The Sin-Eater - The Watch #2 - ch. 1-2 (Patreon)

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Chapter 1

Boone

Waylon Boone had grown so accustomed to people barging into his office, that he didn’t even acknowledge whoever had just entered without knocking. Sometimes he regretted his open door policy. As the silence stretched, Boone sighed. Only one person ever had the audacity to barge into his office, then lean against his closed door, ogling him.

“Hi, Daddy,” the voice cooed, dragging out the unprompted honorific.

“Don’t call me that,” he countered, keeping his tone bored even as pure heat shot through his dick.

Should he order him to leave? Why bother? It’s not like he would go. When it came to Payton Skinner resistance was futile and often just led to frustration. And Boone had enough of that for ten men running a graduate school full of hormonal psychopaths.

The psychopath in question, sucked his teeth, pouting. “Don’t be mean.”

Boone snorted, pretending to review the paperwork before him. He could barely concentrate whenever the boy was in his presence. “How is it mean to ask you to refrain from referring to me as your father?”

Payton scoffed at Boone’s lame attempt to misinterpret his meaning. “I didn’t call you my father. He is an intolerant, pompous windbag. I called you Daddy,” he all but purred. “That’s very different.”

“I don’t see how,” Boone lied flippantly.

A shadow fell over his desk, an expensive black boot appearing at the base of his chair. Boone watched warily as it slowly rolled away from his papers, providing just enough space for the boy to slip in front of him. He plopped himself onto Boone’s desk, making himself comfortable on top of the proposal Boome had been working on. The one due to the internal review board in roughly twelve hours.

Boone leaned back in his chair, dropping his hands into his lap, arching a brow at Payton, once again struck by his androgynous beauty. He was a study in contradictions. Tall and lean with long limbs and slender hands, lithe. He had sharp features, and severe angles. But he also had wide honey eyes framed by lashes long enough to cast shadows on his soft freckled cheeks, pillowy lips that always looked kiss-bitten. He was fascinating. Boone often had to tear his gaze away whenever they were in the same room together.

Like now.

Today, Payton wore his school uniform, his tie hanging loose around his neck. But left to his own devices, Payton’s style was as eclectic as the rest of him. He’d been the darling of several fashion houses before coming to the Watch. Boone could see why.

Much to his shame, he’d not only seen the spread in those magazines, but memorized them. Payton in platform heels, leather pants and a wide open fur coat, his X shaped tattoos jarring against his snowy complexion. Payton in a chiffon blouse with a white flouncy bow and tight Capri pants that hugged his perfect ass. Payton in a string of pearls, a sleeveless sweater, denim short shorts, thigh high black fishnets and combat boots…

An outfit that had made Boone so horny he’d jerked off to it for days. He couldn’t help it though. Payton’s legs had looked seven miles long in those short shorts and thigh-highs and the look on his face was the same sultry, salacious look he gave Boone anytime they were near each other. Like now.

Boone closed his eyes briefly, trying to erase the memory of that photo from his mind before he popped a very awkward and not at all professional boner at his desk. What would Payton look like in only those fishnets and the pearl necklace while riding him? He shook the thought away, flicking his gaze to the boy briefly, watching as he fluffed his hair.

That was Boone’s real kryptonite. Payton’s hair. It was thick, and dark, the texture coarse, more frizzy than curly and so wild it looked exactly like the character that had inspired the boy’s code name: The Mad Hatter. Only instead of a wild red, his was a deep chocolate brown. The Mad Hatter. A name that suited Payton for many reasons truthfully.

As soon as he noticed he had Boone’s attention. Or more to the point, Boone’s blatant lack of attention, the boy spread his legs lewdly in those tight, tailored uniform pants, knowing it left Boone staring directly at his crotch. And he did stare. It was impossible not to when the faint outline of his cock was inches from his face.

Christ. This kid was going to be the death of him. He forced his gaze upwards, finally meeting Payton’s, hoping his face remained neutral even with alarm bells and sirens screaming in his head.

Watching a dirty smirk stretch across that pretty face had the blood in Boone’s head racing south at an alarming rate. He did not have time for games that involved him locked in a bathroom jerking off midday. “I have work to do, Payton. Get off my desk.”

Payton tilted his head, brow hooking upwards in challenge. “Make me,” he taunted in a sing-song voice.

Boone sighed through his nose, jaw clenching. It took every ounce of Boone’s willpower not to snatch the boy by his hair and force him to his knees, force him to behave, force him to bend to Boone’s will. But that would require giving Payton what he wanted and giving him an inch would only make him bolder. And he was already far too bold, making Boone crazy.

It was infuriating. Boone had spent most of his life in dangerous situations, unlike the others, he’d never liked killing, even though he was good at it. To him, it was simply another part of his job. When Park was masquerading as a speech writer for the ambassador, Boone’s cover was teaching—and eventually running—an international school, one attended by the children of very powerful people.

The trajectory of his life from where he started to where he’d now landed came down to one man. Marshall Kendrick. He’d recruited Boone fresh from the Marines. Boone wasn’t a fool. He’d known his training would get the attention of agencies like the CIA and Homeland Security. He was just a poor kid from Texas. His only shot at not ending up on an oil rig was to allow the military to build his resume. So he did.

He graduated from Scout Sniper School, one of the toughest training programs in the military, then went on to complete SERE school and SOTP training. He learned to speak Arabic, Farsi and Hebrew, gained experience in both rural and urban sniper operations and had multiple deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq.

On paper, he’d been Kendrick’s wet dream. But Boone quickly learned that killing for Kendrick left him feeling…conflicted. Luckily, the agency learned Boone’s skills didn’t stop at just murder. They’d dubbed him the Sin-Eater, not because of his skills with a weapon, but because he was their best interrogator, coaxing information from even the most tight-lipped of enemies and not with violence, but with patience, charm and sincerity.

In all those years of dealing with killers and criminals, never—not once—had any of them had so little disregard for Boone’s authority. Payton enjoyed winding him up. He wanted Boone to snap, to manhandle him and force him to obey. But was that because he liked to be thrown around in bed or because he was hoping to get Boone fired? He suspected the latter, but, unlike all those other killers Boone had charmed, Payton was a psychopath.

Thomas Mulvaney, the man who initiated the phase one study, had once told him raising psychopaths was a lot like being a lion tamer. You only had power when the lions feared you, lose that fear and you would be the first on the menu. Running a school for psychopaths felt much the same. Most of the students understood Boone was all that stood between them and a tragic accident.

But Payton feared nothing, not even death. He wanted Boone to think otherwise, though. He wanted him to think he was capable of obedience, that Boone could make him behave. According to Park, it was Payton who’d taught Gift exactly how to use both his innocence and his sexuality to finally make Park crumble.

But this wasn't the same.

Gift wasn’t a psychopath. He had genuine feelings for Park. And Park had pined over Gift for months. It had only been a matter of time. Boone was a game to Payton. A plaything he batted around in his enclosure when he got bored. If anyone had ever been able to tame Payton, he wouldn’t have racked up a literal body count before his high school graduation.

But fuck if Boone wasn’t tempted to try.

Park had suggested a firm hand, a little consensual corporal punishment. But, while Boone liked maintaining control, he tended to keep his toys obedient with much different tactics, ones that had little to do with pain. Not that he was above using it when needed, but he suspected Payton would like it a little too much.

“You’re about two seconds away from being booted out of this program for inappropriate behavior.”

Payton stared at him for a solid minute then burst out laughing, the sound infectious and tinged with a hint of madness, like something you’d hear echoing in a carnival funhouse or the walls of a mental health facility.

When Payton composed himself, he said, “Tell me, Daddy. What is inappropriate behavior in a school full of psychopaths?”

Both untamable and disrespectful.

Boone fixed the pretty boy with a flat look. Even if Payton didn’t fear him, he did respect him. Maybe? Probably. But Boone didn’t dare show even a hint of softness towards him. Payton was a true predator…in every way. He’d smell how weak Boone was. More specifically, he’d smell how weak Boone was for him. “Everything you do whenever you barge into my office without permission is inappropriate behavior.”

Payton harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest, sulking in a theatrical fashion. “You used to like spending time with me. You never want to play with me anymore.”

If Payton only knew how false that statement was. Boone did want to play with him. But not in a way that would do either of them any good. “What do you want, Payton?”

Payton raked his eyes over him, lingering on Boone’s zipper, then bit his bottom lip, letting his top teeth drag over it slowly. “You.”

Boone shook his head. “Are you trying to get thrown out?”

“Of your office or the school?” Payton quipped, tapping a finger on his chin like he was giving the question serious thought.

“Either? Both?” Boone barked, irritated.

“If you were going to kick me out, you would have done it way before now and we both know how much you’d miss me.” He tilted his head in that way that made Boone feel like he was being stalked. “Why haven’t you kicked me out, Daddy?”

Boone huffed a breath through his nose, exasperated. “Because your father is, somehow, an even bigger pain in my ass than you are.”

Payton flinched at that, but recovered quickly. “Well, unlike my father, I’m far more interested in you being a pain in my ass. But I’m verse, so if that’s not your thing, I’m down. Though I would hope I’d get to ride your co-”

“Payton!”

Payton sighed dramatically then kicked his feet, whining, “I’m bored. Play with me…”

Boone frowned, gaze flicking to the clock on the far wall. It was barely one o’clock in the afternoon. “Why aren’t you in class.”

Payton grinned. “Park and Gift’s kinky sex games caused Lucy to blow up the chem lab…again.”

Boone rocketed forward in his seat, hinges screaming in protest. “The lab exploded?”

Why had nobody called him? How bad was the damage? Were students hurt? Dead? He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice he’d walked right into the lion’s den Sitting up put him within range of Payton’s wandering hands, the boy humming happily as he combed long, nimble fingers through Boone’s thick hair, now more silver than brown. “You worry too much, Booney. It was just a little explosion. Lucy’s eyebrows were the only casualty. And possibly her dignity. If she even has any. That chick’s a liability.”

Boone closed his eyes, absently enjoying the impromptu scalp massage that had sharp nails gently scraping along his skin. This school was going to be the death of him. He needed a fucking vacation.

But Payton was right; Lucy was a liability. Per the girl’s file, as a child, she’d scored dangerously high on her psychopathy test but she’d met the program criteria so she’d been placed with a family of wealth and power, raised to blend in with society, but she just…didn’t.

“I know that shrinks everywhere like to break down every little thing about neurodivergent’s like me, but in my opinion, there are only two kinds of psycho’s.” Payton’s calves brushed against the outside of Boone’s knees each time he swung his legs.

“There’s your Ted Bundy psychos like me: charming, handsome, cunning, deadly,” he continued like he was giving a lecture on a subject he was passionate about. “And there’s your Charles Manson psychos: charismatic, narcissistic, manipulative, total lunatics. They’re the ones who make your skin crawl in their presence. It’s all in the eyes. And Lucy, she has crazy eyes. She’d make a great cult leader, but she’s going to make a shit assassin. No offense.”

Boone snorted. No offense. Right. But sadly, Payton’s assessment was, as usual, spot on.

Before Boone could even think of a response, Payton continued, “I thank all the stars she’s Raven pod and not Peregrine. Not that we’re competing. This isn’t the Jedi Academy or whatever.” Then he shook his head. Boone was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. Payton’s fingers were…so nice. He continued his one-sided conversation animatedly. “But if we were competing, you have to admit Peregrine pod would be leading in the intergalactic tournaments.”

Boone made a sound he hoped implied he was following along with the conversation.

“Oh, you should make the pods compete. A fight to the death Hunger Games style could be fun, but I suppose that defeats the purpose of the program.” He shrugged. “You should still consider making a point system. Psychopaths are hella competitive. You know?…Boone?”

Boone jerked his head up, blinking, yanking himself from his stupor, realizing only then that not only was Payton still petting him, but Boone’s hands had somehow migrated to sit high up on the boy’s slender thighs.

He jumped back like he’d been burned.

Payton’s face fell. “Aww, I thought we were bonding.”

“We were not bon-” Boone cut himself off, an early part of the conversation resurfacing. “Wait, what do you mean Park and Gift were playing kinky sex games in the classroom?”

Payton smiled coyly. “A little birdy told me that Gift mouthed off to Park and ended up having to spend the day with a bullet vibrator in his ass with the remote control in Park’s pocket. He didn’t even survive until lunch.”

“A little birdy?” Boone echoed, leaning forward once more, pushing Payton’s knees wider. Payton sucked in a sharp breath, then whined when Boone opened the desk drawer he’d been blocking. He pulled out a bottle of tums, dumping them directly into his mouth like candy. Payton’s brows shot up as he watched Boone chew, the crunch loud in the silence until Payton explained.

“Yes, a little birdy named Gift. He told me he almost died from embarrassment but the orgasm had been worth it. Then he said Park railed him into the mattress and was feeding him ramen.” Payton sighed. “That could be us if you’d just loosen up.”

A throbbing started behind Boone’s left eye. He flicked his gaze up to meet Payton’s. “Are you trying to drive me insane? I’m genuinely asking. Is-Is this fun for you?”

Boone suddenly had a lap full of the boy. He sat on Boone’s knees, feet still planted on the floor. He set his palms on Boone’s wide shoulders. “Don’t be mad, Daddy. I just…like being with you.”

“Why? Surely there’s someone your own age to torment?” Boone asked, genuinely confused. “I’m old enough to be your-”

“Daddy?” Payton finished, cutting him off with another dirty grin. When Boone nodded, Payton shrugged. “I like older men. Boys my own age are too…malleable. I need someone who can outsmart me, who can make me want to behave…someone to break my spirit.”

With each statement Payton moved deeper and deeper into Boone’s space until their mouths were inches apart and Boone could feel his breath on his lips. Payton was reciting Boone’s exact words to Mac and Archer all those months ago. He’d thought he could break Payton. He’d been wrong. So wrong. And the boy seemed hellbent on rubbing it in his face.

“Payton…”

Payton’s features softened, a look of genuine disappointment leaching into his voice. “I know you like me. I know you do.”

Disappointment tugged at Boone’s insides. “It doesn’t matter if I like you or not. I’m…”

“My principal? My headmaster?” Payton rubbed his cheek against Boone’s. “That just makes it so much hotter. We’re not just age-gap, we’re student/teacher romance and even forced proximity. If you would just stop fighting me we could be a little BDSM and Daddy kink too.”

Boone stared at him, genuinely baffled. “I have no idea what you're saying. Not that I ever do.”

Payton rolled his eyes. “They’re tropes. You know, like from romance novels? Right now we're definitely grumpy/sunshine and hopefully even enemies to lovers, but you have to play along.”

“You read romance novels?” Boone asked, brow arching upwards, deliberately ignoring everything else.

Payton nodded, making himself more comfortable in Boone’s lap. “Only the really smutty gay ones. Sometimes Gift and I cuddle in bed and read the dirty parts out loud. He doesn’t read romance novels though. He prefers fanfic, usually about his anime characters.”

“ Fanfic?” Boone parroted.

“Yeah, you know like when you ship two people who may or may not be a couple in a show or in real life and you make up stories about them for the enjoyment of yourself and others? Like…,” he pondered briefly, then snapped his fingers— “the angel, Castiel and Dean from Supernatural, they’re a ship. You know? As in relation ’ship’. Of course, Sam and Dean are also a ship so…”

Boone frowned. “Wait. Aren’t they brothers?”

Boone only knew that because both main actors hailed from Texas like him.

Payton nodded. “Yeah, Wincest shippers. Incest is irrelevant in the world of fanfic. Pretty much any moral compass you have gets smashed after a few months of reading it. It’s like the wild west. There’s no laws at all. You can write literally anything. I once read a fic where Sam was a sentient cinnamon roll being eaten and fucked by Dean in a cafe full of people. And it was told from the point of view of the sentient pastry.”

Boone could feel his face contorting into a look that screamed ‘what the fuck’. “And…that’s your thing? The cinnamon roll story?”

Payton scoffed. “God no. I’m allergic to cinnamon.”

Boone blinked at him stupidly, trying to gauge exactly at what point he’d lost all control of the conversation. “Weird,” he finally muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Payton snickered. “You think that’s weird? Did you know that there’s fanfic about Archer and Mac on Ao3?”

“Ao3?”

“Yeah, it's a fanfic site. Archive of our Own. They have hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of fanfics about couples, both real and fake, and the Mulvaney’s have their very own tag. I grew up around rich people, but never anyone famous enough to be immortalized in fanfic.”

“Me either. But I grew up dirt poor so…”

“Of course, Archer’s hot and all, but he’s too young for me. I could go for Mac maybe, but redheads don’t really ‘do it’ for me. I like salt and pepper hair…like yours.” Payton said, his fingers trailing over Boone’s face like he had some claim to him. “Of course, Thomas Mulvaney…he could be hot too. Too bad his husband makes torture devices as a hobby.”

Boone’s nostrils flared, jealousy lighting up his insides at Payton’s words. “Thomas Mulvaney raises psychopathic children. He doesn’t date them.”

Payton sulked. “Rude.”

The door to his office burst open. Archer blinked at Boone and Payton, or more specifically, Payton cradled in Boone’s arms.

As soon as he realized what they were doing, Boone shoved Payton, forcing the boy to his feet with a disgruntled noise. Payton feigned hurt. “Rude,” he said again, this time with more emphasis.

Boone rolled his eyes. “Get back to class.”

Payton looked at Archer, then back to Boone. “Fine…but this isn’t over.”

As soon as he left, Boone pulled the liquor bottle from his desk, taking a huge swallow, before holding the bottle out to Archer, who shook his head, making a face. “No, thanks. Never liked the taste of the stuff.”

Archer dropped into the seat. “So did you hear about…”

“The lab?” Boone sighed. “Yeah.”

“Lucy strikes again. I’m starting to think she’s not an assassin but a pyromancer,” Archer said with a laugh.

Boone grimaced. “How bad’s the damage?”

“To the student or the lab?”

“Both?” Boone asked.

Archer shrugged. “Lucy’s fine, the lab has a couple thousand dollars in damage. No big deal.”

Boone nodded.

Archer looked at the antacid medicine on the desk next to the bottle of bourbon. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Boone muttered.

“Why your lunch consists of booze and sodium bicarb or why you had our deadliest student curled up in your lap like a domesticated house-cat?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you…”

Archer chuckled. “That boy’s already got you by the balls.”

Boone glowered at him. “Did you know there’s fan fiction written about you and Mac on the internet?”

Archer snickered. “Of course. When I piss Mac off he sits on me and forces me to listen while he reads it out loud. Somehow I’m always cast as a pirate or a sad sack full of trauma, healed by the power of love.” Archer laughed at that. “But upside, the sex is usually hot.”

Boone didn’t say anything, just dropped his head on his desk, welcoming the idea of hitting it hard enough to lose consciousness.

“Where was Park anyway? Why was Pike watching the baby psychos?”

Boone didn’t even look up. “There was a sex toy incident with Gift,” he said, voice muffled.

Archer snorted. “Pardon?”

Boone lifted his head. “Please don’t make me rehash it. If you want to know so bad, go find Park.”

“Somebody’s grumpy.”

Grumpy/Sunshine. Enemies to lovers.

“Can you just go?”

Archer laughed. “I don't know if i should. What if you down that whole bottle of Tums and I find your dead, weirdly bloated corpse tomorrow. I’ll feel terrible.”

Boone gave him a flat stare. “You’re a psychopath.”

“It’s a spectrum,” Archer reminded. “On a scale of 1-10, 10 being…”

“Charles Manson?” Boone supplied.

“Yeah sure. I’m like a solid five. Maybe even a five and a half on a bad day.”

“Where do you think Payton falls?” Boone heard himself ask.

“Hard to say. You’d know better than me. You were the one snuggling with him”

“That was…a mistake. I don’t even know how it happened.”

That was a lie. It happened because Payton had somehow just wormed his way past Boones defenses like an invasive species. Payton was…infectious, invading Boone’s bloodstream and going straight for his heart.

Archer laughed, standing.

“Well you better figure it out quickly before you wake up married to a deviant little psychopath with a violent streak, a trust fund, and a shopping addiction. It happens to even the most vigilant of us.”

Boone hated how much he didn’t hate the idea.

Fuck.

Chapter 2

Payton

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 finally swaying him…or maybe Payton was just finally wearing him down. It didn’t really matter to Payton one way or another. 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 of 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 at 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 fluttery, like it might float out of his chest. 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 silver 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. Payton had known that, of course. He’d caught his scent before when Boone called him into the office to chastise him or when they passed in the halls. But never like that. Up close, Boone 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’s thinking of him naked. And Payton knew Boone thought about him naked. He’d found the magazine in his desk during one of his many midnight forays sneaking into Boone’s office to do some recon on what the man liked and disliked.

The magazine was well worn, 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 felt 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 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 both from ending up on the ground. He stared wide-eyed at the tall, blonde. 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 roommates 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 on 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's 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 you 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.”

“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 Payton. He’d 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’. 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 reporters talking about your latest killing spree on the news.”

Payton batted his lashes at them. “Boone would never kick me out. He’d miss me too much. 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 gonna 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’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. 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 Gift would be the real main character. He was the fish out of water, the one who shouldn’t be there, the outsider 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. Nothing mattered. 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 have so many emotions come factory installed, 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, anger, rage, sadness, anxiety. Those emotions evaded him. It’s 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 experience daily. He killed to feel something. Anything. He killed because the thrill of getting caught was the only thing that penetrated deep enough to trigger any kind of emotion. He killed because cutting people open and looking at their insides grounded him.

He wasn’t a serial killer. He stuck to the code. But if Payton was the star of his life, his victims were extras, nobodies, NPC’s meant to die for his character development. That’s 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 says it’s 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.

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 said, 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 24/7 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 said. “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,” he 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 just looks so adorably defeated whenever I remind him who’s really in charge, 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.

“Most people wait until after marriage, like God intended.” Drake said, voice droll. “Like my parents.”

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. “You have killed… three people?”

“Four,” Payton said, rolling his eyes. “Which should show how much I exercise restraint.”

“How so?” Gift asked.

Payton shrugged. “I encounter no less than five people a day whom I would happily impale on spikes in 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 other’s a smug smile. “I wanna see if he can say the same.”

“You want Boone to lose control and kill you?” Drake asked, voice droll, eyes not on him but on 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 checked out. He had his eyes locked on his handler. Remi was in deep conversation with a female student—Navy—in 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 poor Remi had a crush on Drake and Drake used that knowledge to run the poor kid around by the…nose. Except 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 weird. 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 just 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 they were assigned to, but because they chose to. It was fascinating how quickly those relationships went from stranger to toxically codependent. 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 our 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. “Go ahead and open your envelopes.”