The Sociopath's Vow: Blood for Blood

I hit thirteen the day the dark water swallowed Rosalie. Her new husband, Holden, and her fake bestie, Leighton, orchestrated the whole deadly scuba trip.

They drained my sister's trust fund and jumped right into playing the perfect family. Cold sweat drenches Leighton as she snaps awake.

Her knuckles turn white around the bedsheets. "Holden." "I swear I just saw Rosalie! She floats right over the bed and drills her eyes into me!" Holden pulls her close.

A chuckle vibrates his chest. "Babe, she died. Stop gaslighting yourself. Rosalie acted like a total doormat. She lacks the spine to haunt anyone. Relax." A smirk stretches my lips.

How could she skip haunting them? I walk this earth as the living ghost. Time to collect their blood debt. Chapter 1 Rosalie basked in honeymoon bliss.

When she finalized the itinerary with her new husband, I planted myself across the room. I drilled a stare into her skull. "Rosalie, you won't be happy. Don't go. Divorce him.

Now." She raised me from day one. She knew the darkness crawling under my skin. Still, she flinched when she spun around and caught my stare. But she loved me.

She made excuses for me. She always guided me back from the edge. The terror in Rosalie’s eyes dissolved.

She crouched down, her fingers brushing a stray curl behind my ear. "Sloane, stop this. He's my husband. He's family.

Just give him a chance, okay?" I clenched my fists to stop the tremors. This was Rosalie. My only blood. The only person who ever gave a damn about me.

Our parents took one look at me in the cradle and saw a freak. Rosalie was barely twenty. She fought them. She kept me. She wrapped me in fierce protection. I owed her my obedience.

I kept the monster locked down for years, hiding the parts of me that made her sick. Like skinning a mewling stray without blinking.

Chasing that electric shiver up my spine as the light faded from its eyes. But right then? My blood burned for that old rush. Rosalie belonged to me. Now she divided her heart.

She shielded Holden. She took his side. She bulldozed right over my chest to protect him. I craved the copper tang of blood on my tongue. No. I dug my nails into my own thigh.

The sharp sting yanked me back to reality. I couldn't slip. Rosalie would hate it. The feral glint in my eyes betrayed me. Rosalie's pupils blew wide.

Her fingers tightened around my bicep for a split second before she let go, dragging me into a bonecrushing hug. "Sloane, don't be scared. I'm not going anywhere. You're my girl.

I've always got you." Rosalie was delusional. She held me. She rubbed circles into my spine until dawn, just to buy her ticket onto that plane with him. She stayed awake.

I faked steady breathing. She wanted this trip. I let her have it. She ignored my warnings. She packed her bags. One month later, she came back in a body bag.

I stood over the freezing stainless steel table. Purple skin, pink, frothy sludge packing her throat, and mud caking her teeth.

Her stomach bulged against the body bag, bloated from gallons of ocean water. My gorgeous sister. Ruined. Her eyes bulged from their sockets. Her lips peeled back. Swollen.

Monstrous. Unrecognizable. Bile crawled up my throat. I warned her. I told her not to get on that plane with him. Why didn't she listen? I should have locked her in the basement.

My chest heaved. I cemented my shoes to the linoleum. My nails dug hard into my palms, breaking the skin.

Holden yanked me backward by the collar, dragging me out into the blinding fluorescent hallway. "Sloane, stop. Rosalie is gone. Let her rest. The cops cleared it.

She slipped off the deck. It was a freak accident. We're all grieving." Holden towered over me. On a normal day, I barely reached his sternum.

Right now, he hunched over, forcing a pathetic, hollow sorrow into his eyes. I stared straight into his fake grief. Playing the victim was just too damn easy.

Chapter 2 If only I hadn't given Rosalie so many reasons to worry. A switch flipped inside my brain.

I stretched my lips into a sicklysweet smile—one Rosalie had barely seen in my thirteen years. "I understand, Holden." The rapid click of stilettos against the hardwood abruptly stopped as Leighton froze midstride.

She stared at me like I was a literal ghost. "Sloane, have you completely lost your mind? Did Rosalie’s death fry your brain circuits? Why are you talking like that?

Did your little psycho disorder magically cure itself? You're playing normal now?" I absorbed information like a sponge.

I flashed my dimples. "Leighton, I’ve always been just like you guys." Just like you. Monsters. Actually, I was so much worse.

Leighton’s jaw hit the floor, looking like she had just swallowed a fly. "Look who finally learned how to speak," she scoffed. "Figured out Rosalie is dead and no one is left to babysit you?

Is that why you’re sucking up? So much for that rare antisocial personality disorder.

Guess being a psycho can be cured overnight." Leighton shoved my shoulder hard. "You’re repulsive. Looking into your eyes is like watching maggots squirm.

It makes my skin crawl." I stumbled back a few steps, my rubber soles squeaking against the floor, and caught my balance. Perfect. I hoped she kept this exact, vicious energy.

Otherwise, I wouldn't know exactly how many times harder she needed to bleed and struggle than that stray kitten before I felt utterly satisfied.

I lounged on the living room sofa, crossing my ankles. I feigned absolute fascination as a pink cartoon pig snorted across the flat screen. I was thirteen.

I had no idea why Holden insisted on playing this toddler garbage for me. Psychopathy meant my empathy switch was permanently broken, not my actual brain.

I didn't need this brainrotting trash to kill time. Actually, as a diagnosed sociopath, my IQ tested off the charts. But I didn't mind playing the braindead orphan.

Mirroring Holden’s little performance was too easy.

Through the crack in the master bedroom door, Leighton’s shrill, suppressed voice bled into the hallway. "Why the hell did you bring her back here? Dump her at the old house!

Or just lock her in a psych ward! Doesn't having that freak breathing our air make you sick?" Holden blew out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "Leighton, Rosalie just died.

Her lawyers and the vultures are watching my every move. Half of them already think I murdered my wife for the trust fund.

If I kick her psycho sister to the curb right now, I’m practically handing them ammunition." Leighton groaned, her heels pacing the floorboards. "She’s a massive liability, Holden.

Let’s just move to Europe. Nobody knows us there. Nobody will gossip. And… if what we did ever actually leaks, we’ll be untouchable overseas.

No extradition." "Keep your damn voice down!" Holden snapped. "We never speak of this again. Not even when it's just us. You swallow that shit and take it to the grave.

Remember the script. Rosalie slipped. She fell off the damn deck and drowned. It was a tragic accident, and our hands are clean!" The bedroom door slammed shut.

The deadbolt clicked. It instantly cut off the sound of their voices—the sickening conversation that made my blood boil until my veins physically throbbed against my temples.

Just as the pink cartoon pigs on the flat screen started to blur together in my bored vision, the bedroom door swung open again. Chapter 3 Leighton led the way.

A sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face. "Sloane, sweetie. You're going to live here from now on. This is your home.

Since you're a certified psycho and still a minor, Holden has to be your legal guardian.

And as Rosalie's absolute best friend, I'm going to take such good care of you." Leighton waited for my reaction.

She genuinely thought I was oblivious to the fact that she had been screwing Holden behind my sister's back. I was thirteen. Just one year away from being legally tried as an adult.

I knew everything. I stared at her botoxstiffened face and suppressed a sigh. She was hideous. A total downgrade from Rosalie. Holden wasn't just morally bankrupt—he was blind.

He threw away perfection for this wicked witch. How should I tear him apart? Maybe I'd gouge out his useless eyeballs first and flush them down the toilet.

He clearly didn't need them anyway. Holden caught my deadpan stare.

He shifted his weight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sloane, Leighton is just completely wrecked over your sister. Her wording is a little blunt right now.

Don't take it personally. She was Rosalie's best friend, after all." "She has the emotional capacity of a braindead brat," Leighton scoffed.

She rolled her eyes at Holden and stood up. "Forget it. I told you talking to her is a waste of oxygen. She's a total psycho.

You talk to her, and she just stares at a wall." "Fine, we skip Europe. But we are leaving this city." Leighton dropped her voice. "I'm going to start showing soon.

We need to get that marriage license immediately." Leighton strutted toward the foyer, dragging her manicured nails down Holden's chest.

Her fingers hooked around his silk tie, pulling him flush against her. "You promised me a massive wedding. Don't forget." My dark, hollow eyes tracked them.

They stopped in the entryway, practically glued together. Leighton was knocked up with Holden's kid. And Rosalie's death had their bloody fingerprints all over it.

A violent, electric thrill spiked through my veins. Perfect. Now Rosalie wouldn't be mad at me. She wouldn't scold me for hurting innocent creatures.

These two were as far from innocent as it gets. Whenever I dissected the neighborhood strays, Rosalie used to break down and sob. But these two were animals.

Rosalie would never shed a tear for them. I shrugged. The time for playing the docile orphan was over. It was time to start the real fun. Leighton never left the apartment.

The air in the foyer thickened. The space between them vanished. Holden's breathing hitched, turning ragged and heavy.

I heard the wet friction of a kiss, the frantic rustle of fabric sliding up her thighs. They were practically tearing each other's clothes off right there.

They stumbled toward the master bedroom, trying and failing to hide their animalistic desperation from me. What were they doing? I'll say it again.

I lacked empathy, not basic intelligence. I knew exactly what kind of filthy, sweaty acts they were about to commit behind that locked door. Pure rage bubbled in my gut.

And I was starving. I marched to the kitchen and hauled a thick slab of raw beef out of the fridge. I knew exactly how to snap a living spine.

I knew the precise angle to butcher a warm carcass into perfect, thick cuts. But I had zero clue how to cook it.

When the hunger used to claw at my stomach, I would just rip the raw flesh apart with my bare teeth. I'd chew the bloody muscle and force it down. It kept me alive.

But Rosalie caught me once. Her face crumpled. Guilt completely shattered her. She swore she would never let her job distract her from feeding me ever again.

Seeing the tears well up in her eyes always gave me a pounding headache. So, I completely stopped touching bloody, raw meat.

Chapter 4 My stomach violently rejected the raw, cold texture. It had been way too long. I stood right at the foot of their bed. Two pale, sweaty bodies writhed under the sheets.

I tore a chunk of raw beef with my teeth. My face contorted. I swallowed hard, forcing the rising bile back down my throat. Leighton saw me first.

A bloodcurdling shriek ripped from her lungs. "Oh my god! A ghost!" She never stopped screaming. It grated on my eardrums.

I debated snapping her neck right then and there just to buy some silence. The bloody slab of meat slipped from my fingers. It slapped against the hardwood.

I wiped the crimson smear from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Leighton. You're giving me a headache. Shut up." Her jaw snapped shut.

She scrambled backward, dragging the duvet up to her chin and cowering behind Holden. Her manicured nails dug nervously into his bare skin. "You said you locked the door!

How the hell did she get in?!" Holden panicked. He clawed around for his pants, but left his slacks in the hallway in his pathetic rush.

He yanked the blankets over his bare skin, shrinking back next to Leighton. "Sloane, get out. Are you hungry? Just step outside. I'll make you something right now." I didn't blink.

I stood perfectly still. My hollow stare locked dead onto Leighton's wide, terrified eyes peeking over Holden's shoulder. Total silence.

Leighton lost her mind. "What is wrong with this absolute freak?! Rosalie treated her like some fragile little angel. Looking at her makes me want to vomit! Kick her out, Holden!

I don't care what the lawyers say. They have zero proof! If you don't throw her out, I'm leaving.

I can't breathe the same air as this psycho!" Holden dragged his hands down his sweaty face. "Sloane. Be a good girl. Wait outside." I stayed anchored to the floor.

Slowly, I stuck my tongue out. I caught a loose thread of raw, bloody sinew clinging to my lip and dragged it into my mouth. Someone gasped.

Then, Leighton let out a gutwrenching wail. "My baby… Oh my god, the baby!" Holden’s face drained of color.

He scrambled off the mattress, completely naked, hovering over her in sheer panic. That was when the giggle bubbled up my throat. I clapped my hands.

Chunks of raw meat and wet blood fell from my teeth. Both of them froze. Holden broke out in a cold sweat. Leighton’s pupils practically vibrated with terror.

They slowly turned their heads to stare at me. Holden swallowed hard. The sound echoed in the quiet room. "Yeah.

We can't keep her." The wailing sirens completely shattered the dead silence of the penthouse as the paramedics hauled Leighton away.

The ER doctor confirmed the miscarriage had absolutely nothing to do with a sudden shock. But they blamed me for the miscarriage anyway. Leighton lay hooked up to an IV.

She looked like a washedout corpse against the stark white hospital sheets. Holden walked through the door, and she forced herself upright. "Holden. It's gone.

Our baby is gone." She pointed a violently shaking finger straight at me. "It's her fault. She's a literal monster!" I tilted my head.

In that exact moment, Leighton looked exactly like the strays I used to corner in the alley. Pure, raw terror. Suffocating despair. Waiting for the absolute end.

But still fighting back with a few pathetic, useless thrashings just to delay the inevitable. A dark thought bloomed in my mind. Leighton was going to be my new favorite toy.

Her trembling finger slowly dropped. "What…" Her voice cracked. "What are you smiling at?" A psychotic break fractured her composure. "Stop staring at me like that, Sloane!

You're sick! You're totally out of your mind! Get out! Get the hell out!" Leighton grabbed a plastic water pitcher. She hurled it at my head. Then a tissue box. Then her phone.

She screamed until her vocal cords shredded. Fat, ugly tears streamed down her blotchy cheeks. Absolute terror. Lethal hatred. Pure, visceral disgust.

They all swirled together in her bloodshot eyes. Chapter 5 Holden finished rubbing Leighton’s shoulders. He pivoted, dropping a heavy, exhausted stare on me. "Sloane.

Rosalie is dead. My ties to her are severed. Even when she was alive, she had zero legal obligation to raise you. I kept my mouth shut because she was my wife. But she’s gone.

Keeping you here is a huge favor, not a requirement. It's either the foster system or a state psychiatric facility. Take your pick." Of course he wanted to dump me.

But I studied the deep, dark bags under his eyes. Past the fake exhaustion, a sickeningly clear emotion leaked through his pupils. Relief. Why was he thrilled? The baby was dead.

He was actually celebrating the miscarriage. My brain clicked, rewinding to the whispers bleeding through their bedroom door earlier.

Leighton had sounded hesitant. "Holden, are you sure? I’m barely two months along. The doctor said the first trimester is highrisk.

Let me just use my hand." And Holden’s response? "You get me all worked up and now you want to back out? Relax. I’ll be gentle. It’s our baby.

I’d never hurt it." Total clarity slammed into me. Holden didn't just want to throw me in the trash. He wanted to scrape Leighton off his shoe, too. But I couldn't let him do that.

Holden drained Rosalie's life. He hijacked her trust fund. He swallowed her company whole. He used her bloody money to buy this brandnew penthouse.

How could he just throw away her little sister? I blinked up at him. "Holden. Rosalie says she doesn't want me to leave. She wants you to keep me.

And she told me to ask you a question. Did you forget the promise you made her?" Holden’s spine snapped straight. "What the hell did you just say?

When did she tell you to ask me that?" I wiped my face perfectly blank, perfectly mimicking a clueless, innocent kid. "Right now.

Right here in this room." A bloodcurdling scream ripped through Leighton’s throat. "She's back! Oh my god, she's actually here! Rosalie, why won't you just leave me alone?!

You're dead! Stay dead! Why are you doing this to me?!" No wonder Holden packed up their old house so damn fast.

They were terrified Rosalie's ghost would crawl out of the walls and choke them in their sleep. But that was impossible. Only Rosalie’s bloated, ruined body came back in that bag.

Her soul was still trapped at the bottom of the freezing ocean. If she was free, I wouldn't constantly see her in my head, screaming about the biting cold.

Begging me to tear them apart and collect her blood debt. Leighton thrashed against the mattress like a cornered rat.

Holden’s face completely drained of blood, turning a sickly, ashen gray. A vicious thrill spiked my pulse. The game was officially on.

And I was going to snap my new toys into a million jagged pieces. "Sloane, stop talking crazy." Holden’s voice trembled. "Rosalie is ashes. We buried her. She's resting in peace.

Nothing is going to happen…" He aimed the words at me, but his volume dropped to a frantic, breathy whisper. He was desperately trying to convince himself.

My lips stretched into a massive, unnatural grin. "Nope. Rosalie says she's trapped.

She can't leave." "Shut up!" Leighton lunged off the bed, her palm cracking across my jaw. "You shameless little freak! We told you we're throwing you out!

Why the hell are you still clinging to us like a parasite?!" The loudest dogs are always the most terrified.

Between bleeding out her pregnancy and my little ghost story, Leighton’s fragile sanity was completely fracturing.

I shoved down the stinging heat in my cheek and forced my bottom lip to quiver in a fake pout. "I came back because he's my brotherinlaw. But what's your excuse?

Why are you sleeping in his bed?" I tilted my head, locking eyes with her. "Who's the real parasite here, Leighton?" Chapter 6 Leighton froze.

Holden opened his mouth, scrambling for a quick lie, but Leighton cut right through it. "Forget it," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at me. "Why bother hiding it from the freak?

Let's just lay it all out. Holden and I have been together for years. I knew him way before Rosalie even entered the picture." A sick, triumphant thrill danced in her pupils.

She was actually bragging. My brain snapped the puzzle pieces together. They orchestrated the entire damn setup. They intentionally planted Holden in my sister's life.

A dark, electric hum vibrated against my ribs. The game just leveled up. Later that night, the shower roared down the hall. I crept into the bedroom.

Leighton clutched her flat stomach, looking like a wrungout rag on the mattress. "Leighton," I tilted my head. "Are you and Holden sharing a bed tonight?" She barely wanted to look at me.

Her heavy eyelids fluttered. "Stop calling him your brotherinlaw.

He severed ties with your dead sister a long time ago." I happily played along, my voice dripping with sugary innocence. "Okay! Is Holden coming to your bed after his shower?

I heard his phone buzzing. He was definitely texting his side piece. Holden said you're absolutely filthy right now. He said you smell like cheap copper and rotting blood.

He said you're repulsive." I made that last part up, obviously. But Holden definitely wanted to toss Leighton in the trash. The logic was simple.

Reason one: His hands were infinitely dirtier. They had butchered my sister together.

Now that he secured the estate, he needed to scrub the only surviving witness from his perfect new life. Reason two: Once a cheater, always a cheater.

He definitely had a side piece. I watched Leighton's fragile ego splinter. Pushing the cheating angle was the absolute fastest way to detonate her sanity.

Leighton turned bonewhite. She lunged off the mattress. Her bare feet tangled in the heavy duvet, and she stumbled, crashing hard into the doorframe.

The bathroom door clicked open. Holden strolled out, furiously rubbing a towel through his damp hair. His other hand gripped his phone.

A stupid, selfsatisfied smirk lingered on his lips. Leighton detonated. "Holden!

How could you?!" She shrieked. "Who the hell is she?!" She pointed a violently shaking finger at his chest. "You absolute bastard! You only have this penthouse because of me!

You finally get your hands on the money, and you're already screwing around?!" Not because of her. Because of Rosalie.

But her screaming confession just cemented her as the root cause of my sister's murder. I dragged the corners of my mouth down, faking a dramatic, trembling pout. "Holden!

I hate Leighton! She's a total bitch! She told me I can't call you my brotherinlaw anymore! Kick her out!" I played the obnoxious, unhinged brat flawlessly.

And I handed Holden the exact weapon he needed. He instantly dropped his guilty flinch.

He hardened his jaw, glaring at Leighton with pure disgust. "Leighton, if you're going to act like a paranoid psycho, maybe we should just end this.

I'm prepping for the move to the new city anyway. We need a serious break." Leighton’s already fractured mind snapped. "End this? You want to dump me?!

Don't you dare!" Her wild eyes snagged on the stainless steel fruit knife resting on the nightstand. Her fingers coiled around the hilt. She lunged straight for Holden's chest.

They held each other's dirty little secrets in a total chokehold. If one went down, the other was coming with them