Home > Here Loves a Sociopath (Here Lies #3)(2)

Here Loves a Sociopath (Here Lies #3)(2)
Author: C.L. Matthews

   Colt’s target is larger than this house, it’s more massive than Arcadia, and when the Grims finally get wind of her, it’ll be worldwide.

   The power she has is not only insurmountable, it’s unmanageable when she doesn’t even know who her father is. This entire situation worries me. Worry, another useless feeling.

   She’s at risk, all because people can’t control her and don’t want to teach her how to use her money and power because she’s too intelligent for their stupidity and would rule us all.

   Wouldn’t it be nice, seeing a gothic angel of death on the throne, owning it all, and killing any man who went against her?

   Colt has always seen herself as stupid. She fails classes, has a hard time focusing and tends to struggle with her emotions. What she doesn’t know is she’s not who she is because they made it so.

   They fucked with her mind, touched it in ways they had no right to. Along with that, she lost her brother. The one person who taught her how to cope.

   Back then, Cassidy’s options were limited.

   He knew his place, his power, and he lost his life for it.

   I refuse to allow Colt the same outcome.

   By the time I’m leaving the empty closet, I’m face-to-face with the girl who won’t seem to let me go. She doesn’t even have to try. Simply existing has kept me around since we were kids, even if she doesn’t remember that vital part of our history.

   To her, I’m the guy who never fully committed.

   To me, she’s starless.

   My dark universe.

   “What are you doing in here?” she hesitantly asks, her eyebrows raised. It’s not with rancor or disgust, it’s simply with confusion and a tinge of disappointment.

   It seems she hasn’t forgotten that night either. And I’m not talking about the first time I got to taste her either.

   “We need to talk.”

   Before I’m finishing the first words, she’s shaking her head. “We need nothing.”

   Her disdain for me is apparent. Between pushing her away, torturing her with indifference, and making her hate me more and more, it’s deserved.

   Separation with intent is more brutal than distance without purpose.

   The problem is what I’ve been told.

   She’s not going to survive long enough to become pregnant. Not only does my intuition make me believe her life won’t surpass these prison gates, but it also tells me she’s not safe from the wrath of Elijah.

   He has been silent.

   Too fucking silent the cicadas are the only response.

   If you knew the man, you’d understand he can’t shut the fuck up to save a life, let alone to work. He’s planning something and silence is the only thing he believes will cut suspicion from him.

   The problem with that plan, he never expected me to have a brain.

   People like me, the ones who live in shadows and thrive in darkness, watch from afar, make notes, and secure the kill with intelligence garnered from actions. We aren’t fooled by simple means. It takes a massive brain-play, something with layers and layers, and even then, it can be ripped apart.

   I’m not the brainless goons Midas and Elijah hire, expecting a stakeout here and there. No, when I’m dedicated, I breathe their life. I live their life, I become their life.

   The stagnant silence between us would be more awkward if this wasn’t how we usually spent our time together. I found peace without words and she found it within the breaths breathed between us.

   “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Colt.”

   She glowers. If not for her cute little bunny nose scrunches, I’d feel a tad bothered by the vehemence offered.

   But that’s the thing.

   Colt’s heart is pure.

   Broken and bruised, yes, but pure to its entirety.

   She can hate me, but there’s something deeper I don’t understand that makes it nearly impossible for her to hate me absolutely.

   “I hate you,” she bites out.

   And there it is. The resistance, the thing driving me to want to touch her, worship at her damaged altar, craving to be the ground beneath her corpse, the forever protector.

   “Doesn’t matter, I need you to listen.”

   In her defiance, she raises a perfectly sculpted black eyebrow and then drops her towel. It takes me several seconds to force myself to look away from her hips. They’re thinner. She must see it as I’m staring elsewhere because she smirks as if she’s won something.

   “All of you are the same.”

   If not for the insecurity in her tone, I’d think she was teasing. Without her toxic green hair, the piercings, and makeup, she’s the girl from my memories without the farce of hatred.

   “Are you not eating?” I deflect her jab. She’s one to evade facing reality with rudeness, but not with me. She could stab me and still not truly hit her mark by hurting me.

   I’m a different creature, one she’s never going to conquer.

   “I don’t see why that’s any of your business, Ridge.”

   I really fucking hated her calling me that. She only says it when she’s mad, knowing it bothers me. I’d be madder if the others were around. It not only lessens my meaning in her life, it lets them know I’m not as important.

   “It’s my business,” I reassure. “You’re very thin.” It takes me two seconds to realize my words probably come off distasteful, like someone who doesn’t like her regardless.

   She lets out a grumble and heads toward the closet. I’m struck silent, seeing her back. Not only is her spine most prominent, since she shut down after Cassidy’s death, but there are also marks all over her.

   While, yes, I’d love to see mine on her, knowing it’s a different kind of canvas, these are very different. Ones from the lack of care, intentional ones left on her flesh for pain, not pleasure.

   “Is Lennox hurting you?” The words come out like a whip, angered, ill-tempered, unlike me. They’re a demand. While I’m controlling to a fault, I’m not abusive.

   She ignores me while putting on her bra and panties. I’m waiting for her answer when she turns to me. She must have thought I’d leave, because her disappointment when she turns back to me is apparent.

   “You’re overbearing, you know that? You don’t care when it’s important, but when it’s not, you’re all ‘I Tarzan, you Jane,’” she mocks derisively, grimacing.

   I stalk my way to her, intention in every step. The room feeling smaller with every inch closed between us. “You act as if I’ve not protected you for years, Starless.” Her eyes water a little at the nickname. Instead of calling me out, she turns back to the clothes and ignores me. “Just tell me he’s not putting his hands on you and I’ll drop it, even your lack of nutritional choices.”

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