Sociopath's Obsession (Sociopath #1)

by V. F. Mason

  To the power of love.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Contact Me

  Run.

  That was the only thought in my mind, so I did.

  My bare feet burned from touching the hot concrete, but I didn’t care. With everything in me, with all the power I had, I ran until I had no strength left.

  I fell to my knees on the rough ground as I breathed heavily, trying to control my rapidly beating heart.

  I heard him move; he was behind me.

  “Sapphire.” His disgusting voice softened as he said my name. “Come with me.” My hand moved to my abdomen where my baby lay, and a determination like never before hit me as I stood up. “Good girl. Now let’s go. We need to get out of here.”

  He’d ruined so many lives. I wouldn’t allow him to touch my child or continue living in this world. Turning around, I pointed the gun in my hand at him and he froze.

  “Put the gun down.”

  My hands trembled as all the memories we shared flew through my mind.

  How could he do it? How could he live in this world after taking away so many lives?

  And more importantly, how could he think I’d go with him willingly after he killed the man I loved?

  Never.

  “Goodbye,” I whispered as I pulled the trigger.

  With a guttural groan, he fell to his knees. He held his hand to his chest and looked straight at me with hatred in his eyes. Then he collapsed on the ground, dead.

  My hands fell to my sides. Tears slid down my cheeks, but not because of him, no. The bastard didn’t deserve it. My tears were for all the evil he’d done.

  The sounds of sirens in the background snapped me out of my stupor, and after a second, or an hour, or maybe more, a man softly touched me, covered me with a blanket, and helped me into the ambulance.

  “Don’t worry, honey. Everything will be all right,” one of the paramedics said, gently squeezing my hand reassuringly as I gazed numbly at the ceiling of the ambulance. My lips were dry and they hurt. The last thing I could remember before oblivion consumed me was D’s kisses and how I would never have him again.

  Over.

  Everything was finally over.

  In that moment, I allowed myself to weep and let the grief overtake me.

  Five Weeks Earlier

  New York, 2011

  Sociopath

  The man in the chair was pinned to the wall with several straps across his chest. He cried out in pain as I relished the exquisite torture my hands inflicted on him. It was truly a work of art to make a man suffer agonizing pain, but not enough to die.

  I’d mastered it for many years, learned everything there was, and practiced my craft religiously.

  Knives, guns, chains, wires.

  Nothing was off limits for me.

  I loved this—the feeling of power and knowledge that I could play with my victim for days, and sometimes, if the mood struck me, for weeks. When I finally had enough, and it was always about me, I’d kill the fuckers quickly. They tended to get on my nerves with all their whining.

  The most boring part in the whole process was disposing of the body—not much work there—and then covering my tracks so the traces would never bring anyone to me.

  However, the idea of anyone suspecting me of such things was laughable.

  I was the one who sent condolences to their wives and families, if they had any, and the one who actively participated in police searches.

  People were very naïve sometimes. They had no idea appearances could be deceiving.

  What they thought was good, might be dark.

  What they thought was dark, might be the only salvation to human kind.

  “Mercy.” The fucker was choking on his own blood; his voice was barely a whisper, and his eyes were wide with fear. It made me chuckle.

  “Never.” I held the knife, small but sharp, and engraved small patterns on his back, which earned me another cry of pain. The familiar, disgusting smell of urine filled the air. How many fucking times could this guy piss his pants? Adjusting my nose mask better on my face, I continued to write the names on his back, so he would know what the fuck he suffered for.

  You’d probably think I was a monster.

  Well, you wouldn't be wrong.

  I loved torture and pain, but only when I was the one to inflict it.

  I was the witness, judge, and executioner all at once.

  No one knew better than I did what it was like to be in their position.

  Helpless.

  Afraid.

  Starved.

  Neglected.

  And in pain.

  Always in fucking pain.

  No one was born a monster.

  He made me the person I was, and I was glad for his ‘gift.’

  Sociopath took care of men like him, made sure they suffered to death. They would never get an easy death from me. I’d make them suffer for all the shit they’d done. It was fun and well deserved.

  Mercy. What a funny concept.

  I would never have mercy for anyone in this world, let alone for people who were the same monsters as I was.

  Life wasn't that generous.

  I was not that generous.

  No one knew about it; no one knew my name. They only knew a nickname.

  Sociopath.

  And those who received an e-mail with that name knew the end was coming.

  It was part of my high, to watch them for weeks being cautious, uneasy, and frightened of every step. They knew why they would suffer.

  Life was fucking great.

  It thrilled me.

  And I never wanted more.

  Women were interchangeable, and I only used them when I needed a cover.

  I never wanted to touch them, never wanted them to touch me. Fucking hated any physical contact with them longer than what was necessary. I never allowed them to touch my dick, or any other part of my body. I had to learn how to please them, so they wouldn't try any stupid moves.

  Sex was a chore, a necessary weapon to use when information or access was needed. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Until I met her.

  Meeting her changed something inside me, and my control snapped.

  She was a target, just like everyone else. One touch from her, and she became my everything.

  Instead of being repulsed by her, I yearned to touch her, and for her to become undone under me. My head was filled with images of our bodies covered in sweat when she was spread on the mattress in my dungeon, her body covered in my bite marks of ownership.

  I never wanted to hurt her, but I wanted to own her. Brand her as mine for the world to see and accept me as I was.

  She had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen; it was like looking into the clear blue sky.

  They were warm and beautiful.

  Sapphire.

  My Sapphire.

  If I were a better man, I would have left her alone and never made her part of my life.

  But I was a monster.

  And mons
ters didn't have hearts.

  The event bored me out of my mind, as always. I almost rolled my eyes over how much ass-kissing Dad did to make sure those sponsors considered our little family perfect and kept on investing in his company. The grand masquerade ball wouldn't have happened if it weren’t for the media exposing his affair with his assistant. He and Mom held a press conference to convince the public the words of his ex-employee were just vengeful attempts on her part for her firing when she supposedly stole from the company. To prove everyone wrong, all night, Dad stood glued to Mom and listened to her every word.

  How could she live like that? I never understood why she stayed with my dad through all the years. He always cheated, and she always cried over it¸ but then a bottle of whiskey fixed her issues, and she had a new jewelry box lying on her bed.

  Shaking my head, I headed outside to the terrace, which opened onto our beautiful garden. One more minute in this freaking place and I’d suffocate to death. My face hurt from all the fake smiles I had to plaster on so my parents would be happy and continue to pay my college tuition.

  After watching my mom suffer for so many years, I refused to play in their stupid game of the perfect image, but this time, it was needed. Dad threatened me, and I had no other choice to make. My degree was the only thing that could take me far away from their mess. Not to say they were awful parents or treated me badly, they just despised any kind of rebellion from their rich life. My childhood was filled with dinner parties, expensive toys, nannies, and absent parents. No love or warmth was present in the house. Truthfully, I always wondered why they even wanted to have a kid. As it turned out, once, when my mom was really drunk, she confessed my dad needed a ‘whole’ family; otherwise, he would have looked selfish. The saddest part in all this was I didn't even cry over it all that much. How could one feel sorrow over having cold parents, when she or he never knew differently? So, although they required me to be here, most of the time they couldn't care less what I did.

  Deeply inhaling the heavenly smell of roses mixed with fresh mown lawn, I admired the view the terrace opened onto. The garden was a wide space with green, perfectly cut grass and several large oak trees. Some of them were a hundred years old and an amazing place to hang out. Roses in different colors surrounded a few benches, arches, and concrete pathways. The full moon was mesmerizing. My mind—my imagination—drifted away from here to the place of magic lands and wild adventures where love, friendship, sisterhood, and soul mates existed. The garden was a constant source for my inspirations. My stories lived on paper, but I had yet to publish them online. My creative writing professor repeatedly told me it was a crime to keep them to myself.

  During our last class, he threatened to fail my final work if I didn't show him an eBook version of my latest story. The thought made me laugh, and it echoed in the silent night.

  “Gorgeous.”

  Stunned, my head moved to the right to the stranger who stood behind the trees.

  “Hello?” My brows furrowed as I waited for him to move out of the shadows, so I’d have a better look at him. Who the hell could he be? Almost no one knew about this hidden bower, one of the reasons I decided to hide in here.

  The stranger came into the bright moonlight and my heart stopped.

  He was tall, above 6 foot 5. His broad shoulders fit perfectly in the tight jacket he had on, and although muscular, lean would describe his body better. His hair was in a bun behind his head. A mask covered half of his face, leaving only his beautiful amber eyes staring at me and his full lips begging to be kissed.

  The energy around him made my stomach flutter, and something deep within me yearned for his touch. Had I found that one person in the world who could be it for me?

  Where the hell did that thought come from? Those two glasses of champagne to calm my nerves before the event clearly were a mistake.

  And more importantly, who was he? I’d never met him before. I took a step back and he raised his brow.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was like the rarest music, husky and soul-shattering. In my twenty-two years, I’d never reacted like that to a man.

  “I’m just surprised to see anyone here; that’s all.” He extended his hand to me. Without thinking, I gave it to him, and his lips gently pressed on my skin in the lightest of kisses. With that one touch, desire so profound ran through me, making it hard to contain a moan. When his eyes rose to mine, something flashed through them, but it was quick and impossible to catch. For a second, no one spoke. The air between us was electrified. Licking my lips, I finally asked, “Who are you?”

  His mouth spread in a sinister smile.“Isn’t that the whole point of a masquerade ball? To not know anything about anyone?”

  I nodded while I tried to swallow the disappointment.

  You just freaking met him, woman; get a grip!

  “Probably.” My hoarse reply made him squeeze my hand harder, and then he let go.

  “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing outside alone?” His abrupt change of subject seemed wrong, like he was acting a part. His demeanor changed; his mouth lifted in a cocky smile.

  “Just boredom.” My cheeks heated at his compliment, and for the first time, I was grateful to my mom for convincing me to wear the golden dress, which hugged me like a second skin. Made out of silk, the dress was long, ending at my feet. The back was open, and the whole ensemble emphasized my curvy body and drew attention to my breasts. When I first tried it on, showing so much skin made me angry and I flat out refused to wear it. But apparently, Dad had some important plans for me, since even he argued about the dress.

  Right at this moment though, nothing brought me greater pleasure than knowing the stranger found me attractive.

  He smirked then sat down next to me on the bench. A small gasp escaped me as his thigh brushed my hip; however, he showed no indication he heard it.

  “Yeah, could get boring.” He still hadn’t told me his name.

  “So are you a friend of the family?”

  He shook his head. “Business acquaintance. One of the people your dad needs to convince he hasn’t slept with his assistant.” My mouth opened as my eyes widened at his words.

  “You know who I am?” What happened to the mysterious ball thing? And how could he recognize me if I had no freaking clue who he was?

  “Hard not to recognize those blue eyes, Sapphire.” A jolt ran through me at hearing my name on his tongue. He drew out my name, as though tasting the sweetest chocolate in the world and he didn't want it to disappear. I had no idea it was possible to make a name sound so delicious. Then the annoyance creeped in.

  “So you know my name, but I can’t know yours?”

  He froze and then nodded. “Pretty much. You don’t want to know me, sweetheart.”

  Folding my arms, I glared at him. “You are pissing me off.”

  His laughter filled the air, making butterflies flutter in my stomach. Seriously, who was this guy who turned me into a cheesy female?

  “I understand. I don’t want to ruin the image though.” At my confused glare, he continued, “You know, meeting a stranger in the garden and liking him.” This guy was unbelievable.

  “I see. Are you an expert on female fantasies or something?” A bolt of jealousy hit me at the idea of him with other women.

  His face hardened. “Yes, I am, sweetheart.”

  Good to know I was dealing with a serial player. Maybe that explained why my body and mind felt dizzy around him. “Good for you.”

  Suddenly his hand was on my nape, turning my head to his, and our faces were inches apart. A soft gasp left my lips from surprise.

  “They don’t matter.” Still shocked from his action, my eyes admired his high cheekbones. The smell of his expensive cologne went perfectly with his manly scent, which I wanted to bathe in. “No one but you,” he whispered, his thumb gently running over my lower lip. My hand rose to touch his cheek, but he stopped me, enclosing it in a tight grip with his hand. “No,�
� he said, and then he slowly leaned down as my lips opened, waiting and needing the kiss he was about to give me.

  My father’s harsh voice snapped me out of my haze, ruining the cocoon around us. “Sapphire!” I shivered and glanced down, but not before noticing anger in the mysterious stranger’s amber eyes. “Come back inside now. Benjamin is here with his family, and Erik would like to talk to you.”

  My hands clenched, and bile rose in my throat at the thought of meeting Erik again. We were the same age and grew up together. I considered him a great friend until he started touching me inappropriately and didn't stop, no matter how many times I asked. Since my family loved him, the easiest way for me to deal with it was to ignore him, which I had done for the last year.

  Clearing my throat, I replied in a steady voice, “Coming.” Then I stood up and was about to say goodbye to my midnight stranger when he grabbed my hand and stopped me. My eyes found his and a shiver ran through me at his words.

  “This is not the end.”

  Once I nodded, he let go of me and I quickly made my way inside, putting a fake smile on my face yet again.

  Sapphire

  “Stop crying. You’ll ruin your makeup,” Sophie nagged, and I just rolled my eyes, despite the tears that were slowly sliding down my cheeks.

  “Who cares, Soph? The moment was so beautiful.”

  She took out a tissue from her purse and gave it to me. I tried to blow my nose into it as quietly as possible.

  “It’s lame. I can’t believe you made me watch it. I hate romances.”

  It was true. She usually preferred horrors and dragged me with her a couple of times, after which I had lots of awful nightmares. Shudders ran through my body remembering some of the scary scenes in those movies.

  The lights came on, people stood up to leave the theater, and Sophie exhaled a loud breath of relief. “Finally.” Her high heels clicked softly on the floor as she was going down to the exit, and a few men admired the curve of her ass. Not that it was anything out of the norm.

  Sophie was beautiful, in a model kind of way. She had long legs, a fit body, and wavy raven hair that fell down her back that was made into some hairdo, which made it look thicker. Her vivid, emerald-green eyes stood out with her tanned skin. She was never in short supply of men. I used to be jealous, especially when we were growing up and I discovered men didn't really like curves, but I snapped out of it quickly. I wasn't a bitch, and being jealous of your friend was a bitch move. Not that I was hideous-looking or anything, but I was not the type men generally found attractive.