by Gage Grayson
I made sure this didn’t happen then, and it won’t happen now, too.
I show them their fear. I shove their ignorance in their faces. Just by existing, I remind them what pitiful excuses of human beings they really are.
I should do more than petty violence to punish them for that audacity.
Perhaps Alison can help me with that.
“Alison.” I say aloud, rolling it over my tongue.
Beautiful. Goddamn sexy. And she doesn’t know just how fucking sexy she is. So innocent, wearing that body as if it was nothing. But when a man’s eyes are on her, she glows even without meaning to.
Women of her age should know how to work it.
Not Alison. She’s like a child in a way, with how innocently she moves and speaks. Everything is literal and plain. There are no hidden meanings with her.
Except with what’s really in her mind. I feel she’s chosen this profession not to understand others, but to understand herself. How strange that she should run into me, who sees her so clearly for who and what she really is.
Oh, honey. Your lack of emotion doesn’t make you less human. Your disconnection from the world is not a weakness.
It’s power. It’s strength. If you can’t feel…if you think the world doesn’t give you enough, fucking throttle for more!
My fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles are aching. My cock is getting hard. This won’t do at all.
With a few deep breaths, I bring myself back on the level. I can hear the other inmates moving around outside, talking. Management will be deciding what to do with me.
If I wasn’t already in a nice, private cell, I’d probably be in solitary.
In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve recognized some of the guards as being on my payroll.
Money fucking talks everywhere, bitches. Over the years, I’ve built a vast network. I’ve never burned any bridge so badly that a couple of grand wouldn’t solve. Any of them who thought they had ‘integrity’ either sold out or compromised.
I grin at that, and my smile grows and lingers as I start rubbing my hands together.
Compromise Alison. Oh, yes. Not just to fuck her—as fun as that would be, any dick could do that. Get her half-aroused and then tear her clothes off and fuck her. Soft virgin cries against the hard fury of male.
That’s too fucking easy. I can get that anywhere, any time. There are plenty of virgin idiots out there who’d give me that edge of fear, that first-time astonishment. It’s luscious every time, I don’t deny it.
But that’s not what I want from Alison. I can tell she’s a virgin by that innocent, childlike manner. She wouldn’t consider it childlike—she would probably be deeply insulted by the idea. It shows though. The way she moves, completely unaffected by the gazes of men, shows me she’s never been touched.
God, she’s probably never even had a hot wrestle with clothes on.
Fuck. My whole body’s getting hard. I let it ride over me, fury, power, need…and I let myself think about her.
I want that soft white skin under my hands. I want that flaming red hair fanned out about her, flickering like inflamed lust. I want to see those blue eyes looking up at me…but not in fear.
In hunger.
I want to see her hungry, and mad, and clawing at me. I want to tear off that cold calculating mask and set her heart alight.
I want to show her she’s just as mad as I am. I want to see her glory in the demonic energy of the deranged.
Anyone could fuck her. Anyone could deflower her; a clumsy half-cocked dick who’s gentle as a mouse, a football jock who doesn’t understand women even have emotions, let alone erogenous zones…
I’m the only one who can enlighten her. I’m the only man in existence that can truly open her, because, deep down, we’re the same.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I feel calm sweeping over me. My fists open, my eyes close and my breathing becomes even. My cock even goes down, as if I’ve had an orgasm.
It was a spasm of the mind. A mental release.
Alison.
“Alison.” The word is like sweet candy on my tongue. We’re meant to be. We are one. She’s going to help me gain control of myself, so I can truly be all I can be.
I’m going to show her the dark and let her embrace her potential. I’m going to show her how good the dark feels.
Kiss the devil, and do not fear.
I’m drifting a little, just teasing myself with her image when I hear a low whistle. I look up quickly and there’s a skinny fellow at my bars. I grin at him.
“Benny! What the fuck, dude!” He’s one of my employees. Always in and out of jail. It’s part of his job.
You know some people have actually gone to prison to get away from me? How incredibly fucking stupid. I mean, seriously. Of course, I have people everywhere.
“Shhh, boss. Not too loud. No one’s supposed to be talkin’ to ya, but I called in a favor with one of the guards. Kept ‘em from getting shanked on a Tuesday. O’course he gets jumped on a Wednesday—but that wasn’t part of the deal, right?”
I get up and step lightly to the bars.
“Stop rambling. Whatcha got for me, Benny?”
He pulls a long slim cigar out of his pocket and a small bottle of vodka. I take them gratefully.
“There’s a book of matches hidden under the top mattress. The guards are going for lunch so there’ll only be a few on. It’s safe to enjoy for now. I’ve been spreadin’ the word and lyin’ low to get all the intel for ya, boss.”
“What are you in for now, Benny?” I sniff the cigar appreciatively.
“Ah…dealin’, boss. Remember? You told me to get busted with my pockets full because you needed Arnando Torelli watched in the joint.”
“Of course. I forgot. What happened to our dear friend Arnando?”
“Ah… He got his throat slit in the showers just as you ordered, boss.”
“Wonderful! My lawyers looking after you?”
“Yeah, boss. We got a meeting today.”
“Excellent. Listen to me very carefully, Benny. I need everything you can get on Alison Hughes. Turn this over to the lawyers; they’ll know what to do. But do some searching on the outside as well, Benny. I want it all. Legal documents. Hearsay. Rumors. If she might have fucked someone after a school dance I want to know about it. You hear me?”
A stupid, cock-of-the-walk grin spreads across Benny’s face.
“You got a crush there, boss?”
I drop the cigar and tiny bottle, and grab Benny through the bars, slamming him against them, forehead first. By dumb luck, he doesn’t get his nose broken.
“You aren’t employed to ask questions, Benny.”
“No, sir! I’m sorry, sir! Ouch!”
“I pay you well, don’t I?”
“Yes, boss! Fuck! Yes!”
“So, do as you’re fucking told!”
“Yes! I will! I swear!”
I let him go, loosening my shoulders. I turn away, and Benny scuttles off.
“Wait a second.”
He stops and looks over. I love the look in his eyes. A savage dog that just had the shit beaten out of him. He’s a dangerous dog, but he just met an even worse one. I can feel myself grinning. I’m tempted to lick some blood off my knuckles just for shock value.
“Make sure my dear Dr. Hughes gets a gift. A note. Something nice. Something cute. To let her know she’s being thought of.”
Benny nods and beats it. I gather up my cigar and tiny bottle of booze, and lay back on my bed to enjoy them.
This shithole isn’t half-bad, after all.
Alison
I stride through the halls quickly to my office. I plan on getting the assessment done, but I know my mind’s a mess. I don’t think this has ever happened to me before. Thoughts are teeming through my head, rising and falling, and I just can’t focus.
I get to my office, slam the door and lean against it. The wood is cool, even through the layers of my clot
hing. I sink down against it and sit on the floor. I can’t seem to make it to my desk.
The doctor in me is admonishing me gently. Get a window open. Get a coffee or something else to eat. Basic grounding tools. Breathe deeply and have nourishment. It will always make you feel better.
Perversely, I ignore this good advice and sit quietly on the floor, running through my encounter with Jaxon.
Just thinking of him makes him so real, it’s like he’s in the room with me. I can see his eyes; the way they look into mine, the way they seem to see something no one else can see.
I feel naked in front of him, and even though I’m embarrassed and terrified…I must admit, I’m also powerfully aroused.
Occasionally, fits of arousal had come over me. I usually try to work through it because I don’t want the distraction of a relationship in my life, but I refuse to have casual sex either.
It’s probably the greatest contradiction in my life—I’m only prepared to share myself sexually with one, very special person. I don’t have time to bond and build such a relationship just to have it all fall apart.
I’m almost fanatically private and shy about taking off my clothes. I’m not going to do it for random strangers—I don’t know how anyone could. I’ve studied various types of nymphomania, of course. These people seem to lack the inhibition of other humans to show their bare skin. Their lust overpowers it.
The kind of lust I’m feeling right now is quite enlightening in that sense. I can understand how a person would be driven to seek out a stranger and fuck them.
I don’t want a stranger. I want Jaxon.
I know how stupid and selfish it is, but I let my mind wander. I give in to it.
I had found him interesting right from the first glimpse. Talking to him had impressed and intrigued me. I was already beginning to feel a physical attraction.
But the violence…Oh, god. It wasn’t until he flung himself across the room and set himself on the other man that I felt the real stab between my legs.
Watching him punch the fuck out of the other guy. Blood flying in small glittering drops. The raw power of the male body unleashed and tearing into its prey.
It’s so primal. Of all that I’ve learned about the mind—this, I think, is what I’ve been searching for. Evidence that we’re still monkeys.
That the most intelligent, most controlled, are still ruled by those basic instincts.
I can feel my cheeks burning just from the idea of touching him…and of him touching me. My mind feels as hot and slippery as my pussy right now and I don’t even recognize it.
Sharply, I pull myself back together. This is ridiculous. Indulging in these thoughts is not going to do me any good.
The icy control I’ve always depended on comes back, but slowly. I breathe deep, mentally whipping myself.
He’s a criminal.
Insane.
I’m his doctor.
Just a few reasons why my reaction—and the desire to indulge myself—are very bad ideas. I know what I have to do. I need to own up and say I’m not mature enough for this case.
I need to be reassigned.
The idea is painful. A silly little selfish part of my heart cries, desperate to see him again. I can’t bear the thought of walking away.
I have to. An act of violence from one of my most dangerous patients has arisen in me an attraction that I can’t control. I’m not an idiot. I have to protect myself, and my patient. He needs to be helped, not drooled over.
I decide to go up to my boss’ office when he messages me at that exact moment. I hurry upstairs and let myself into the head doctor’s room.
“Sit down, Alison, sit down.” He gestures to a chair in front of his huge desk and I take it. He has a large office—twice the size of mine. Various awards are framed and proudly displayed hanging from the walls.
He has an assortment of plastic body parts on the corner of his desk, one of which is a brain in many pieces. He flips through some paperwork as I wait.
“Now, I understand you interviewed Jaxon Covington today. How did that go?”
He stares at me, chewing on the end of an unlit pipe as he squints. That’s the tough thing about working in psychology. Everyone’s always trying to shrink you. The worst part is that you know it, and are trying to display ‘correct’ personality traits in response.
It’s a challenge I usually rise to.
“It was fine, sir, but—”
“I understand there was an incident of violence, yes? Did this upset you?”
He’s still looking at me too hard. I squirm slightly as I remember the sound of flesh smacking flesh, the thudding of bone.
“I was surprised, sir. But not upset, no.”
“Very good, dear. You’ve shown excellent work so far. The Covington case is quite a rare one. Very tough. I would like for you to take over it completely.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I must excuse myself from this case.”
He puts down the pipe and looks me square in the face.
“Why?”
I struggle to keep my face from flaming red. He can’t know the real reason. I’ll be finished as a doctor.
“I—ah—I’m having some issues with—”
“Alison.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You wish to move forward with your doctorate quickly, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“You want to run your own practice by the time you’re 30, don’t you?”
I sigh. “Yes, I do.”
He picks up the pipe to chew on it again.
“Then you must take this case. I met Jaxon when he was brought in. He didn’t take to me. He was hostile and difficult to most doctors—particularly if they’re men. I’ve watched the tape from the security cameras. He seemed to have taken quite a shine to you.”
“Yes. The conversation was good, but I still consider him to be a hostile patient.”
“Of course. Under crimes like these, we can see him as nothing else. The difference is you made some headway with him, more than even I could. I don’t think anyone else can take this case, Alison.”
I look down at my hands in my lap. What can I say? I want the case. At the same time, I don’t want it. I came here to give it away.
“Alison.”
I look up at the doctor. “Yes?”
“Are you frightened of him? There are guards there to protect you. You can see him in a secure room with his hands chained, if you feel it’s necessary.”
“I didn’t feel frightened; not of him, exactly. He’s an intriguing case.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Not only is it a great opportunity to expand your skills, but it’s very high profile. Don’t think we’re the first psychs to take a crack at Covington—it’s been tried. We have him in a unique position, as his mental health program is now court ordered. But believe me, a lot of doctors have tried and failed here. Can you imagine the prestige if you manage to treat him? You could work anywhere in the world. Any hospital you choose would fall at your feet to have you.”
It’s really sad that three days ago, that would’ve excited me more than anything.
Now, I’m more excited by the thought of just seeing Jaxon.
For some reason, the idea of seeing him in chains is tantalizing. Just seeing him is like taking a sip of water to a dying man. I feel ripples of relief running through me.
I’m going to take him on.
“I have no objections, sir. I understand exactly what you’re saying. I’ll be pleased to pursue this.”
“Excellent. Then I shall assign him to you officially, and he’s all yours to do with as you see fit.”
Dangerous words. Very dangerous.
I can feel something awakening, slowly, inside me.
Something dark.
Something hungry.
It feels good.
Jaxon
It’s hard to tell day from night in prison.
Simple things like this cease to have meanin
g.
Time is broken up into blocks: exercise time, food time, sleep time.
I find that I enjoy the simplicity. The lack of distraction. It allows me incredible clarity of thought.
The urge to hang in my room like a giant, malevolent spider spinning dark webs out across the prison is strong.
Still, when the guards slide the door open with great clatter, I find myself springing to my feet and stalking up to them. One guard doesn’t look at me and tries quite obviously to ignore me. He’s got good instincts.
The other gives me a wink and a nod. I give him a smile. Good to know who your friends are.
I stride through the door with light steps. All around me, on higher and lower levels, doors are being opened. I see Benny down below and start to head for the stairs.
A few other inmates are doing the same.
It’s socializing time.
What a seriously ridiculous idea for dangerous human beings.
I walk slowly down the steps. As I reach the ground floor, I look around, appraising the room swiftly. There’s an old fellow on a chair in the corner of the room. He’s tall and thin with long grey hair.
The movement of the chair seems to be an act of rebellion—it’s the only chair not at a table and is half-hidden under the shadow of the stairwell.
So, that’s where all the fun happens, then?
I start to make my way there. Slowly. Got to work the room.
Men are so fucking easy.
No, that’s an oversimplification.
People are. You peg them—alphas or not. Then you break them or rule them.
All the guys in the room are eyeing me and displaying a wide range of reactions. Some are actively submitting, practically getting their bare asses out for me. I’m not against the games of domination, but honestly, if you have to take it to a level that extreme, I consider it somewhat of a detriment to character.
People should be threatened by your gaze. Your presence. Your aura.
I shouldn’t have to thrash someone physically to prove my domination. If I did, it would mean I wasn’t carrying my mantel of menace. Violence is fun for its own sake. But certain types of violence are dirtier than others.
