“What does that mean? And what does it mean for your diagnosis?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him sinking deeper into his seat, his jaw tightening as he thinks about responding.
“I’m still a fucking psychopath, Kitten. That’s what it means.”
My grip on the steering wheel increases and I glance at him again, his profile shadowed, before shifting my gaze back to the dark road ahead.
“But how can you be so sure?” I ask, a flicker of hope edging my tone, though I don’t know what I’m hoping for.
He lets out a sharp scoff, shaking his head as if I’ve asked the stupidest question in the world. “Kitten…” he warns, deep and dangerous, but I ignore it.
“I’m serious, Ty,” I insist. “How the fuck do you know you’re a psychopath?”
He rolls his eyes, his head falling back against the seat as if the conversation itself exhausts him. “Have you ever actually learned about a psychopath before, Raven?”
“Yes,” I snap. “Of course I did some research before I got into all this.”
“Then how the fuck can you not see it?”
I clench my jaw, my chin lifting defiantly as I keep my eyes on the road. I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face, waiting for me to break under it.
“You’ll learn soon enough, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, his tone softening into something colder. “Right now, you’re wasting your time. You’re digging for some kind of good in a man who’s fucking hollow and dead on the inside. As you once said… Remember?”
His words hit like a punch to the chest, and I swallow hard, my throat tightening. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am searching for something that doesn’t exist—a spark of humanity, because deep down, I can’t shake off the feeling that things aren’t as they seem.
Ty’s exactly what he’s shown me since the first day we met. A void wrapped in charm, a monster who doesn’t need to hide because he flourishes in the darkness.
“You saved me,” I murmur, jolting his memory of the two men he killed to protect me in some messed-up way.
“I saved you because I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he growls. “I took you because my mind couldn’t function when I knew you were out there and not beside me, where you belong as mine. Like a poison in my veins, a sick fucking craving I can’t shake. That, Kitten, is not out of any form of love; it’s out of pure selfish greed because I want you. I could never feel those fluffy emotions. I’m not fucking capable.”
The thought gnaws at me, strange and uncomfortable. A flicker of sadness blooms in my chest, soft and insistent, something I can’t shake. No one should live a life without ever feeling any form of love. Not even someone like him. The idea of him—cold, detached, a void where warmth should be—bothers me in a way I can’t explain.
He’s a killer. A psychopath, I remind myself. A man incapable of love, but even knowing that, my heart clenches with an emotion I don’t want to feel. A strange kind of pity, as if I’m mourning something that was never even there.
“So, why did you lie your way through Sacred Heights?” I ask, shifting in my seat.
He shrugs with carelessness. “To lessen the blow and the time. I knew if I told them everything they wanted to hear, I’d get out quicker and I fucking did.”
My gut churns with unease, making me wonder how many others have done the same. I think of Billy and how close he was to release despite being a ticking time bomb.
“Those doctors think they have it all figured out,” Ty says with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “But the psychopaths in there are running fucking rings around them. And the motherfuckers are just letting them out, sending them right back into society to pick up where they left off—murdering, raping and ruining lives.”
My stomach churns. “So, you knew others who were doing the same?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “It’s easy to spot when you know what you’re looking for.”
“And you think they should’ve gotten out? Like you?” I press, carefully.
For the first time, he hesitates, and I know something I said has unsettled him, his lips pressing into a thin line. “No.”
I glance at him and his dark eyes meet mine as he continues, each word razor-sharp. “Most of them didn’t deserve to get out. Some of them should’ve been hung, drawn and quartered as soon as they were fucking caught—for what they did to land there in the first place.”
I study him, trying to piece together the layers of contradiction in front of me. He’s capable of seeing the worst in others but blind to it in himself.
“So why didn’t you tell someone?”
“Because I had my own fucking plan.” His voice drops lower, colder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you psychopaths only care about themselves, Kitten?”