A soft blanket wraps around my shoulders as the woman with a cup of steaming tea in her hand kneels in front of me while she tries to give me a reassuring smile.

What can be reassuring in this situation? The nightmares will haunt me till the end of my life.

I try to control my breathing without gulping air, because I don’t want them to bring back that psychologist who wants to help me. I don't need therapy, especially from a person who keeps repeating that in time everything will be all right. What does she fucking know anyway?

“Here you go, honey,” she murmurs, but I just blink and make no move to take it from her hands, even though I tremble so much I can hear my teeth chattering against each other.

The images just keep playing in my head, no matter how hard I will myself to forget them.

Blood.

Dead bodies.

My lifeless parents with no hope of surviving.

And finally, my little sister.

Thoughts of her snap me out of my stupor and I finally make eye contact with the officer lady, concern lacing her features. “Sarah… did you find her?” My sister is the only hope I have left. Surely life is not that cruel to take her away from me too?

She opens her mouth to say something, when another officer steps in, giving her a stern look. She nods, and with one last pat on my knee, rises and leaves me alone with the man who exhales heavily.

He is different from anyone else; he wears a black suit and oozes the confidence of a man who doesn't take shit from anyone. I’ve noticed him before, when he ordered around several people who look like him.

“My name is Agent Bates.” He shows me his badge, and my brows rise at the FBI insignia. This required the feds to come?

He grabs the chair nearby and sits in front of me, while I repeat my question. “Did you find my sister?” His lips thin as he leans forward and reaches for my hands, but I move them away.

I don’t need comfort if it means he doesn't have a good answer for me. Finally, he speaks, and part of me wants to shut him up.

To not have this finality in my life, the truth I will never be able to run away from.

But I can’t, so all that’s left is for me to listen. “We found Sarah in your basement. She was… she was hurt.” He swallows as if he is shocked himself by what the monster did to her. “She died a few hours ago. I’m so sorry, Ella,” he says, as if it will make everything better.

My entire family was murdered tonight.

How can anything ever be better again?

As tears stream down my cheeks, I close my eyes and fist my hands so the sobs will not escape me. I glance to his lap, where there is an open folder with several pictures, and bile rises in my throat. “What is this?”

He curses and tries to close it. “You shouldn't have seen this.” He can’t stop me before I grab the folder and scan pictures of people who had the same things done to them as my parents.

And then I find the last picture, this one with a little girl.

I stand up quickly, rushing toward the bathroom. I make it just in time before I vomit the water I drank earlier. The monstrous things keep on playing in my mind along with the smell from my house that I know is seared into my brain for life.

I feel Agent Parker’s presence behind me, and whisper, “That’s what he did to Sarah?”

A beat of silence, and then, “Yes.” I find the strength to get up and wash my hands in the sink as he gives me a hand towel. “He is a serial killer who has done this to several families.”

I lean on the sink, still dizzy, and I’m afraid I’m going to barf again.

What kind of sick, twisted monster does he have to be to do that?

“So there are more people like me? Kids?”

He shakes his head. “You are the only one he kept alive.”

What? Why?

“Do you remember anything, Ella? Any detail will help us.”

“No,” I whisper, because I’d been at the party while he did what he did to my family.

Well, I have all the freedom in the world now.

Unfortunately, it has a high price.

Ella

The car moves smoothly through the traffic of New York while I pick up the folders next to me and study the list of all the people who could have hurt Claire Hendricks. The woman sure got around, from one powerful man to another, although most had nothing but nice things to say about her. No enemies or scandals either, so who could have killed her in such rage?

Maybe a rejected admirer?

Preston continues to type while frowning and wiping away the sweat from his forehead. I take out a tissue from my purse and extend it to him. He gives it one glance, pauses, but then resumes doing his thing, ignoring me once again.

Seriously, what’s up with this guy?

“Your recommendations are splendid, Ella.” Noah drives the car and catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hope you can live up to them.”

I rub my forehead, wondering if this is what it’s like to work for the FBI.

Will I have to face constant smirks and jokes? Although Dean Holt warned me it’s not an easy job, with people constantly facing danger and psychos. They need to find fun in something, unless they want to go insane.

I just never thought I’d be the one they made fun of.

The car stops abruptly and I glance through the open window at the Federal Bureau building, the New York field location of the FBI. The building has impossibly high glass walls with a clean appearance all around.

Noah shows his badge to security, who nods and opens the gate for us, while several other cars wait their turn. The territory is highly guarded.

“Why did you choose our office?”

I’m slightly taken aback by the question from Preston, who has shifted his attention to me. He keeps his locked hands on his laptop while Noah searches for a parking space.

“As in the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

He shakes his head, moving the hair from his forehead, which makes him almost cute and not like a jerk. “Our office. The headquarters are at Quantico. You’d have a wider scope of experience there.”

The main headquarters of the FBI is located in Quantico, Virginia. They train the academy students there, handle the most important cases, and generally work hard. Other offices in the country are just field offices that handle cases where they have jurisdiction.

“Oh, I studied at NYU, and all my family is here.”

I choose not to mention that Virginia is my home state and I don’t want to go back there, ever. It holds too many memories, memories I try to forget every night. Not that I have much success though.

“I heard people have fun there,” Preston says, and I just blink, because this guy is so freaking random.

Noah finally parks the car and we get out, as he orders someone on the phone. “Make sure everyone is in the conference room in five minutes. We have a lot to discuss.” The way he says it, the tone of his voice, leaves no room for questions or the desire to disobey the guy.

As we ride the elevator to our floor, Preston mumbles something, Noah acts like a statue, and I think about how monumental this moment is in my career.

All the years I’ve worked so hard for this, through constant rejections and sleepless nights, working three jobs at a time to support myself in college just to be able to stand here today and help catch those people who hurt families.

Who destroy lives.

I’ve learned everything there is to know about them, studied their psychology and behavior. Gotten to know what makes them who they are and what their triggers are. How they try to justify their actions because of their upbringing or life circumstances.

The knowledge still doesn't dull the pain of losing my family. But maybe once I save other families, it can shift. I’m not sure I can afford waking up with nightmares for the rest of my life.

“Ella?”

I snap back from my memories to see Noah holding the elevator door for me since Preston has already rushed outside.

“Sorry,” I mumble, and his gaze softens for a second but quickly passes, so it must have been my imagination. “I was lost in my head for a second there.”

“Happens,” he says, and we go through more glass doors that open wide to countless desks with computers where people click on them or drink coffee while talking with their coworkers or studying folders. Noah has a certain direction in mind as he guides me to the right corner where stairs go down a level, sort of like a wing, and several people pass by and greet him.

Finally, we reach a spacious conference room with a huge TV in the middle along with a round table that holds several iPads. People occupy most of the chairs. A couch that has seen better days sits in the background, and the smell of coffee is strong.

At least we all share love for coffee.

“Everyone, meet our new team member, Ella Gadot.” Noah introduces me as they stand up, each one of them extending a hand to shake.

“Andrea.” The only female member is first, bold in her approach. Her long blonde locks go with her sapphire eyes as she winks at me. “I’m the only sane one here. Girl power!” She raises her fist while the guys roll their eyes; a smile tugs at my lips. I can be friends with her. Her gray suit showcases her fit body nicely, and I suspect she probably is a hit here. The woman is beautiful. “I’m a profiler.”

“Jacob Ford.” The man has insane muscles and strained veins on his neck. His James Dean haircut gives him a naughty look while his assertive green eyes don’t appear to miss a thing. “Welcome.” Something about him unsettles me, but I return the grin. Although he speaks the word, I don’t think he likes having me here very much.

“Preston is our computer science specialist, so he mostly stays here. We rarely need his presence in the field,” Noah informs me while Preston drinks his coffee and doesn't pay attention to anyone.

They act friendly, but I know better. In such professions, you have to prove your worth first. They trust their team members with their lives, and such trust is not easily given.

“And Kierian who is late.” Noah sounds angry as his eyes focus on the door behind me. I turn around to see one of the most handsome men in the room.

Although he has muscles, he is more on the lean side with a defined six-pack that his black T-shirt emphasizes while his black jeans give him a rather dangerous posture. His black hair is done in a man bun while his five o'clock shadow gives him a brutal yet hot look. But the most mesmerizing part of him is his beautiful exotic silver eyes that oddly enough do not go with everything else. They appear to hold so many secrets, not that anyone will likely ever find out what they are.

I should know, since I had a one-night stand with him two weeks ago.

Groaning inwardly, I really hope he never mentions it to anyone, because there is nothing like starting work with that kind of reputation.

Hooking up with a coworker!

My brows furrow at his looks, because FBI agents mostly keep haircuts short and no facial hair. In other words, they don’t stand out so no one pays them attention. Exceptions are undercover agents.

Then it dawns on me that Noah mentioned one of his team members has recently been undercover working on an important case for locating a serial killer who targeted people in small towns. He must be that agent.

Kierian smirks at Noah while he salutes him with his coffee cup.

“Good morning to you too.” He then gives me his hand. “Welcome to the team. I’m the only nice one here,” he jokes, while the others groan, clearly used to his behavior.

My eyes narrow at his words, his handsomeness diminishing rapidly. So he is going to act as if we don’t know each other.

Good, but it doesn't mean he is allowed to speak to me with such familiarity. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, when Andrea does it for me.

“Kierian, no need to show you are an asshole from day one.” But they share a smile, so she doesn’t mean the heat of her words.

Well, okay.

The team sure is an interesting bunch of people.

“I need to speak with Eva. Once I’m back, Preston will present the new case to us. It’s urgent, so no slacking,” he warns, and everyone nods, while Andrea pats the seat next to her. “Come sit with us till we wait for the case to land here. You want coffee?”

Oh my God, am I really about to get my first case?

Psychopath

She smiles at something Andrea says while picking up her coffee, and her eyes close in pleasure as she takes her first sip. She twirls a dark curl with her index finger as she listens attentively to all the information on the previous case. Although she acts at ease, I can see tension in her shoulders as if she doesn't know if they accept her.

She almost reminds me of a doll with her pale, clear skin that will probably look magnificent with blood smeared all over it while her beautiful brown pools fill with tears and fear from what I make her feel.

I always preferred blonde hair on women, but her dark locks somehow dimmed the purity of her demeanor and made her more approachable to me.

To my desires.

My cocks hardens against the zipper of my jeans as my hand tightens on the pen I sign the reports with, but not from the images of her taking my dick while she is spread on my bed.

Oh, no.

It’s from the idea of her spread on my bed while I use my favorite knife on her skin, to mark it with different cuts that will give me her moans and screams. Then I’ll fuck her with all the blood spread between us, forever binding us in a divine way.

Her picture alone as my trophy won’t do her justice.

She should have stayed in the center and worked with cognitive psychology, not stepped into my world.

Because she became my prey, and sooner rather than later, I will get her.

I just have to play my cards right.