Page 18 of Leo, My Partner

“Director at my reform school. He was already an ass, but when he tried to touch me, I took matters into my own hands.”

I shake my head, not sure what to do with that bit of information. Leo continues talking as if he doesn’t see my turmoil. “My brain is wired differently than most people’s. I know the difference between right and wrong. I just don’t care. But I wouldn’t ever hurt you.”

I gape at him. “Why should I believe that? You drugged me, Leo. You changed my clothes while I was out cold and couldn’t do anything about it.”

He nods. “Yeah, I drugged you, but so we could talk. I only changed your shirt because it was a mess from our struggle. I figured you wouldn’t want to wake up covered in blood.”

“I wouldn’t have been covered in blood if you weren’t a killer.”

“Touché,” Leo mutters with a smile. Even as afraid as I am, I have to admit to myself that Leo has a great smile. It makes his eyes crinkle, giving him a carefree expression. God, why does he have to be crazy?

“You said you were wired differently. What does that mean?” I ask.

“I’m a psychopath.” He says it so plainly and without a trace of humor. I stare at him, waiting for him to change his answer or tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. He stares back at me evenly, seemingly waiting for me to digest that bit of information.

“What?”

“Well, technically,” he tells me, crossing his feet at the ankles, “I have antisocial personality disorder, but for people to understand, psychopath is easier to say. Also, most people correlate ASPD to sociopathy. While I have sociopathic tendencies, psychopath fits better.”

Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone? Someone is telling me they’re a fucking psychopath without a smile or a jest. This can’t be real.

Leo must know I’m close to losing my shit, because he slides away from me, giving me some space. “I’m not explaining this right. I’ve never had to. Here, would you talk to my best friend?” He pulls his phone from a pair of pajama pants that hug his thick thighs. “He has some experience with it.”

“Your best friend is a psychopath too?” I ask, voice going up an octave.

Chuckling while pressing buttons on his phone, Leo says, “No.” I let out a breath but it immediately hitches when he tacks on, “My cousin is. My best friend is dating him.”

“Did they meet on a psychopath equivalent of Grindr?” I murmur, feeling lightheaded and close to a damn heart attack.

“Nah.” Leo’s phone pings in his hand. “Just talk to him. He can help. I’ve never claimed anyone, so I never had to explain what I am.”

“You can’t claim me. I’m not your pet,” I tell him, snatching the phone from his hands. What else do I have to lose? I can pretend to believe this shit, and when I get back to civilization, I can go to the cops and tell them about the murder.

It hits me that my car is still at the building Roger told me about. That gives me hope that someone will wonder why there’s a random car parked in the lot and send out a search party.

With that same beautiful and scary smile on his face, Leo says, “That’s where you’re wrong, kotenok.”

Before I can respond, his phone rings in my hand. Leo makes his way to the door.

A photo of a good-looking light-skinned man with a blue stripe dyed in his curly hair pops up. After shooting a glare at Leo’s back, I connect the call. “Hi,” I say nervously.

“Oh my God! Hi!” the man says, smiling wide enough to make his eyes squint and show all thirty-two of his teeth—if you count the wisdom teeth. Most people don’t, since they either don’t erupt from beneath the gum surface or they’re extracted when they become painful. Having wisdom teeth is an evolutionary trait we don’t need any more since we don’t need them for tearing raw meat and?—

Fucking great. Even my thoughts are rambling now.

“You’re Tyshawn,” he says, resting a hand under his chin. “I thought Leo made you up. He’s right, you are gorgeous. And your eyes. Ugh! I want them!”

Even though I’m in this weird situation, I can’t help but smile. I’m not sure if he’s a babbler like me or he’s excited, but he sets me at ease. “You’re June, then?”

“I am.” He’s quiet after that, just looking at me and smiling. Then he says, “You don’t have to be afraid of Leo.”

“He told me he’s a killer,” I whisper. “I walked in on him after he …” I swallow roughly as the memory assails me. “What’s to stop him from doing the same to me?” My voice catches, and I wipe away a stray tear from my eye.

My fear ratchets back up, thinking of the man I saw tied to the chair last night. He looked like he suffered. From the brief glances I took, he didn’t have fingers, and his face was beaten to shit. His throat was sawed open, and a glint of bone caught my eye—maybe his spinal column? Leo did more than killed him—he made it hurt, bad.

June’s face softens. “It’s scary, I know. I’m not sure if Leo told you, but my boyfriend Blu is like him. But Blu wouldn’t dream of hurting me. After he said I was his, he took care of me. He still does. They’re not normal by any stretch of the imagination, but they’re loyal, and they’re not liars. If Leo says he won’t hurt you, he won’t. He had plenty of time to hurt me, but he never did. I didn’t know he was a killer until I found out he was related to Blu. But that’s a whole other story.”

“How can you be so blasé about them killing?”

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