“I couldn’t breathe, asshole.” My voice was raspy.
Using my hair again, he pulled me up to my knees and leaned down close to my ear. “People are animals, too.” My eyes widened as his hand moved down my abdomen and cupped my pussy. “I can smell your arousal, so thick I can almost drink it.” He leaned down and bit my nipple through my shirt.
I cried out and looked away from him, keeping the tears in, the embarrassment. When his fingers worked the fabric to the side and slipped across my clit, I jumped, a shuddering moan tearing its way from me. He pushed two fingers into my pussy, and I screamed as I reached out to grab his arm. My hips rose up, riding his fingers.
My thighs trembled as my head fell to his shoulder, my muscles tensing.
Then he was gone. He smirked at me as he pulled his zipper up and went back to sitting at the table and his laptop.
Tease.
After a few times of him working me over just to stop, I realized it was a control thing. Keeping me turned on meant keeping me wanting him, even if it was just to scratch the itch he created.
The next day, Six had an arsenal sprawled out on the small faux-wood chipped laminate table. I knew some of them, including what seemed to be his favorite—he had three of them after all—assorted knives, rifles, silencers, and I swear there was an ice pick. All of that in one of his multiple bags.
“How does someone become…like you?” I asked after over an hour of watching him.
His eyes flickered up at me and he leaned back in the chair, acknowledging my existence for the first time since he’d returned with breakfast two hours earlier. “A killer?”
My head bobbed around. “Yeah, I guess. I’m just trying to figure out how you ended up in your…profession? I mean, do you make money killing people?”
A small chuckle left his lips as he adjusted his seat and resumed cleaning the gun. “There are many things you need to know to become a proficient killer, but the military can be a good starting point.”
Was he talking to me about himself? “Was it?” I asked, testing the waters.
He glanced at me sideways, probably deciding if he wanted to divulge any personal information, especially after he told me he didn’t do that. “Yes. I trained my body, perfecting the art of war in any form I could until doing them was instinct. Then there’s my…moral defect.”
“Moral defect?”
“Anyone can be a killer, whether they believe it or not. Self-preservation is extremely strong in humans, as is protection of family and loved ones. If, say, someone shoved a gun in your face…” his lip quirked up as his analogy hit home “…what would you do?”
“Anything I could to stay alive.” Because that was precisely what I was doing.
“Even if it meant killing them?”
I pursed my lips and tilted my head to the side. “If they were trying to kill me, yes.”
“And when you looked down at their body, bleeding and lifeless, how would you feel?”
My stomach dropped at the image he painted. No matter what, the body was a person with family and friends that would never see them again. “Guilty.”
He pointed his finger toward me. “That’s the difference between everyone else and me. I have no guilt.”
“You’re a sociopath.”
“And more. The added defect in not seeing that killing is bad. My brain knows it is, but I don’t care. One less creature roaming the earth. Thinning out the herd.”
My brow scrunched up. “That’s really how you view people?”
He stared straight into my eyes. “Yes.”
His attention moved back down to the gun, and I took the time to study him as I thought over what he said. It was true. Even me, who never hurt anyone, could kill under the right circumstance. Six’s view meant he held no value in the human life, and it was disturbing to think there were people out there that thought the same.
Not that it surprised me, really. I’d worked for the medical examiner for years and saw firsthand what people were capable of doing to one another. Someone had to be the first sociopath. There wouldn’t be a diagnosis, an entire field of study on the disorder, if it weren’t really a problem.
I scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned forward. He didn’t pay me any attention that I saw, but I knew he was acutely aware of me, just like everything else around him. If there was a fly in the room, I was certain he knew exactly where it was.
“Have you ever been in love?”
There was a slight pause in his movements, and he sighed. “Why are you so nosy? Can’t you sit on the bed crying like a good fucking captive?”
I pursed my lips. “Would it make you feel better?”
“If I was normal, I would say seeing you cry would assuage me in some way. No—you like this is more…unnerving.”
My head quirked to the side, curiosity getting the better of me. “I unnerve you?”