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CHAPTER 056 Sociopath
CHAPTER 056: Sociopath
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KNOX-
I fell right into that trap, let myself be at rest, let myself become too happy. And now the dreams are back.
It’s the price of comfort. The consequence of peace.
I’d gone over a year without them. Twelve solid months of silence in my sleep, of not waking up drenched in sweat or shivering with the taste of blood in my mouth or phantom screams still ringing in my ears. I thought I’d finally outgrown it. That maybe I’d found the answer.
Hate.
It had worked. Hatred for Finn. For our father. For the bastards overseas. For the pimps and predators who loitered in my club pretending to be businessmen. Hatred kept the noise quiet. Kept the chaos buried. As long as I kept burning, I didn’t feel the cold.
But then came this woman. This girl who wore her damn glasses to bed like a librarian who got lost and wandered into my life, asking to be destroyed. She didn’t even know how enchanting she looked–curled up in my bed, clothed in one of my T- shirts, hair mussed and lips parted slightly like she belonged here. Like she had always belonged here.
She’s staring at me now. Through those goddamn glasses. With concern in her eyes.
And just like that, it all comes crawling back.
The sweat. The phantom fists. The gunshot that never stopped echoing. The fire. The blades. The heat. The whips. The chains. The…
I push off the bed with a grunt, my heart still pounding, like the ghost of the dream still has its claws in me. My hands are clenched, jaw tight. My mouth is sour with the taste of helplessness.
“I’m stepping out for a smoke,” I mutter, already moving.
“Knox.”
Her voice is soft, still sleepy, but I hear the worry underneath. She pushes herself to the edge of the bed, legs tangling in the sheets, her bare thighs catching the moonlight.
“Don’t shut me out. Talk to me about your dreams. Let me share the burden with you.”
I pause, not turning back.
“I don’t want you to worry about my problems,” I say. “I know the solution.”
“I don’t care if you have the solution,” she fires back. “I want to know what that was about. Was it PTSD from the war? Childhood trauma? You have to tell me something.”
“I did say I don’t like sharing a bed.”
“You thought I was going to let you sleep in the guest room?”
“I could have harmed you.”
“But you didn’t. You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
There’s something in her voice, something that makes me turn. She’s sitting there, chest rising and falling, hair a mess, glasses still on.
“You think you’re the first person close to me with chronic PTSD?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “These things are manageable. We just have to find a way.”
I stare at her. She’s not going to stop.
I walk toward her and stand in front of the bed. One hand lifts to brush her cheek, then drifts down to trace her lips. Soft. Always so soft.
“You know, my brother wrote to me when I was
Her brows lift. “He did?”
Successfully unlocked!
damn time.”
“Mmhmm.”
“He always gave me the impression you were not close.”
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CHAPTER 056: Sociopath
“We weren’t,” I say. “But you see, my brother has a particular habit when he feels guilty. He denies things. Even to himself. So, to convince himself he was in the clear, he went overboard to be extra brotherly. He would send me these letters to keep me informed and entertained, according to him. And almost all of them mentioned you. The stalker girl
Her eyes widen. I feel the shift in her as she tries to pull back, but I hold her jaw.
“I hated those letters,” I continue. “But I read every one of them. Because I wanted to read about the sociopath. Did you really shave a girl’s entire head while she slept beside Finn?”
She slaps my hand away. “What has that got to do with your trauma?*
I grin. “You know, all those stories he told me–I thought he was lying to keep me entertained. But you are crazy, aren’t you? A beautiful, crazy woman. So much passion. So much obsession. And all that with such an innocent face.” I shake my head, amazed. “You don’t know how lucky I feel that I’ve channeled your passion toward me. Don’t hold back. If you want to do anything nuts, be my guest. Turn the house upside down. Hack my phones and my computers. Stalk me. Shave the head off of every girl who comes around me or spike laxative in her coffee. I don’t care. I’d love that. But just don’t try to fix me. I am not a project.”
“Knox-”
I pull away before she can finish, heading to the tall cabinet in the corner of the room. I open the drawer and grab a pack of Cuban cigars and the slim silver lighter beside it. Then I slide my feet into a pair of house slippers and walk out.
The night air is cool, humming with crickets. I walk past the kitchen, through the glass door, stepping out into the back of the house. It’s quiet out here. The fence is low and whitewashed, the grass damp beneath the moonlight. A pair of wrought iron chairs sits at the edge of the stone patio.
I settle into one, striking the lighter. The flame flares, kissing the tip of the cigar, and I breathe in deep. Smoke curls around my face, warm and bitter.
This is the silence I crave. No dreams. No pity. Just pain and nicotine.
But I hear her.
Bare feet. Soft tread against the wood floors.
She comes out and stands beside me, arms crossed, staring down at me like I’m a child she’s about to discipline.
“It’s cold out,” I say, not looking up. “You shouldn’t be outside, especially with bare feet and naked thighs.” “Like you care.”
I glance up. She’s glaring at me.
“I do,” I say.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Go inside, Sloane.”
She tilts her head. “Who do you think you are? My master?”
“I have possessed you as mine, yes.”
“Did you bump your head and land in a time when the world was still patriarchal? You can’t tell me what to do.” “Get your soft ass inside. I want to be alone.”
She steps in front of me. Her body blocks the moonlight.
“Make me.”
“This is not the right time, Bunny.”
“You called me Bunny.” Her grin is triumphant. “I am getting to you.”
“Just go inside, you stubborn woman!”
And although I see it coming, I don’t stop her from doing what she’s about to.
Her hand cracks across my cheek.
“That’s for calling me a sociopath,” she says, breath shaking.
I bite my lip and let a slow smile form. “Aren’t you? You do know what a sociopath is, right? Or are you in denial?”
She slaps the other cheek.
“Say that word again, I dare you.”
“Sociopath?”
Smack. Again.
“Gosh,” I say, laughing low. “You’re getting me so hard.”
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CHAPTER 056 Sociopath
“You’re a freak, Knox.”
“Oh, yeah? Aren’t you? Or do you hate the word freak too?”
She folds her arms. “You know what, Knox? You’re right. I get obsessed with solving people’s problems. But you know what worsens it? When the people I want to help don’t want to be helped.”
I drag my eyes from her thighs up to her face. Her lips. The firm set of her jaw. She doesn’t know it, but she’s already found the solution. Temporary, maybe. But it works. Pain.
And right now, I’m so hard it aches.
She must see it in my eyes, because the next moment she moves–climbs onto me, straddling my lap. She’s still wearing my shirt. Only my shirt. And her core is hot against me.
She leans in, face close. “You’re either going to let me in or endure me. But if you think I’m going back inside while you sit here with your big cigar of thoughts, thinking of ways you can shut me out or, worse, break up with me for my own good after snatching me away from your brother, you have another think coming.”
“You think my plan is to break up with you? Really cute, Bunny. I’m not letting you go.”
She plucks the cigar from my hand and places it on her lips.
It makes me smile.
She inhales. Then coughs directly into my face, sputtering. “That’s terrible.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” I murmur. “The more you take it, the sweeter it becomes. Not like you though, sweetness. You were sweet from the very first time. Sweet now. Will probably be sweet in years to come.”
“You think I’m sweet?”
“I do.”
“Do you want a taste?” she asks.
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