Page 29 of No Asylum Here

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Feels like forever. Time means nothing here.”

“How old are you? Your birthdate is missing from your file.”

A bitter cackle escaped him. “I imagine a lot of things are missing from my file, Dr. Beckett.”

Unease settled in my bones. “Why did you kill your father?”

“Because he was an evil bastard.”

“And why did you eat him?”

Something I could only parse as amusement glittered behind his eyes. “Eat him? Is that what the story is now? Funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny at all. It’s why you’re here. You’re a dangerous criminal. But if we can get you the proper medication, and I can find the papers on your case, we could perhaps make an appeal to the court, and maybe you don’t have to die in this horrible place.”

“Wake up, Doc. No one is getting out of this place alive.”

His gravelly drawl, so low it was nearly a constant growl, seeped into my blood and spread through my system like a drug.

Just like in my dreams.

With a deep inhale, my eyes fluttered shut as I tried and failed to collect my nerves. At first glance, it was easy to believe this man was a dangerous killer. I’d been prepared for that. What I hadn’t been prepared for was how deeply intelligent he seemed. Beneath his messy hair, weary eyes, and the jaded spirit of a man reduced to fewer rights than an animal, there was a cunning, well-educated man.

I both hated and craved the way he looked at me, as if I were the most interesting thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was like he was evaluating me, and not the other way around.

“You’re not in your right mind,” I said as calmly as I could. “This is a mental asylum. Just like any other hospital, there is hope of regaining your freedom.”

“Dr. Beckett. You’re as naïve as you are beautiful. There’s no asylum here at Saint Bart’s. I might be the one in the straitjacket, but at the end of the day, we’re all damned. You’d better figure that out fast, or you’ll be eaten up in a place like this.” He smacked his lips hard, grinning beneath his mask like the psycho killer he was. “And I promise you, I’ll be the first to take a bite.”

Unwanted heat swirled low in my belly, making my thighs clench.

This is not the same man in my dreams.

Logically, I knew this in my mind. My body wasn’t getting the message. It had been forever since I’d had sex, but that was no reason for this kind of physical reaction. It was like I was in heat.

I’d come to Saint Bartholomew’s for redemption. Now here I was, lusting for my first patient—the most dangerous one here at that.

Seventeen’s intense glower cut me to the quick, as if he could see straight through me. “You’re having a mental breakdown, aren’t you?”

“I’m a millennial buried in debt, my entire life is a mental breakdown.”

My attempt at brushing off his terrifyingly accurate assessment had his jaw tensing, and thick tendons straining in his neck. “You’re a good little actress. But I can taste your fraying nerves, just as well as the arousal pooling in your panties.”

My fist clenched so tight my pencil snapped, and the slits of Seventeen’s eyes glowed with malevolent arrogance.

“Really, Doctor? Lusting for your patient?” He clicked his tongue in mock admonishment. “You look so innocent, but beneath your shine, you’re a filthy sinner, just like the rest of us trapped here. Aren’t you?”

There was no way he knew that I was aroused by his intelligent yet cruel eyes and the way they scraped over me like I was a rare bug pinned beneath a microscope.

Tension electrified my office, and suddenly the room felt so much smaller. Like the walls were closing in on me.

He was just trying to psych me out. And to my distress, it was working.

Calm down and breathe, Tuesday. This was only the first session. I couldn’t allow it to end with him thinking he’d gotten to me. If he thought me weak, he’d never open up.

“What was your major at Brown?”