to my mom.

The piercing pain assaults me, and I cover my eyes, swaying from side to side, hoping it will stop.

The memories are too painful to ignore, but with that also comes a deep fury that demands to be let out.

So I don’t think, just react, as I latch onto and raise high the baseball bat from under the couch that I put there in case of an emergency.

Matt just laughs. “Look who got brave. You asked for it, boy.” He steps toward me, the leather swaying with his movements, and then the metal buckle hits the table as if he is warning me what is to come.

I don’t wait any longer but lunge at him, hitting him on the back. Because he doesn't expect it, it takes him a second to react before he retaliates with the belt. First, he pushes me to the floor, and then he punches me in the back. He attacks with the belt, the buckle bruising my shirtless skin while he kicks me in the stomach. The baseball bat rolls to the side, and it only adds to his confidence it seems. He grabs me by the nape and pounds me against the floor, excruciating pain instantly traveling from my nose to my forehead. I bite my lip, trying not to make a sound, because I know that’s what gives him the most pleasure. Nausea sweeps through me, but I wait, letting him add a few more blows before Suzanne slaps him on the back, screaming, “Matt, stop! You will kill him!”

What is she doing? I furrow my brows in confusion. Why can’t the woman stay fucking put? I break free and get up, fishing for the knife I stuffed underneath the chair. I spin around quickly, flashing it in front of his eyes as he halts in the middle of throwing Suzanne on the table.

Everyone freezes while he tsks. “We both know you won’t do anything about it, boy. Go back to your room. I’ll forgive you this time,” he boasts with a grin, scanning all my bruises.

Yeah, well fuck him.

I push the knife right into his liver and he bends in two, my action so unexpected he doesn't even have the chance to fight.

Suzanne screams, and I pull the knife out only to stab him in the stomach and then in his chest, making sure to miss all the arteries.

I want him to suffer, but not bleed to death. He falls to the floor, holding his wounds as the blood seeps through his fingers, and I pick up a tissue from the table and wipe my fingerprints from the knife, throwing it next to him. Suzanne trembles and dashes for the phone when I speak quietly, yet firmly. “You will call nine-one-one and tell them there was a dispute. In order to protect yourself, you had no choice but to stab him. Pick up the knife so they will have your fingerprints. Show them your bruises.”

“You are insane, boy!” he hisses, but I ignore him, my gaze holding Suzanne’s prisoner, who just blinks.

“Do you understand?”

At this moment, Kim joins us, gasping. “You are hurt, Shon.” Then she hugs me close, but I don’t return it. She is safe and it’s all that matters.

That’s enough as something shifts in Suzanne’s gaze, and she dials the number before whispering into it. “Help, please, come to my house—” I don’t listen to the rest, but sit on the chair while my dad chokes on his blood and a smile tugs at my mouth, this moment so profound and magnificent as power rushes through my veins, even blocking away the pain.

The old man might think it’s the end, but it’s not. I’ll kill him someday, but only when it will bring him the most pain.

A quick death for this fucker is salvation and not a punishment.

Ella

It’s been hours now since our last conversation, and I do nothing but sit on this fucking couch while he wanders around the house and does his shit.

First, he chopped wood. God knows why, considering it’s warm, and then he stacked it himself too. After that, he cleaned the place, being very OCD about a little dust. Come to think of it, I consider myself a germ freak, but Kierian takes it to another level.

But then, he has to get rid of evidence, so he does have to be more careful.

Currently, he’s reading a book in his chair, completely ignoring me, and this drives me crazy. I pace the kitchen back and forth and finally settle with resting my back against the wall near the bedroom, bored and confused out of my mind.

Who kidnaps a woman to do this? This unsettles me even more, because I have no clue what to expect from him.

“This place looks pricey.” I can’t believe I’m breaking the silence, and neither can he if the look he gives me above the book is anything to go by. “How can you afford it?”

He shrugs. “I have good friends and invested well a while back. Under a different name though.” Just how many different names does he have?

“How come no one has found this place?”

“Because it’s located in a field near the woods. No one wanders this deep, and besides, even if they do, it’s not against the law to have property here. But you’d need a warrant to search the place.”

“Those bodies… you were the one to call the police about them? Because you knew I’d be joining the FBI.”

“Yes.” He says it so freaking casually, like it’s an everyday thing for a man to drop dead bodies as a ritual to woo a woman.

“Must be hard to live a double life.”

“Not really. My two friends know about me, and women were there only for no-strings-attached sex. It’s not like I needed to keep up a constant act.”

Jealousy rushes through me, creating an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. He’s repeated it many times, but I decide to ask anyway. Maybe his answer will help me hate him more or something.

Because at this point, my mind and feelings are all over the place. “You needed sex regularly, so you spied on me and fucked some chick afterward?”

The hand holding his glass of whiskey pauses midair, his stare intense as he swallows quickly. He drops the tumbler on the carpet and is by my side in a flash. He presses me against the wall, plastering both his palms on the wall on either side of my head while he leans closer, our lips just a breath away from each other. “Why? The idea of another woman displeases you?” He fixes his gaze on my chest rising and falling, his closeness still clouding my senses.

My hand is about to slap him, when he catches it and traps it against his chest. “What is it, Ella?”

What do I have to lose anyway?

I might die any day now, so fuck it.

“So you consider me yours and still stick your dick in every available woman? Great. Thanks, but no one needs this kind of obsession.” The red haze is still present in my eyes, and I can’t shake it away.

We weren’t anything to each other, but it makes me sick to think that he probably didn’t allow anyone to come even close to me while he whored around.

“I didn’t,” he replies, and I catch his drilling stare. “I haven’t touched anyone since laying eyes on you. Truth be told, you were all I could think about. So there were no women.”

I exhale in relief, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. And that’s when the mood shifts, bringing such familiar awareness, and when he leans closer, I whisper, “This is so wrong.”

“Why does it feel good, then?”

I glare at him. “Because it’s wrong!”

But in all the chaos that’s blown up in my face, our physical connection is the only thing that binds us, the only thing that’s familiar and, oddly enough, safe.

So why not use it as an anchor? Even if it’s weak and irrational.

With determination in mind, I pull him to me, rise on my toes, and kiss him.

For a second, he is frozen, and then he answers the kiss, fisting my hair and angling my head back, plunging deep. Immediately, I taste the whiskey he was consuming earlier.

Except it tastes different on him, more rich, vivid, and makes his kiss even more intoxicating.

Suddenly, he pushes me away and spins me around, pressing my cheek to the wall as his hot body cages me in.

He murmurs harshly into my ear, “Where is the knife this time?” My heart stops and then speeds up as he slides his hand from my collarbone down to my stomach, and it dips from his touch. He doesn't stop and moves his attention to the sensitive skin of my core. He murmurs again, “No knife?” My raspy breath fills the space as he bites my earlobe, and a rush flows through me even though I hate it.

Shouldn't a woman have pride? Or common sense? The man practically admitted he wants to kill me and he is a serial killer. How can my body desire him? How can I still feel anything for that matter?

“I didn’t have time to grab one on the way.” Sarcasm coats my words, and he chuckles, the vibration from it dancing on my skin.

And then he is gone, once again.

“Tempting, but not enough. There is no escape from here, Ella, until I say so. And I’ll never say so.” I turn around, only to see his face void of any emotion as he gives me a crooked smile. “Maybe you shouldn't have joined the FBI after all.”

He walks toward a room at the far end of the hall, and I call after him, “What’s in there?”

“None of your business.” He goes inside after he places some kind of card near it and then shuts the door behind him.

Psychopath

Leaning back in the chair, I turn on the camera in the living room and study Ella as she runs around searching for cells or landlines, computers or internet, and coming up blank.

She huffs in frustration and then goes quickly to the kitchen, opens the drawers, probably searching for weapons, finding nothing but forks and spoons.

She screams while shaking her hands then rests her palms on the table, breathing heavily, clearly thinking of a way out, even though I’ve told her multiple times there is no escape.

Then she straightens, hugging her wounded hand close, and a wince flashes across her face.

It speaks to something inside me, because the idea of her in pain unsettles and displeases me at the same time.

She shouldn't have interfered; then she wouldn't have been hurt.

The stupid woman doesn't listen, ever.

What am I doing here really? From the very beginning, she was an experiment, a woman who could withstand everything and not give up.

But can she give up once the man she supposedly loves turns out to be, well, me?

She is trying to escape, trying to talk back to me as if she’s not afraid, although I can taste her fear; it’s evident in every move she makes. She chose a different tactic by acting compliant when she was plotting, so she’s probably attending to my narcissistic nature.

Oddly enough though, I’m not a psychopath. I was profiled as one, of course, but psychopaths show violent tendencies no matter what their upbringing. Some even claim it’s genetic.

Now, sociopath suits me better, since they’re usually shaped by their environment.

In short, her tactic isn’t working.

But my own feelings that do not want to hurt her?

They so fucking work.

Ella removes a small metal hook from one of the curtains, breaks it in two, and then twirls it in her hands while kneeling in front of the door lock. She gets it inside and wiggles it from side to side, her brows furrowing in concentration, and she constantly looks behind her as if checking for me.

A smile pulls at my lips at this. What a fighter.

She unlocks it, fisting her hand in the air, and puts on the socks she found earlier on the couch.

With one last glance in the direction of my room, she slips out, probably happy as fuck.

Too bad I’ll rain on her parade sooner rather than later.

Ella

I can’t believe it actually worked!

I’m free!

Not wasting any time, I check for Rex, but he is nowhere around, so I sprint as fast as I can despite the ache, needing to find the road and then escape this man.

My heart might love him and feel sorry for him, but that’s about it.

Sacrificing myself for him? No fucking way.

I don’t know what kind of tactic he has chosen. Maybe it’s to drive me insane with waiting or confuse me with his bad and good persona, I don't know.

There is one thing I know for sure though.

I can’t let him convince me that this is okay, and that’s inevitable if I stay here long enough.

So I run faster and reach the forest, walking through the trees as the leaves crunch under my feet, and I wince in pain.

Shoes would have been better than socks, but none were lying around.

Resting my back against the tree, I gulp breaths while hurriedly studying my environment. It’s dark and I don't see much, but I hear cars passing by so far away they’re barely audible. I’m about to dash again, when he appears in front of me, wearing all fucking black and a smirk plastered on his gorgeous face.

No! How did he know? He wasn't even around when I left, and I was as quiet as possible.

“Ella.”

“Stop saying my name!” It grates on my nerves the way he changes his tone to a dangerous-sounding one whenever he says it.

“I will do whatever I want, Ella.” He pauses. “You don't call the shots here.”

The annoying son of a bitch!

I raise my hand and slap him hard right across his face, the sound echoing between us and his cheek turning red from my hit.

My ears ring as fear washes over me, because his face changes rapidly from amusement to fury and then to complete indifference.

Maybe I’ve pushed him too hard this time, and this is my end after all.

He wraps his hand around my throat, presses me to the tree, then squeezes hard, cutting off the air to my lungs as I struggle to breathe. “Do. Not. Ever. Hit. Me.” He emphasizes each word with a tighter squeeze while I grab for the tree, hoping it will help me to stand, although I feel myself slipping into oblivion.

He releases me and I gasp for breath. He catches me before my knees have a chance to buckle and squeezes me harshly. I whimper in pain as the fabric digs into my cuts. The skin already aches so much.

“Does this make it better?” he asks, as my brows furrow in confusion. “Making me show my darker side. Is it easier to act like the victim? Is that why you want to push my limits?”

“I want to get away from you!” I try to shout in his face, although it comes out as a hoarse hiss since my throat hurts.

“It’s easier to hate me than to pretend like you don’t want me.”

This is so insane!

“No!”

“Yes! Then you can convince yourself that I take everything with force.”

I open my mouth to protest, but then close it, because maybe his words have merit. Maybe I do try to do that so he will show me nothing but a monster and I won’t have to be confused or feel guilt over it, a guilt I don't understand.

Kierian scoops me up in his arms, and despite my kicks and slaps, he continues to walk back to the house, and I wonder if it’s always like that with the likes of him.

No matter how much you try, you can’t escape.

We step inside the house yet again and he goes straight to the bedroom, dumps me on the bed, and I bounce on it with a hoarse squeal.

He disappears but comes back shortly stirring a steaming cup.

I warily watch him, rubbing my arms as he sits on the bed and hands me the cup. Giving it a suspicious look, I shake my head.

“Drink,” he orders, and I huff.

“What is it? Some kind of sedative to make me more compliant?”

He snatches my hand and tugs me closer, and I have no choice but to lean forward. “Drink, Ella. I don't need to do much to make you compliant.” He brings the mug closer to my lips and the smell of honey and tea register in my nose. “It will help you with your sore throat.”

“If you didn't hurt it, I wouldn't have an issue in the first place.”

He presses the cup against my lips, so I take a huge sip and instantly welcome the soothing sensation it gives me. Wrapping my palms around it, I pull it to me and sit on the bed cross-legged while he chuckles.

“You like it, I gather.”

“Mom used to make it for me when I was sick,” I reply quietly, and he tenses, jerking his head. “That’s what your mom did too?” I don't remember having this drink after they died; in my opinion, it’s such a mom thing to do.

A beat passes, and then he finally says, “No. I made it for her whenever he hurt her, although it rarely helped her.” Kierian glances at his hands and then turns around, resting his elbow on his knees while he breathes heavily.

“Did he beat her a lot?”

A humorless chuckle erupts. “I don't remember a day when he didn’t.”

My heart aches for the little boy who must have lived through hell and watched his mother suffer, and before I can even think about it, I raise my hand and touch his back softly. If it’s possible, his muscles become even more tense under my touch. “I’m so sorry, Kierian. No one should experience that.”

“True. But rarely anyone can stop them.” His voice is filled with distaste and hatred. “I’ll never apologize or feel remorse about killing those men. They deserved it.”

I’ve read the file on him, so I know what his father did. Convincing him otherwise is pretty much a dead end.

But he doesn't know the whole truth, and I’m afraid to tell him, because it won’t bring him any peace. Yet maybe it will make him more understanding toward his mom.

He stands up, spinning to face me, and I see different emotions flashing in his eyes, but none that I can name. “No matter what he did, she always stayed with him. Even when he moved his violent tendencies to me, she still stayed, although she loved me. Nothing, nothing made her leave him, although she had all the chances in the world.” He hits the wall hard, and it’s probably painful, but I just sit silently, because what can I say to that?

In his mind, his mom betrayed him.

“And she just left me to him. So you were right. I was saving the kids.”

“You don't know your mom’s story.”

“Spare me the explanations. This is not me saying victims are at fault for domestic abuse. I don’t blame her for what he did, and she always protected me. But she shouldn't have stayed with him.”

Silence falls over us as I ponder his words and finally speak. “But you want the same kind of love from me.”

“At first, you were an experiment. I needed to understand how a woman could stay with a man who hurt her.” My brows furrow, because that hardly describes our situation. “But then everything changed. Sleep now. I’m done talking.” He leaves me alone, shutting the door behind him, and I hear the lock being turned. Well there goes his breezy attitude about me wandering around the place.

At first, you were an experiment.

What am I now?

I’ve never thought it possible to love and hate one man at the same time, but Kierian quickly proved otherwise.

Despite everything, I want to pull this monster out of the darkness and give him the light he so desperately seeks, even though he doesn't understand it.

Because all his confusing actions make one thing absolutely clear for me.

Kierian fell in love with me.

And that has become the greatest sin in his eyes.

Psychopath

Resting my elbow on the window, I study the night while Rex lies next to my feet, snoring loudly. The dog usually runs around the land freely, preferring to have freedom than be stuck with me. I gather even he has his psychological traumas.

All those conversations about my mother aren’t bringing out the best in me, remembering what my father did.

Especially now, when I hurt Ella in similar ways.

Disgust crashes into me like an angry wave, spreading through my system, and I take a long sip from the water bottle, hoping it can wash the feeling away.

What am I doing with her? Turning her into a woman who will take whatever I dish out to her and still stay?

Isn’t that exactly what I taught those men not to do?

But just the idea of giving her freedom unsettles me, awakening something dark and possessive inside me that roars.

She is mine.

And no matter how bad that fucking is, she will always stay mine.

With that decision in mind, I stroll to the room and enter, only to see her lying on the bed, sleeping soundly while the moonlight covers her in shimmering light, emphasizing her beauty that could have seduced even a stronger man than me.

There is no physical need; it’s something else I can’t explain as I lie down next to her and slowly trace my finger over her face. I would memorize it, if I hadn’t already.

Her smell, her softness, her soft breaths that show me she is still alive and here with me calm me down in a way I’ve never known.

When we started our “relationship,” I used to lie just like this at night and doubt myself, because she never looked more vulnerable and mine than during sleep. I’ve always been a light sleeper due to my past; I never know what or who might disturb my life.

In those moments, I want to do nothing else but protect her and keep her safe from all the bad things that can happen out there.

Which is kind of ironic, considering what she’s had to experience from me.

Why do I feel like this?

Suddenly, her eyes flutter and her brown pools look at me with surprise, and I expect her to move away or scream or give me sass—that seems her best defensive instinct lately—but she does none of those things.

Instead, she shifts to her side, facing me as she extends her hand and softly cups my cheek, the touch so unexpected I jerk.

She rubs my cheek with her finger, and then leans closer and kisses me on the mouth, her lips lightly grazing mine, and then she rests her cheek back on the pillow.

There is nothing sexual about any of this, yet it does things to me I cannot name or understand.

Women loved my looks, strength, brooding character, and cock that did wonders in the sack.

But no one ever showed acceptance for the monster living inside me, while Ella did it just now, for a moment.

“Sleep, Kierian,” she murmurs, bringing us closer while we are a breath away from each other. “I’ll guard your sleep tonight. Sleep,” she repeats, and oddly, I find peace in her words, and with her gentle touch and her body pressed tightly against me, I finally find sleep, lullabied by the knowledge that she doesn't run away from me.

Instead, she tries to speak to the monster inside me with a language I don't understand.

Love.