Page 67 of Ash and Poison

“No, thanks,” I bit out.

“Let’s see... Asher Maddox. A classic narcissist, but he masks it with charm and wit. He exhibits a persistent need to be the smartest person in the room, coupled with an annoying habit of underestimating others. Most likely has a savior complex.” She looked up from the page, her smile widening when she met my glare. “Oh. I added a little note here just for you. Likely to annoy the hell out of me sooner rather than later. Diagnosis? Pain in the ass. Treatment? Let’s kill him.” She closed the book with a grin, her eyes overflowing with smug satisfaction. “How did I do?”

“Fucking hilarious,” I said with a growl, and she gave me a dainty shrug.

“So… back to business. We’ve got Nurse Becca, Nurse Dona, and Oswald,” she listed off. “Any one of them could be Rip,” she said, waving her hands, looking animated.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You were dying for some action, and I came in the right fucking moment.” I was nothing special. She would have helped anyone if they were in my place. “You could have pretended not to know anything, but you made sure I knew you knew, because knowing I was trying to kill you gave you that rush. The chase… it excited you, didn’t it?”

She smiled.

“You needed something to make you feel alive again now that you have stopped killing.” I still didn’t know what to make of her, or her hobby. “One more thing. Are you a psychopath?”

She hummed, tapping her pink-painted nails against her lips.

“Not all serial killers are psychopaths, and not all psychopaths become serial killers. It’s psychiatry 101.” Her tone was clinical, almost as if she were giving me a lecture on psychopathy. “What am I? Hmm… I have never fit neatly into any boxes. For me, this is all about control and justice—my version of it, anyway.”

“Do you enjoy it? The kill? I ask because I think I’m beginning to enjoy it. Does that make me one?”

“For me, the thrill didn’t come from killing them but catching the predators. I do miss that, you know, to show them I was better than them…” she trailed off with a smile, eyes reminiscent. “But I love my sisters, I feel as deeply as anyone could and I empathize with the victims. My emotions were not learned. They’re real.”

“So?”

“I don’t think I fit into the neat little labels people use to make sense of things. I just understand what I need to do to survive and to keep those I care about safe. Sometimes, that means making choices others might call monstrous. But does that make me a monster?”

Her words were calm, and measured, and I realized something then. Diya Sharma wasn’t just dangerous. She was the perfect predator, and I… I was barely anything when compared to her. My need for vengeance was personal. Hers went beyond that.

“You look scared,” she said.

“I should be, shouldn’t I?” I asked, and she laughed, standing up from the couch.

“Oh, you should be.”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her down on the couch.

“But I’m not scared right now. I’m turned on.” I took her hand and pushed it against my cock. “You should start paying off that debt you owe me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Now?”

“Touch me, Diya.”

“Oh, fuck, Asher.”

“Please.”

“I love it when you beg.”

There was no way I couldn’t not beg.

“On your knees.”

She licked her lips, eyes half closed. “But—”

“Next time you open your lips, my cock better be between them,” I said, tugging at my pants. She groaned, eyeing me with a frown before she went to her knees. She watched, her eyes dark, as my fingers slid up and down my cock. “Pay that fucking debt now.”