8. Psycho

Micah King. Ever since she had uttered those two words, I couldn't stop pondering her existence. The admittance was undeniable; the significance of giving me her name, trusting me with her identity. I couldn't fathom why she would give up such valuable information.

King…it rang a distant bell in my memory. The name once belonged to one of the four main powerhouses of Junction City's underworld. The brutal sacking of the Sovereign was legendary, and to this day it was only whispered in warning.

Besides old rumours, my knowledge was limited. As the Sovereign was wiped off the map, I was a minor fledgling fighter in the Caverns, not yet inducted into the Ludus Maximus.

If Micah was a part of this family, the revenge she spoke of would be long overdue.

Which left me wondering…what did her revenge have to do with me?

It was the dead of night, the four walls of my padded cell compressing on what little oxygen was available. The tiny cot creaked as I slumped down on the edge, the vial of red blood dancing in the reflection of my purple UV lamp in the corner.

Let's see what her words are worth.

I swallowed any lingering reservations and downed the contents. Coughing violently, I thumped my chest in an attempt to clear my airway, the metallic tang congealing to the lining of my throat.

I deserved to die choking on some random's blood, purely for being blindingly stupid. I used my last remaining seconds to curse out that wench, with the perfect body and alluring face.

Then the elixir spiked my bloodstream like a tidal wave, pumping the concoction through my system at high speed. I breathed a contented sigh, the power of my Variant coming to life like a long-lost soul, saturating every fibre of my existence, finally making me whole.

The reliefand elation of being reunited with my Variant was purely euphoric…until the high wore off. The comedown definitely hit hard, my mind foggy with the gradual removal of my sixth sense.

Everyone was forced outside to enjoy the sun for lunch, laughter and smiles dominating the courtyard.

Per usual, I sat at a lonesome picnic table in the corner of the square. After five long weeks, I'd finally received a well-hidden note disguised inside the layers of my uneaten sandwich. And with this message, I had well and truly lost my appetite:

Haven't found her.

Won't stop ‘till I do.

G

My heart sank. G was my last hope, and the one person left to rely on. Many months of correspondence had now all led to dead ends. If we were caught, we were all damned. A dreaded outcome I was unwilling to accept.

With his sacrifice for me and mine, the added loss of my Variant and the price I'd have to pay for the delivery of this message, I was now wading in an endless pool of anguish.

I shoved the note into my mouth, chewed the paper to mush and swallowed those useless words down my throat. I couldn't take the merriment that accompanied the sunshine. I had to escape, or someone was going to die today.

Stomping across the courtyard, inmates and staff provided a wide girth, their attention directed elsewhere in case my ire found them. Except for one.

An inmate I'd never seen before stepped in my way, flowers woven through his long, matted copper hair that kept flicking me in the face. He tried to drag me into a circled waltz, laying a casual arm over my shoulder.

"Now let's turn that frown upside down, friend," he sang. "Our gracious sun has made an appearance and honoured us with her light."

The atmosphere charged with static, everyone on high alert. I attempted to detangle myself and escape before I ripped his arm clean out of its socket, but the hippy fucker couldn't read a room to save himself.

He was a slippery fiend, and when he pushed my shoulder to bow before the everlasting star, my patience evaporated. I backhanded him so hard he went sprawling across the grass, flowers flying all over. No one came to his aid, waiting in anticipation to see if I would kill him or not. They didn't realise I gained no satisfaction taking from the weak. This fool was legitimately crazy. He belonged here. I'd get no joy out of spilling his blood.

Trudging for the doors of the asylum, I heard inmates shuffling in the distance, coming to his rescue while my back was turned. Cowards. I halted in the corridor, glimpsing Micah and Burner in the empty mess hall. I couldn't hear them, although judging from their mannerisms, they looked comfortable, awfully fucking chummy.

Burner leant in close, his wide smile on full display, no doubt retelling one of his winning jokes. What I wasn't prepared for was Micah's interest, her head tilted back and jaw slackened as she released a hearty laugh. Burner was clearly impressed by her enthusiasm, his hand landing on her lower back.

My teeth ground at the display. Luckily for them both, Micah stepped out of reach and walked away. Unluckily for me, she was coming in my direction.

I entered the first unlocked door I found, landing in a maintenance closet and waiting for the coast to clear. Her silhouette crossed my path, her glossy brown tresses mocking me as she swept by.

All my previous frustration, anger and sense of injustice came crashing in on me. I couldn't control myself when my hand whipped through the crack and snatched her.

In one fluid motion, Micah was slammed against the closed door. I wedged myself in front of her, crushing her into the hard surface with the whole pressure of me.

My fingers raised, tangled and fisted into Micah's hair, while hers surprisingly gripped onto the back of my shirt, squeezing me closer. I needed answers, and she was going to provide…or else.

"I tire of this game, babe," I said, voice strained and deadly. The same voice I used for all my victims. "Why did you give me that elixir? Are you fucking playing with me?"

"I told you. Revenge. That's what I want," she said, her sweet, toxic breath floating over my face.

I pulled her hair tighter and she shuddered. "How does that involve me? Fucking tell me."

"Information," she sighed. Her eyes roamed over my features, the space between us practically non-existent. I could feel every single inch of her. "I want you to tell me why you got sent here? What did you see? What did you hear? What happened for Maximus to turn his back on his most prized gladiator? What did you do, Psycho?"

I shook my head for clarity, my mind muddled and filled with smoke, completely consumed in her presence. Then her words filtered into my brain.

Micah wanted the one thing I'd never be able to provide, never be willing to sacrifice.

With her uttered demand, she had carried forth the fundamental end to our brief connection.

I'd never be able to see her again.

I pressed her even harder into the door, near the point of us both suffocating.

I will take this. One last time to feel her body against mine. One last time to drown in her scent. One last time to breathe in her air.

I grazed my nose up her exposed neck, to halt at the beauty spot perfectly located beneath her jawline. My tongue flicked out to lick my lips, inadvertently skimming across the mark.

Goosebumps chased my movements as they raised on her skin and I willingly soaked in each tremble, each shiver, each hitched sigh she so freely gave.

Tipping my head back, our lips barely scraped together when I whispered my verdict. "Micah, baby, seems our liaison has come to an end." It was the first time I'd said her name out loud, the syllables rolling off my tongue in perfect clarity, as if they always belonged there.

"You won't even consider my request?"

"The risk is too high."

"Ahh, so there is a reason why you voluntarily stay here. What have they got on you? I can help. You can trust me, Psycho."

Trust?

A word I wish was never fucking invented. It had only caused turmoil and pain in my life. "Huh," I scoffed. Her mask shone with sincerity. That's when I realised she actually believed the shit she was spouting. "I think you truly believe that, don't you? That you're someone dependable, someone I could put my trust in? Well, it will remain an untested theory. With this, I trust no one." I pushed off her, detangling my hold from her soft strands, and with a harsh sneer I ended our acquaintance. "Farewell, Golden Girl. Do not request to see me, do not approach me, do not talk to me. Leave quietly and never come back. This, right here," I flicked my fingers between us. "Never existed."

"If only it didn't."

Then her hands lifted to brace my jawline and before I could utter another word, she closed the distance to press her lips to mine.

I wasn't a kisser. I didn't kiss anyone, the caress too intimate and comfortable for my liking.

With Micah, the feeling was different. I inhaled sharply at the charged contact from the tender touch of her skin. Then my body took over without a coherent thought to lead it.

The predator was released, and she had no one to blame but herself.

I shoved her back and assaulted her in return. Biting her full lips, tasting her tongue, devouring her wet fucking mouth. My hands gripped onto her like a vice, skimming down her curved body to land beneath her thighs, lifting her legs off the floor. She automatically wound them tightly around my waist.

My girl wasn't a bystander, she was more than a willing participant. Micah's panting breaths mixed with mine, creating a symphony of lust and need. Her fingers ripped at my clothing, as if she wanted to tear me in half. I groaned down her throat as her nails dug into the back of my neck, my skin now a souvenir beneath her fingernails.

I was on the verge of losing my mind when she took command and rolled her centre over me, sliding against my obvious arousal. Her actions were desperate, she couldn't get enough. Hell, I couldn't get enough, both of us chasing the ultimate euphoria that only the other could provide.

A bell rang and rocked us back into reality. Lunch was over.

We froze, both opening our eyes at the same time. Micah's were lit with an undeniable fire, the inflamed amber sparking as bright as the sun—except this was one I would willingly bow down for.

Then all my previous reasoning came crashing back down on me. We had come to a stalemate, and there was no moving forward.

In rushed timing, we separated and corrected our clothes. I waited for her to leave so I didn't have to touch her again, the enduring memory of her beneath my fingertips a warning call to my own dwindling restraint.

I flinched when she lifted my hand to place a glass vial into my palm, shutting my fingers over it for safekeeping. I didn't respond. I couldn't. She threw me, her actions gentle and soothing, the complete opposite from a moment ago.

Before I could register her movements, she lowered her head, lips skimming the back of my fist. "Good luck, Psycho."

Micah released me from her siren call, slipped through the door, and was gone.

I'd assumed I would be relieved. One less person to worry about, one less person to take something from me.

Instead, I was locked in this rundown shithole, gagged and bound without clemency in sight. My mind raced with the never-ending list of reasons why I could not trust her. It didn't help the ache in my chest that pulsed with the lingering thrums of regret.