Cupid: A Dark Erotic Romance Part 26

I need professional help. Something is wrong with me. After I take down Asher, I'll get some help.

And then Asher's words stopped her mental tangent. "What are you thinking about?"

"Hmmm." She paused, rummaged for a quick thought, and blurted it out, "I'm wondering if Cupid is a sociopath or psychopath?"

A neutral mask slipped onto his face. "Interesting."

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Surely, you would have an opinion," she pushed further.

"Surely." He sighed. "Is Cupid a sociopath or psychopath? That's a hard one. Why does it even matter?"

"In order to catch a killer, I have to get into the murderer's mind. In order to do that, I have to know something about his type of pathology. Some killers do it based on crimes of pa.s.sion, those people tend to be narcissist and one-time murderers. They hate rejection. That isn't Cupid, he had no real relations.h.i.+p with his victim's women."

"Okay," he muttered.

"So we move on. Other killers are hit men commodifying death, or gang members doing it for loyalty to the group. These aren't Cupid, either."

"I agree."

"Then we have the sociopaths and psychopaths."

Asher s.h.i.+fted uncomfortable in his seat.

"That's what I'm wondering." Diana placed her hands into her lap. "Which one is Cupid?"

"I don't know."

"But do you know anything about psychopaths and sociopaths?"

"A little. I read a few books."

"I know. I've seen your library. Most book worms would get an o.r.g.a.s.m from just gazing at your bookshelves." She forced a fake giggle.

He didn't laugh, in fact, he didn't seem happy with this discussion at all.

I should stop, but I'm not. If he thinks I'm just going to sit around and be scared of him, without pus.h.i.+ng his b.u.t.tons and a.n.a.lyzing him, then he's wrong.

"But, what do you know about those types of murderers?" she asked. "Psychopaths and sociopaths."

Surprising Diana, Asher turned to her with a smirk that looked just as strained as her forced giggle. "A psychopath is mentally ill in some way. When he kills, it's usually someone he's known. In his mind, that person has provoked him into killing. I don't think that's Cupid at all. He's not crazy enough to think people are making him murder them. That would be just crazy. So is Cupid a sociopath?"

Asher's smirk widened into a wicked grin. "No. A sociopath is more hostile to society. At times, he murders with no real explanation and has no moral responsibility. I think Cupid possesses a moral duty to his world."

"But Cupid is hostile to society."

"I don't think so. Cupid may not be happy with a society that allows brothers to molest sisters and nothing gets done, or men to rape women and then have the court system s.l.u.t-bash the victim until she is scared into dropping the case. Maybe, Cupid wants society to fix itself, and it's not. Instead, it drags around, polluting its citizens with celebrity gossip and drunken rants of stars. While ignoring the fat that there are children all over America sitting in broken homes. And they're scared, and there are real sociopaths, but those men are their fathers. And those men, spend their days battering the women they call their wives. And those men destroy every day of their kid's childhood until it's nothing but memories and nightmares of their mother's screams and her b.l.o.o.d.y nose. . ."

Diana's mouth dropped wide open.

"No, Diana, I don't think Cupid is a sociopath."

Diana twisted her fingers in her lap. "You don't think so because neither one of those definitions fit Cupid?"

He spat out the word, "Exactly."

"But Cupid is mentally ill. There's no denying that."

"No?" He looked at her.

"No. He's taking people's lives. Regardless of the reasoning, he's killing."

"Or is he saving other's lives? Is it not self-defense for others?"

"That's a stretch."

Rage thickened his tone and although Asher appeared calm, he was also stiff. "One of Cupid's victims molested his daughter. Do you think that she is unhappy with Cupid, now that her monster is dead?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe," he whispered. "And are you happy now that Neil is dead?"

Tension crept along her shoulders. That had not been the line of questioning that she'd wanted to pursue. She hoped to understand Asher some more, not have the topic turned back to her.

"Neil didn't truly hurt me," she replied.

"You're lying."

She let out an exasperated breath. "I wasn't defenseless. I could've left."

"When were you going to leave?"

"One day."

"When?"

The limo rounded a corner. A lovely home appeared with a white picket fence outlining it. Outside of the place, yellow police tape surrounded it and blocked all of the people standing outside. Tons of young girls stood there.

Diana checked her watch. "It's pretty late for these teens to be out tonight. Don't you think?"

"Maybe, they work here."

She raised her eyebrows and pointed to the house. "Here?"

"Yes, I've heard that this is a brothel that attends to dark needs."

"You've heard that, not been here yourself?"

He didn't answer.

So Asher killed in a brothel tonight? And he said it catered to dark needs?

The limo parked. Asher's driver jumped out, walked over to Diana's side, and opened the door. She got out, her legs barely able to hold her weight. She had to steady herself for a few seconds, push the limo conversation to the back of her head.

That was intense. I don't know how much more I can take. He's starting to undo me. I don't know if I want to run from him screaming, or high-five his hand for killing a molester and f.u.c.k his brains out.

Cool air bit at her skin. Police sirens and erratic chatter filled the air. More police officers walked up, but didn't come from any cars. The Ovid Island police department must've called over Miami-Dade to help them with this murder. Perfume laced the chilly breeze that pushed at her pony tail.

She took a step forward.

A huge van pulled up behind them. The Department of Children and Families stretched across the vehicle's side in thick block letters. Two women in law enforcement jackets guided several of the young girls to the van.

Young girls? Asher said the brothel dealt with dark needs. Are the teen girls the dark needs? These guys were having s.e.x with these young girls! G.o.d, men are disgusting.

She gritted her teeth.

Maybe, Asher should've killed all of the patrons tonight. It would have served those monsters right. Wait. What am I saying? People just can't go around killing people just because. . .they're hurting others.

Asher's voice came from behind. "Diana."

She turned and stiffened.

What the h.e.l.l? How did he get behind me so fast? He's too silent, when he moves. Well. . .he's clearly had practice. Had he been in my apartment that night, when I thought someone was on my balcony?

She formed her fingers into fists, while embarra.s.sment rained down on her.

He must've saw me masturbating to him. Did he? Why am I thinking about this now? What the h.e.l.l is going on with me?

"Diana." He stood right behind her. Barely an inch existed between them. On his face, a haunting calm settled.

"Yes?" Her heart hammered in her chest. She tried to steady herself, but couldn't get a hold of her breathing.

"I decided not to walk in with you. I'm going to stay here." He glided his gaze along her body.

Everywhere he looked, her flesh tingled. "Why aren't you coming?"

His voice lowered as he spoke words that were sharp as a knife. "I'm not going to walk you in, because I've already seen this crime scene. Consider it my very own art installation. I went a bit over board with the knife. You found something tonight you weren't meant to. I didn't want you to find out like that. But..."

Their gazes met, and Diana was the only one who was close to looking away, and running. "Asher-"

He shook his head. "Pay no mind to the message in this crime scene, Diana. I needed you to feel the danger you were in so you would stay with me. If just for a few more days. I hadn't planned that our evening would go as it did. But now curiosity trapped the cat, and the cage. . .it is a big one, a whole island, and you're stuck here, my cat. Don't make me prove it." He leaned her way and landed a kiss onto her now s.h.i.+vering forehead. "This isn't to scare you. I just don't want you to do anything stupid, when you walk into the crime scene, witness the gore, and decide that one of those buffoons in uniforms will help you, I'll need you to rethink a foolish escape."

"A-asher-"

"No, you're not a cat. Curious, yes. But you're not a cat. You're a bird." He tilted to the side of his face and brushed his lips against her ear. "Ovid Island and my mansion is all your cage, and you are my bird. And like a lovely bird, I want to keep you all to myself. Do you have any questions?"

Her throat ran dry. Dread coated her veins. Shook through her core. Her stomach spun around like a was.h.i.+ng machine's spin cycle. She wouldn't be eating anytime soon. She wanted to clutch her stomach, bend over, and vomit all over the ground.

"No, questions?" He whispered into her ear, and then leaned away, his lips brushed against her cheeks and delivered even more s.h.i.+vers, but were they fits of l.u.s.t or fear, she had no idea.

He stepped back. "Some women would run, right now. They'd yell and scream out, 'This is the murderer. He's right here.' And what would happen? The police may or may not believer her, I may or may not be here once she's gotten enough people to stop focusing on the crime scene." He sucked his teeth a few times and shook his head. "To them, I'm not Cupid. I'm Asher Bishop, top contributor to Ovid Island police station as well as notable charity organizer in the state of Florida, much of my money going right to the Maimi-Dade police. I could hold my b.l.o.o.d.y bow and arrow in my hands, right now, and what would they do?"

Although her voice was rubbed raw, she mumbled, "Nothing."

"Nothing." He nodded. "They would do nothing."

He touched a stray hair on her face that had whipped out of her ponytail from the breeze. He glided his finger along that strand and then tucked it behind her hair. "And this is my beef with society. Money protects the rich and dominates the weak."

"I-I'm rich t-too."

"You've got money. You have prizes and awards."

"They'll believe me."

"They might or they might not. The odds aren't good for you, though."

"Then what is good for me right now?"

"Right now, you're someone I want to taste, to drown in, to love until my heart stops beating and my breath is nothing more than a dead man's gasp. Right now, I only want to protect Diana Carson. You have to believe that I never want to hurt you. Right now, you are my lover, and friend. But if you try to escape, if you point me out to the police as Cupid, I will no longer be your friend."

"I don't believe you."

"That's not a risk you want to take with me. My hand is skilled, when I hold my bow. It does not shake. My arrow hits the target. It will not waver."

She swallowed.

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked.

Nothing came out of her mouth.

Nothing moved within her.

Nothing else rushed to her head.

Nothing.

She was a sculpture of shock, something chiseled from terror.

She could not move nor speak, think or even see the image of him in front of her.

It was all blurs and tears.

There were times in Diana's life, when she'd been scared. Like finding Gabby's maggot-infested corpse in her backyard or the first time Neil convinced her she was nothing more than his play-toy. But this? This moment shot up to the horizons as most fearful. All night, she'd romanticized Asher in her head, rationalized possibilities of why he was who he was.

Never did she consider the fact that, regardless of his code, regardless of him killing other monsters, regardless of his appet.i.te for her flesh, taunting rhythm of his s.e.x and the thickness of his c.o.c.k and the undying pa.s.sion that blazed in his eyes for her, this man was still a murderer.