Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Again, I hesitate. Bringing in outside help means exposing my operation, means potential interference with my carefully constructed plans. Means explaining why I have my twin brother chained in a cell in an abandoned warehouse.
But the alternative—remaining trapped while Lilian might be in danger—is unacceptable.
“Signal is weak in here,” I say, checking the phone again. “One bar at most. Not enough to maintain a call.”
“Texts?”
“I’ve tried. No response.”
Aries is silent for a moment, thinking. “What about the security system itself? You said it’s connected to your phone—can you override it remotely? Trigger an emergency protocol?”
“Only from the main security hub,” I explain. “The cell’s isolation is a feature, not a bug. It’s designed to be secure even if the main systems are compromised.”
“Smart for a prison,” Aries acknowledges grudgingly. “Not so smart when the warden gets locked inside.”
The observation would sting more if it weren’t so accurate. The irony isn’t lost on me—trapped by my own perfect security, potentially at the cost of Lilian’s safety.
“What about outside connections?” Aries presses. “Friends? Allies? Someone who might come looking when you don’t check in?”
I laugh harshly. “You think I have friends? After what they did to me in that place?”
“Everyone has someone,” he insists. “There must be someone who’d notice if both Lilian and you—well, me—disappeared.”
The question forces me to confront how completely I’ve isolated myself. How thoroughly I’ve avoided connections that could become vulnerabilities. How focused I’ve been on revenge at the expense of everything else. And how good of a job I’ve done at pushing everyone out of his/my life.
“No one,” I admit finally. “There’s no one.”
My phone display now reads 4:17 a.m.—nearly twelve hours since Lilian locked us in. Twelve hours of growing concern, of grudging cooperation with my twin, of increasingly desperate attempts to establish contact with the outside world.
“We need to call for help,” I say, the decision solidifying despite everything it will cost. “Even if it means exposing everything.”
Aries looks up sharply from where he’s been examining the door mechanism. “You’re willing to sacrifice your revenge? Everything you’ve worked for?”
The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with a decade of hatred, planning, and single-minded purpose. Am I willing to give it all up? The perfect retribution I’ve crafted, the justice I’ve pursued since escaping the institution?
“If something’s happened to her...” I can’t complete the thought aloud. Can’t articulate the hollow dread growing with each passing hour.
Aries studies me with something like genuine surprise in his expression. “You actually care about her.”
It’s not a question. Not a taunt. Just a recognition of a truth I’ve been fighting to deny.
“Emergency services would take too long,” I say, ignoring his observation. “And they’d ask too many questions. But there’s a burner phone in my desk upstairs with a direct line to someone who can get us out. Someone who won’t immediately involve authorities.”
The admission costs me. Using that line means exposing my operation to the very people I’ve been working to avoid—the backers who funded my revenge but who have their own agendas. People who would happily eliminate complications like Lilian if she’s become inconvenient.
People who might already have her.
“Once we’re out,” I continue, “I can access the surveillance systems, track her movements, figure out where—”
A sound from the corridor interrupts me—footsteps approaching the cell. My body tenses instantly, hand moving to the Taser still tucked in my waistband. Aries shifts position too, chains arranged to give him maximum mobility despite the restraints.
The footsteps stop outside the door. A shadow appears in the observation window—too tall to be Lilian, too broad-shouldered. Male. Unknown.
The security panel beeps as a key card swipes across it. Green light. Access granted.
Aries and I exchange a single glance—a moment of unspoken coordination that comes from shared DNA, from years of moving as mirror images despite our hatred. I position myself to the left of the door, and he shifts to create a distraction. Whoever enters will face him first, giving me the opportunity to neutralize the threat.
The door slides open with a pneumatic hiss.
Drew Marshall stands in the doorway, the key card dangling from his fingers. His expression cycles rapidly from confusion to shock to something like reluctant amusement as he takes in the scene before him—identical twins in a prison cell, one restrained, one free, both bloody and disheveled.
“Hmm,” he says, twirling the key card between his fingers. “Well, isn’t this an unexpected surprise?”
Thank you for reading The Psychopaths. I would love it if you left a review on whatever retailer you purchased your copy from. Book 2: The Reckoning is releasing this summer and is available for preorder. If you’re new to the Oakmount Elite Series check out the sample on the next page of The Wallflower
The Wallflower
Chapter One - Drew
In football there are two people, winners and losers. Nothing else in between matters, and with my last name and image hanging in the balance there is absolutely no way I’m fucking losing, not even in practice. I give the asshole trying to stand one more vicious kick to the ribs, then step over his body. He'll be fine. He's wearing football pads.