Page 22 of Vicious Hearts

He stands at the balcony door, watching the night. He has his back to me, the muscles corded and tight. He rolls his right shoulder every now and then, and I wonder if it hurts him.

I remember him getting this way when he visited me in the hospital after he shot me. He would stop talking and stare out the window as though burdened with something. Never let me in, never allowing any weakness to show. Stoic, aloof, and still as a monument.

I have to say something.

"Ben, I—"

"No more bullshit, Roxy." His voice is stern as he looks over his shoulder at me. "This is not your opportunity to be cute with me. You're lucky to be alive as it is. If you make me angry, you're gonna distract me, and I need to concentrate on the problem at hand."

His expression is stony, but I see his eyes soften as he looks at me.

"You think I'm cute?" I ask.

"Yes. That's only part of the problem." He sighs as he steps away from the window.

"Problem? Ali says you're crazy about me. Don't pretend it's not true."

Ben sits on the couch beside me and stretches out, putting his feet on the coffee table.

"Okay. Let me make something crystal clear to you,” he says. He palms his hair, running his fingers through it. "Iamcrazy about you. But there's nothing cute about it."

He's not looking at me. I wonder whether I should respond, but I decide to let the silence do its job.

Ben continues. "I'm useful to the Bratva because of the way I think. I can narrow the field and identify our enemies. Get the job done. And when someone needs persuading, I’m excellent at figuring out how to hit them the hardest."

"What does that have to do with me? With us?"

Ben turns his head slightly, giving me his cornflower-blue gaze. "My mind doesn't work like most people's. I'm good at manipulation. I do it for work but also because Ilikeit. I enjoy the power it gives me. You're young and inexperienced. You'll bring out the worst in me, and I'll hurt you just for kicks."

"Your self-awareness does you credit," I say, dropping my head onto the back of the couch, "but you're not unique. There's some Machiavellianism in us all."

He smiles at me. "You pay attention in your forensic psych classes, don't you? So, let's pretend I'm your teacher."

Oh my God.I didn't know how much that concept would appeal to me until he said those words.

I sit up cross legged and face him, regretting the choice of posture immediately. If my pussy soaks through my pants, he'll see. I pull my knees up instead, wrapping my arms around them.

"Okay, I'm listening. Teach me."

The words sound a little breathy, and Ben gives me a lop-sided grin of satisfaction.

Dammit.He knows he's turning me on already, and he's barely said a word. He turns to face me, moving closer as he does so.

"Impress me with your insight,charodeyka," he says. "How do we understand other people's motives and desires, even when we haven't met them?"

"A person's behavior always leaves an impression. We can take that impression and trace it back to the source."

He leans forward, his eyes sparkling in the low light. "Yes, buthow? Think hard now."

I'm grappling for an answer. It's not that I don't know—I've spent hours with criminology textbooks. But Ben's attention is so singular, so all-encompassing. It's like I'm hypnotized, unable to grasp my thoughts because he has a hold on my mind.

"Empathy," I say.

He moves nearer still, and I shift back into my cross-legged position. I can smell my own arousal and hope I'm imagining it.

"Good girl. You're quite right."

Oh shit, don't call me that.

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