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Payton left Boone’s office with an almost sinister smile. He would definitely be the topic of conversation between Archer and the headmaster. Something had shifted today. Payton didn’t know what, exactly, but something. He’d been chasing Boone for months, and the man always kept him at arm’s length. When he spoke, he was always cold. Direct. Irritated.

Today wasn’t any different. Until it was. Maybe Boone had simply been distracted by the lab explosion. Maybe seeing Park and Gift together was swaying him. Or maybe Payton was just finally wearing him down. It didn’t really matter to him either way. He’d chosen Boone as his. And Payton always got what he wanted. Always.

He hummed as he walked down the hall, phone in hand, drawing curious looks from the other students on their way to class. He didn’t mind. He was used to being the center of attention, at least when Gift wasn’t around. Like most of the psychopaths in this school, he’d learned how to charm people from a very young age. That was why Boone was so attractive. He was a puzzle Payton was still trying to solve.

And today, he’d made progress. His heart was fluttering fast, like it had hummingbird wings, like it might fly right out of his chest at any moment. He’d never understood the word elation before. He’d thought it an emotion he was incapable of experiencing. But in this moment, thinking of how he’d run his fingers through Boone’s thick hair, felt his beard scratching against his palms, looked into his gorgeous hazel eyes up close…

Yeah, elated was the only word that came to mind.

Payton inhaled deeply, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Boone had smelled incredible. He always did. A little herby, like tea, a little outdoorsy, like fresh grass, citrusy like lemon peels. He knew now that it was Boone’s cologne. Dior Eau Sauvage . Gift had bought it for Payton on his birthday. Not to wear, but to spray on his pillow like a creep. Gift had thought it would be funny, but now, Payton had a hard time sleeping without it.

The cologne was a poor substitute for the real thing. On Boone, it smelled like sex and…sin. His scent made Payton want to purr, to sink his claws in and scratch his name into Boone’s skin so the world knew he was taken.

Was that psychotic? Probably. But it wasn’t his fault. If Boone didn’t want him lusting after him, he shouldn’t growl at Payton, shouldn’t chastise him, shouldn’t rake his eyes over him like he was thinking of him naked. And Payton knew Boone thought about him naked. In the beginning, he would wait until after midnight to sneak into Boone’s office to do some recon on what his future husband liked and disliked; that was how he’d discovered the name of Boone’s cologne. And where he’d found one of his magazine spreads in the headmaster’s desk.

The magazine had been opened often, the pages soft and worn at the edges, hidden under some files and a bottle of bourbon. Muse Magazine . The last spread Payton had done before leaving for the Watch. Did Boone jerk off thinking about those photos? Did he trace the lines of Payton’s body with his fingers? Did he imagine what it would feel like to bend him over his desk?

Payton forced the thought away before he ended up with a hard-on in the middle of the hallway. Gift’s performance earlier was enough public sex for one day. Still, knowing Boone saw Payton as more than a student only spurred him on. It had kept him going on days when Boone was extra nonchalant. And now, Payton’s patience was paying off. Boone had stared at Payton’s dick when he’d sat on his desk, he’d leaned into his touch. He’d looked so at peace with Payton’s nails working over his scalp.

Fuck. Payton wanted to ruin him. He wanted to watch him crumble like cheap plaster. Boone was the take charge type, that much was obvious. And some nights, Payton wanted someone to punish him, to hold him down and make him behave. But other nights…other nights, he dreamed of tying Boone up, riding him, taunting him, teasing him, torturing him until he begged to come. There was nothing sexier than making a strong man weak.

Payton would?—

His thought died as he almost crashed into Drake, the two of them latching onto each other and spinning around to keep from ending up on the ground. He stared wide-eyed at the tall blond. He seemed equally surprised to find Payton rounding the corner at the same time.

“Aren’t you heading to International Diplomacy?” he asked Payton with a frown.

Payton looked around, absorbing his surroundings for the first time since leaving Boone’s office. He was going the wrong way. Damn. He reversed course, matching his roommate’s stride as they headed back the way he came. They didn’t speak at first.

Even though Drake shared a room with Payton and Gift, he wasn’t as close to them as they were to each other. Drake, like Payton, was a psychopath. But unlike Payton, Drake had truly leaned into his rich douchebag cover. He’d gone to an Ivy League school, rowed crew, only dated socialites, and acted like anything other than couture was good only for cleaning gutters.

Still, Payton found him amusing, and while he wasn’t praying for his downfall, he had a sneaking suspicion one was coming, brought to Drake directly from his kewpie doll handler, Remi. Drake thought he had Remi on a leash, but Payton knew with certainty it would be Drake getting dog-walked by the green-eyed sweetheart.

But that was none of his business.

He opened his phone, then found Gift’s contact, messaging him to see if he was done with his post-fuck ramen and cuddles, reminding him he still had to pass his classes even if he was getting dicked down by a teacher.

“Where’ve you been?” Drake asked. “You look way too satisfied with yourself. It’s suspicious.”

“Boone’s office,” Payton said with a smirk. “And I have no idea what you mean.”

“Did he finally let you climb him like a tree?” he asked just as Dove and Morgan arrived, flanking them on either side like bodyguards.

Payton sighed. “Not yet, but soon. The cracks are there. I just have to keep applying the right…pressure.”

Dove giggled. “The poor man looks so defeated every time he has a conversation with you.”

It was true.

Payton grinned. “I know. It’s exhilarating, right?”

“Why are you so determined to break the man?” Morgan asked with a sad head shake.

Once upon a time, Boone had truly thought he could tame him. Payton had heard Archer and Mac discussing it with Pike one day—how Boone had only accepted Payton into the program because he thought he could “bring him to heel.” He’d seen the sentiments repeated in his file. Payton had quickly dispelled the headmaster of that notion by being an absolute menace from that day on. And, while he thoroughly enjoyed Boone’s attempts at disciplining him, he could see that it was taking its toll on the man. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger.

“I’m like the army,” Payton explained. “I have to break him down so I can build him back up, train him how I like.”

Drake snorted. “Do you really think you’re going to turn a former marine sniper and assassin into your obedient little puppy?”

Payton smirked. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to turn a guard dog into a lap dog with the right…incentive.”

“You’re insane,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes. “He’s not just a guard dog, he’s a military trained bomb-sniffing K-9, and if he catches wind of your little scheme, you’re going to be booted out of school and we’ll only hear about you from crime blogs talking about some random lunatic on a killing spree.”

“Are you implying that, without the program, I would just become a serial killer?” Payton asked.

“Become?” Dove teased.

Payton rolled his eyes. “You guys shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Even if it’s one hundred percent true. Especially if it’s one hundred percent true, actually.

Payton knew the rumors. He’d heard the whispers. Even Gift had poked around, trying to get Payton to spill about his past without directly asking him if the whispers were true. If Payton had actually killed people before. Only the staff knew for sure. Well, Park knew for sure. He’d pulled Payton aside not long after Park and Gift had declared their undying love for each other to remind Payton that just because Gift was a sweet, loving angelic being, Park wasn’t. And he’d have no problem putting a bullet in Payton if he ever hurt his fiancé.

Had Boone told everyone before Payton arrived or was it only the handful of staff who’d been in on the decision to allow him to matriculate there who knew about his past? The students didn’t know—not for sure—but someone, somewhere, must have overheard something because the rumors were not only true but pretty accurate.

Payton Skinner was, in fact, a serial killer.

But that was neither here nor there. Boone knew about his past and he still jerked off thinking about him at night. Besides, who was he to point fingers? He was an assassin teaching students—Payton included—to kill. So what if Payton had gotten a jumpstart on his training? Some people would call that initiative. It was all in how you looked at it. Some people thought Payton was a bloodthirsty monster, but Payton thought of himself as a go-getter.

When he realized he’d been silent too long, he batted his lashes at them. “Boone would never kick me out. He’d miss me too much.”

“I think you’re overestimating your sex appeal,” Drake said with a snort.

Payton gave Drake his smarmiest smile. “Mark my words, I’ll turn that guard dog into my bitch before graduation.”

Okay, maybe that was stretching it a bit. He didn’t need Boone to bottom, he just needed him to bend. To relinquish control. At least sometimes. It seemed to be a common misconception amongst his friends that it had to be all or nothing. Top/bottom. Dom/sub. Like there had to be strict rules when it came to sex.

Payton could never live that way. Some days, he was gonna want Boone to punish him, to fuck him, to hold him down and make him take it even when he begged him not to. Other days, he was going to want to tie Boone up and use him like a sex toy, make him submit, edge him until he cried. That was just who Payton was as a person. He was a switch in every sense of the word. He’d make Boone understand that…eventually.

The problem was that Boone was one of those annoying, old school, lone wolf types. The type who thought they needed to die miserable and alone for the lore, the mystic, like it would make a better story when they were gone. He was definitely the martyr type. Gift said it was because he was old. That Park had a similar demeanor. Payton didn’t really consider Boone old, even if he was his father’s age.

Payton didn’t care about age. He didn’t care about much of anything, really. He and Gift often joked about which of them was the main character of the story and which was the sidekick. Gift insisted Payton was absolutely the main character. A psychopathic assassin? No comparison. But Payton reasoned that Gift would be the real main character. He was the fish out of water, the one who shouldn’t be there, the sheep who’d made a home for himself amongst a pack of wolves.

It was a ridiculous fight they had often when they were alone in their bed at night and couldn’t sleep.

Payton would never admit this to Gift, but for him, it wasn’t a joke. In his brain, this life was a simulation, a video game, the ant farm for some dumb alien kid living on some faraway planet. It was the only way for him to explain his lack of emotion. It had to be a bug in the program, a flaw in his design. Why did most people in the world come factory installed with so many emotions while Payton had almost none?

He often tried to catalog the few he did have. Lust. Attraction. Satisfaction. Amusement. Boredom. But things others claimed to feel—love, hate, sadness, anxiety—those emotions evaded him. That was why Payton found Boone’s attempts to control him amusing. Deep down, Boone truly thought Payton was one bad day away from a rage-induced killing spree.

But it wasn’t true. He didn’t kill out of rage or some kind of insatiable bloodlust. It was just the opposite. He was quite methodical. Clinical, even. He liked to savor his kills. It was the only time he truly understood what neurotypicals experienced daily. He’d killed to feel something. Anything. He’d killed because the thrill of getting caught was the only thing that had penetrated deep enough to trigger any kind of emotion. He’d killed because cutting people open and looking at their insides had grounded him.

Law enforcement defined a serial killer as someone who committed two or more murders in separate events over a period of time, with a cooling-off period between killings. He supposed that made him a serial killer in the eyes of the law…and salacious reporters. But he wasn’t a serial killer by Hollywood movie standards. He didn’t kill because he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t kill to satisfy some insane bloodlust. Even when he’d killed, he’d stuck to the code, staying within the bounds of Thomas Mulvaney’s philosophy.

He only killed bad guys.

But if Payton was the star of his life, his victims were extras, nobodies, NPCs meant to die for his character development. That was how Payton knew Boone was his. He recognized a romantic lead when he saw one. And Waylon Boone was the epitome of the anti-hero.

Former Marine sniper turned assassin. Six-foot-five, built like a Marvel superhero. A little worn down by life, always wanting to do the right thing even when the world said it was morally wrong. A military record full of commendations and medals and just haunted enough to make the world want to know about his tragic backstory.

Payton was so deep in his own thoughts that he jumped when Gift arrived, grabbing Payton’s arm and ducking beneath it so he was tucked against his side. “So, what’d I miss?” he asked, cheeks adorably pink.

“How’s your ass?” Morgan asked casually, staring pointedly at said ass.

“Shut up,” Gift whined, hiding against Payton’s chest.

“Oh, don’t get shy now,” Dove countered. “You’re the one who decided to drag us all into your freaky little sexcapades when you arrived to class with a sex toy in your ass.”

“I, for one, enjoyed the show,” Drake said with a smirk. “Especially the finale where the lab exploded. You and Park certainly never do anything half-assed.”

Dove snorted. “Half-assed.”

“Can we please talk about anything else,” Gift asked, pouting. “I’m already dreading having to sit for the rest of the day.”

“Please, tell me the toy isn’t still inside your ass?” Morgan said, loud enough to draw the attention of the others in the hall.

Gift’s cheeks flushed from pink to scarlet, his eyes comically wide. “Why not just announce it over the speaker system?” he hissed in a stage whisper.

“Because, sadly, I no longer have access,” she told Gift, then raised her voice, looking at the other students. “If I did, it would be over for all of you bitches.”

People gave her a weird look but quickly dismissed her. It was hard to shock a school full of psychopaths and those trained to handle them.

“So…how far did you get?” Dove asked Payton. “You never said.”

“Archer caught me sitting in his lap,” Payton answered, picturing Boone’s adorably grumpy expression.

“Boone? You were in Boone’s lap?” Gift’s expression grew sullen. “I was only gone for a few hours.”

Morgan laughed. “He’s trying to break the poor man’s spirit.”

Gift grinned. “It’s working. Park says Boone bitches about Payton more than any other student. He’s always bringing him up for no reason. Claims Payton alone is the reason his hair is all white now.”

Payton rolled his eyes. “Please. He stresses himself out. He works twenty-four seven and eats like a college freshman. Besides, if he’d just give me what I want, I would be happy to take care of him.”

Dove snorted. “You?”

“I’m a very loving and caring individual,” Payton said with a delicate sniff.

Gift beamed at him. “You really are. The sweetest psycho I’ve ever met, really.”

“Hey,” Dove cried, pouting.

“Sorry,” Gift said. “But he’s my roommate.”

“Nice or not,” Drake cut in. “Your plan is never gonna actually work on Old Man River in there. He’s way too disciplined. You’re going to lose this one.”

“I never lose,” Payton said, unbothered. “Boone will be mine, one way or another.”

Morgan cackled. “Okay, calm down. You sound like you’re going to lock him in your basement and tell him to put the lotion in the basket.”

“I would never do that to my future husband…unless he forced my hand,” Payton added begrudgingly, earning another snort from Drake.

“Why do you pick on him so badly if you want him to love you?” Gift asked, staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Payton sighed wistfully. “He looks so adorably defeated whenever I remind him who’s really in charge, and it just…makes me horny.”

“I mean, I’m not an expert on human emotions or anything, but is it common to want to mentally break your future spouse before you marry them?” Dove asked.

“She’s right. It’s uncouth.” Drake said, voice droll.

Morgan giggled. “Yeah, most people wait until after marriage to break their spouse’s spirit, as God intended.”

“Like my parents,” Drake added.

Payton grinned. “He brought this on himself when he decided to make me his ‘special project.’ It’s not my fault he underestimated me.”

“It’s not that far-fetched to think you lack discipline,” Dove teased. “Rumor has it you’ve killed…three people?”

“Four,” Payton said, rolling his eyes. When they all looked at him, he added, “According to the rumor, it was four. Which it wasn’t, ‘cause it’s just a rumor,” he taunted.

“Yeah, right,” Dove countered.

“Four bodies is barely noteworthy,” Payton said, doubling down. “ If I had killed only four people, it would show how much I exercise restraint.”

“How so?” Gift asked, his wide brown eyes resembling boba.

Payton shrugged. “I encounter no fewer than five people a day whom I would happily impale on spikes on the quad. But do I do that? No. I just kill them in my mind like a normal person and move on with my day. If I didn’t, I’d be surrounded by a mountain of corpses. See? Self-control.” He gave the others a smug smile. “I wanna see if he can say the same.”

“You want Boone to lose control and kill you?” Drake asked absently, eyes dragging to Remi, who was leaning against the wall outside the classroom.

“No, I want him to lose control and fuck me,” Payton said.

The girls giggled, but Drake had mentally checked out. He had his eyes locked on his handler. Remi was deep in conversation with a female student—Navy—who wore a skirt she’d most definitely altered by about four inches. It barely covered her ass.

Navy had a big, fat crush on Remi. But Remi had a crush on Drake, and Drake used that knowledge to run the poor kid around by the…nose. Except for today, it seemed. Today, Drake’s expression was mutinous, like Remi had done something wrong and Drake was about to make it everyone’s problem. Something had clearly happened between the two. Remi had been avoiding Drake—and, by extension, them—for a few days now.

Which was odd. He was always trying to hang out with them. It was weird how much this place felt like being back in high school.

“What’s up with you two?” Dove asked Drake, looking between them with interest.

“What do you mean?” Drake asked, glowering in Remi’s direction, telling Payton he knew exactly what she meant.

“Did you two break up?” Dove taunted. “Lover’s quarrel?”

Drake flicked his irritated gaze in her direction. “We’re not dating. He’s my handler.”

Morgan snickered. “Did he finally realize you’re just using him for sex?”

Drake did his best to appear hurt by the accusation, but it was such a foreign concept to him, he looked two seconds away from a psychotic break. Or maybe he was two seconds away from a psychotic break. With psychopaths, it was hard to say.

“I was not using him for sex,” Drake muttered. When everyone stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I wasn’t using him just for sex.”

“No, he also did all your homework, too,” Payton offered.

“Yeah, why are you pretending to be hurt? You joke all the time about how you use the poor thing like your personal fleshlight, how you have him wrapped around your finger. It was only a matter of time before he caught onto your bullshit,” Dove chided, wagging her finger at him as they entered the classroom.

All of Peregrine pod were together for class. Each asset sat beside their handler; not because there were assigned seats, but because they chose to. It was fascinating how quickly the relationship between asset and handler went from stranger to toxically co-dependent. Payton sat beside Gift, Dove and Morgan behind them. Drake took his seat beside them, staring hard at Remi’s empty chair. On the other side of the classroom sat Persephone and her handler, Diego. Luca and his handler, Jay, and Mos and his handler, Lennon.

Remi slid into his seat just as Suri strolled to the front of the room. As always, she was dressed far more elegantly than the average college professor. She wore a deep yellow jumpsuit that emphasized her golden skin, her inky black hair plaited into a braid that swept over her shoulder. Her lips twitched as she watched Gift wince as he shifted in his hard chair miserably. Word traveled fast in a school this small.

“Okay, class. Today, we’re discussing PsyOps and Propaganda.”

International Diplomacy was Payton’s favorite class. Suri always found ways to keep it interesting.

“For the next two weeks, we’ll be discussing how to manipulate public opinion, governmental policies, and foreign military strategies through both covert and overt means. We will cover everything from media manipulation to propaganda and disinformation campaigns. There will be a test.”

“Wasn’t our last election lesson enough?” Lennon quipped.

Suri smiled. “I don’t want you to know how to identify propaganda and misinformation. I want you to know how to use it.”

“Does this mean we get to spread vicious rumors about each other?” Persephone asked, twirling one dark curl around her finger.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Suri said with a secretive smile. “Well, sort of. We’re going to play a game.” She went to her desk and picked up a stack of black envelopes, fanning them out and waving them in the air. She strolled from table to table, handing each asset an envelope. “Don’t open these until I say.”

When she returned to the front of the class, she made a sweeping gesture with her hands. “Welcome. You’re now all citizens of Meridian, a peaceful country on the brink of a major decision. One that could impact its whole future: whether to join the powerful alliance of neighboring countries known as The Collective or to remain independent. Foreign intelligence operatives known to be working against The Collective’s interests have infiltrated Meridian in order to sway the public’s decision by spreading misinformation.

“Now, because I know you cannot live without each other, each asset and handler will work as one unit.” Payton and Gift exchanged looks then smiled. As a team, they were undefeated. “The roles are as follows. The hidden operatives: foreign intelligence operatives whose only job is to keep our peaceful country from joining The Collective. The analysts: special agents assigned to identify misleading information, guiding the class towards making informed decisions. Agents: citizens of Meridian who will discuss the merits and downsides of joining The Collective, based on information presented during the game. Does everyone understand?”

Everyone nodded, though they all looked a bit hesitant.

Suri gave them an almost sinister smile. “Then go ahead and open your envelopes.”