Hiding behind the column, I tighten my hold on the knife in my hand as I wait for an approachable victim to pass by.

The familiar buzzing fills my ears as sweat coats my shirt from the prospect of taking a life. I fucking need it like a second breath.

After Matt went to jail, I studied all the serial killers and how easily they took care of their victims, and most of the stuff was gross as fuck, but the idea of focusing your anger on those you deemed unfixable?

It had a certain beauty to it, and whenever I thought about it, the feeling of complete power I felt while stabbing Matt came back.

Exploring those desires was out of the question in our small hometown. But here? In fucking New York?

It’s a gift!

My football team played a game here, and while they have been busy making a list of buildings they wanted to visit, I’ve had other plans.

Killing someone seemed like the best of them.

So I sneak out in the middle of the night and go to the most dangerous street in sight, hiding my weapon under my coat, hoping to find an opportunity to use it.

Unfortunately, I’ve been doing it for the last few days, and every time, something gets in my fucking way, but tonight I’m determined.

Those fuckers are the lowest scum of society anyway; they probably come home and beat their wives, so it’s not a big deal to get rid of them. I’ll go insane if I don’t settle this deep craving inside me that demands someone else’s pain and fear and blood.

A man walks out of the bar, laughing loudly while he sways from side to side, with a beer in hand. He shouts into the phone, “Our team won!” Everything freezes as Matt’s voice penetrates my mind.

“My team lost,” he screams, throwing his bottle against the wall as Mother’s eyes widen in fear, and she ushers me toward the stairs.

I don’t want to go, but she silently motions for me to continue. However, it’s too late as his heavy footsteps come closer and closer. So instead, she quickly pushes me in the pantry and closes the door right in time, as he bellows, “I told you not to fucking cook that shit, didn’t I? That food brings nothing but bad luck.” And then my mother cries out in pain as he hits her and continues doing so for some time.

I sit and cover my ears, rocking from side to side, counting the minutes when he’ll get tired and I can run to Mommy and soothe her as best I can.

I no longer see a stranger. Instead, he transforms into Matt, and with raging determination, I dash toward him with a knife ready to stab him right in his fucking gut where he likes to put all his alcohol.

But then strong arms wrap around me, and I don’t have time to scream as someone knocks me down.

The face of a dark-haired man is the last thing my mind registers before darkness overtakes me.

A splash of water wakes me up as I gasp for air and choke on the liquid while trying to see through my blurry vision.

I want to raise my hand to wipe the wet from my face, but I can’t, as it’s tied behind my back.

Finally, my vision clears and I see some kind of weird-looking room with several questionable devices. I notice two men standing right in front of me.

One of them is a dark-haired, tall, lean guy, who gives a “don’t fuck with me” vibe as he crosses his arm and looks at me indifferently. He glances at the blond man next to him, who watches me with interest, although he looks weird in his three-piece suit while holding a cane.

A fucking cane with a metal top!

“Why is he here?” the dark-haired one wonders aloud while the weird one cracks a smile. Instead of answering him though, he steps closer to me, and I pull on my chains, but it’s useless.

It’s like I’m fucking glued to this chair!

“It’s a fool’s job really, boy. No one can get out if I don’t want them to.”

“What do you want from me? Let me go.” Are they some sick fuckers who are into young boys and rape them?

I heard and researched a lot, and sometimes fucked-up shit came up. If they think they have an easy target, they have another think coming.

I won’t surrender without a fight.

“The question is what do you want from our city?” This halts my movement as my brow furrows in confusion. The blond man exhales heavily, grabs a small chair nearby, and sits on it while propping his leg on another. What the fuck is this? Another century? “You see, this particular New York neighborhood belongs to me and my protégés. Yet you’ve been hunting for days now, and I tried to stop you in a good way. But you are stubborn.” So they are the ones responsible for all my failures? Either the victims were called by someone or bouncer dudes appeared in my vision, stopping me from killing anyone. “While I like it, it creates problems for me.” I stay silent, because frankly, I have no idea what to say.

So cities have special serial killers now roaming them and no one steps on someone else’s territory? What the hell?

“Let me go.” I finally settle on that, but he just clucks his tongue and opens a folder on his knees. He clears his throat and starts reading, the information chilling my bones.

“Shon Dawson. Sixteen years old. Mother committed suicide, father in jail for domestic abuse. Am I missing anything?” I’m too stunned to reply, so he continues. “This kind of stuff messes a person up. So you stabbed your old man, huh?” He rubs his chin. “And urges have arisen. You want to kill. Want to feel that power again. Where you rule the situation and have the control. The control that has been denied to you for years.” With each word, I scowl and scowl more, anger rising in me in spades.

“Fuck you.” They might as well kill me now, so I don’t have to play nice.

The blond smiles, rises, and delivers a blow to my face. My head falls back as pain assaults my nose. “A little respect for the older generation, Shon. You kids these days don’t know how to behave.”

What the fuck? He looks a maximum of ten years older than me. Surely not a grandpa.

He clasps his hands. “I would have killed you because you have traces of uncontrollable psychopath written all over you. But you’re a teenager. You can be trained. And you will be.”

What?

With that, he walks out, patting the shoulder of the dark-haired guy and leaving us alone in the white-as-fucking-snow room.

“What did he mean by trained? Who are you?” Do they run some kind of organization?

“Sociopath. My nickname is Sociopath. That’s all you need to know.”

My eyes probably bulge out of their fucking sockets. The guy has a reputation already, killing off people around the country and leaving only notes with his name. He is a legend.

“Why am I here?”

He straddles the chair and holds my gaze. “You have urges to kill.”

“Fuckers like Matt.” I wasn’t hunting for innocent people.

His chuckle fills the space. “The guy you wanted to kill today is a good family man. He is nothing like your father. But you don’t see it. Something triggers you, and it’s enough for you to snap. You will justify any violence just to feel that high again.” He pauses, while I contemplate his words.

“I can control myself.” Control is everything to me in this life. He’s wrong!

“No, those urges will only rise faster and faster, taking over your sanity. They will control you, if you don’t learn how to direct them properly.”

“Properly?” How can killing and proper be in the same sentence?

“I will teach you an art that will help you control your urges and direct them on selected people. Then you will control your life, not the other way around.”

This doesn’t make sense to me. “But why? Isn’t it easier to kill me?”

His eyes darken, but it passes quickly back to indifference. “Consider it a debt. Lachlan and I are giving you a chance. Do not blow it.”

So the other guy’s name is Lachlan? This is so fucking surreal. Who does this? Do they have their own academy or what?

“Who is he?”

“A man who doesn’t like to be crossed.”

“What will happen if I do?”

“We will kill you.”

Well, easy rules to follow.

Ella

The machine beeps that the coffee is ready, and I pour it into a cup while gazing through the window, albeit through bars, and study the ever-changing nature.

Although it’s summer, the wind is blowing quite strongly and even Rex doesn’t feel like going out. He just whines and then begs for food, and since I find some meat inside the fridge, I give it to him.

Resting my back on the counter, I grip it hard and know I have to tell him the truth.

The truth he has no idea about, and it will probably destroy him, but how long can a person live a lie?

Loving a man has proved to be the biggest challenge in my life. He is perfect outside those psychotic tendencies of his, and even then, he can’t hurt me. I know I should be afraid, but instead I feel sorry for the little boy he was who didn’t know any better.

I hear footsteps behind me, as he says, “Ella, you’re not asleep.” Spinning around, I see him gripping the top of the doorjamb, leaning on it as he swipes his gaze over me, possessiveness flashing brightly in his silver eyes.

His jeans hang dangerously low, showcasing his six-pack and the little trail that will lead…. Shaking my head, I focus on the task.

If other women heard my thoughts, they’d probably consider me insane.

There is good in him, and he needs me. But I don’t know how to be with him while he continues to do what he does, as it goes against all the principles I have in life.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He slowly walks to me like an animal assessing his prey, but then stops right in front of me and picks up my hand, gently rubbing it with his thumb. “Your hand bothering you?”

“No.”

He kisses it softly and I blink. “What’s going on?”

“You probably have access to my e-mail.” He doesn’t say anything, but I know it’s true. “Print out what Preston sent me about two days ago.”

He frowns, gripping my chin, and demands, “What’s in there?”

“Something you need to see to understand your mom.”

He steps back, fury crossing his face. “If this is some great plan—”

“Check it, Kierian,” I whisper and give him a soft peck on the cheek. “It’s important.” Placing the cup in the sink, I walk back to the room and get in bed, hoping his smell can calm me enough to prepare for the fury he will unleash soon.