Chapter 3

I hesitate before taking my seat across from him, acutely aware that I’m the doe and he’s the wolf. It feels as though he could spring across the table at any moment and devour me.

Then I notice a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his gaze sweeps over me, and I freeze, caught like a deer in the headlights. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to remember that he is the villain in this scenario.

“So,” I say, turning my attention back to my papers, my nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You’ve done this a thousand times, Molly! I remind myself. You could do this in your sleep! “Could you please state your name and place of birth?”

“I believe,” Ferraro replies slowly, “that you’re already familiar with my history.” He leans back, studying me with an unsettling intensity.

I lift my gaze to glare at his audacity—he’s so rude. But, unfortunately, he’s correct. Everyone in this city knows this information. I quickly fill the form.

I look up at him, once more taken aback by how much he resembles Jaxon. His profile is nearly identical, but while Jaxon exudes gentleness and refinement, Ferraro’s face carries a grim, lethal edge.

I force myself to look away, a shiver coursing through me as if someone is tapping their fingers down my spine. For a moment, I can’t shake the unsettling thought that it might be Ferraro’s fingers…

I quickly push the idea aside and refocus.

“The remaining questions I have for you today will be personal and psychological in nature,” I say, reciting the standard spiel I’m obligated to deliver to all inmates. “The state requires that you answer all questions completely and truthfully as part of the assessment. Do you understand?”

He remains silent, and I glance up at him, a reflexive response to an unresponsive patient. He’s smirking at me, his gaze unwavering.

“Little girl,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what gives you the right to question me about my history and my thoughts?”

I sit up straight in my chair, unsettled by his challenge. “The state has hired me to conduct these examinations—”

“Do you have a degree?” he interrupts, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Some sort of…certificate?” The last word hangs in the air, laden with contempt.

I frown at him and dig through my bag, pulling out the certified paperwork from the state that qualifies me for this position. “Here,” I say, meeting his glare head-on. “If you’re so curious.” I reach across the table to hand it to him.

Just a split second before he grabs my wrist, I realize my mistake. He seizes my hand, holding it firmly in his grip and pulling me forward against the table. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but I’m taken aback and gasp as I drop the paperwork. My eyes widen in fear as he brings my hand closer to his face, and then—

Oh my god—

He takes his time, savoring as he brushes his nose against the ivory skin of my wrist. “Chamomile, lavender,” he murmurs, closing his eyes to fully absorb my scent. “So fresh and clean.” Then he opens his eyes, locking onto my bewildered expression, eager to gauge my reaction as he adds, “You must be a virgin.”

My lip quivers in shock and disbelief. His gaze devours me, relishing the tremor of my lips and the wide, terrified look in my eyes.

A police burst through the door, shouting, “Hands off!” But Ferraro has already let go of my wrist, raising his hands above his head with an air of calm.

“Sorry,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze remains fixed on me. “Won’t happen again.”

I blink at him, sinking back into my chair, my shoulders straightening involuntarily as I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

“Are you all right, miss?” the police ask, leaning in to inspect me.

“I’m fine,” I reply, rubbing my wrist with my other hand. I’m not injured—just…shocked. Clearing my throat, I glance back down at my papers. “We will…we will proceed.” I focus on steeling myself, determined to regain control and finish this interview.

I meet Ferraro’s gaze with a steady glare, lifting my chin defiantly. I’m tougher than he thinks I am. At least, I hope I am.

I pick up my pen again, relieved that my hands aren’t shaking. “Please,” I say, refocusing on the paper. “Can you tell me about the crime for which you were imprisoned? I see—”

“Your little skirt,” he interrupts, grinning at how easily he’s riled me, “is quite precious. You have beautiful legs, and it’s the perfect length to—”

“Please, sir,” I repeat, surprised by the shaky growl that escapes my lips. “I expect your respect during this process. Keep in mind that what I report today will impact your entire time in prison and your chances for early release. I suggest you take this seriously.”

He infuriates me further by laughing—actually laughing—at me.

“Darling,” he says, leaning forward with a smirk. “I couldn’t take you seriously even if I wanted to.”

My jaw drops in disbelief, and I blink at him, stunned, but that shock quickly morphs into fury. I slam my hand on the table, but he only laughs louder. “Sir!” I exclaim. “This is a serious process!” I strike the table again for emphasis, wincing as my hand stings. He simply watches my every move with an amused intensity.

“I understand, Doc,” he replies, a smirk on his lips. “I’m here, aren’t I? Go ahead. Assess me.” He gestures to his powerful body and unwavering gaze, inviting my scrutiny.

I find myself lost in his gaze, feeling almost hypnotized by the intensity of his stare. I quickly look away, focusing on the floor—anywhere but not him.

“You looked away first,” he murmurs, his eyes studying me. “In battle, that would mean you’d have fallen by my hand. Weak.”

I feel a surge of defiance and lift my gaze back to meet his, resolute.

“Good,” he chuckles. “I like my girls with a bit of fight in them.”

My face flushes with a mix of anger and embarrassment, mortified that I’ve fallen for his trick. But, damn it, I can’t ignore the way my body reacts, my nipples hardening beneath my blazer. His gaze drifts to my chest as if he’s aware of it, and the low hum in his chest deepens.

I grab my pen again, scribbling furiously across the paper. 

Constantly defiant, ruthlessly sociopathic, showing no remorse. Recommend continued imprisonment without parole.

“This is over,” I declare firmly, quickly gathering my papers and cramming them, crinkled, into my bag. I can hear him chuckling softly at my haste.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and shoot him what I hope is a withering glare as I head for the door. I knock twice on the metal, and the police let me out. I don’t glance back at Ferraro as I make my exit.

“Oh, Doctor,” his voice echoes behind me, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks. I turn to catch his parting words.

“I’ll see you on the outside,” he says, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “You can count on it.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I murmur, my voice shaking as the police open the door, and I stride out. My paperwork calls for his eternal imprisonment, and as far as I’m concerned, I’ll never lay eyes on him again—glad to get rid of him.