Black Psychopath Novels & Stories

He said grinning and then added, "Sometimes. A psychopath can be a loyal husband and a lover, a good father and everything that you dream about. Just don't peek into their basement." "Guess you forgot to add that they are also pathological liars and lack empathy." I watched his jaw tighten and his dark chocolate brown eyes staring at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking from his expressions but I sure as hell knew I'd said the right thing to tick him off. And why exactly was I finding pleasure by stepping on his foot? Just when I thought things had taken the wrong turn, his expressions mellowed. I decided to tease him further. "So which type of psychopath are you? Hannibal Lecter or Patr

Dominique managed to question him despite the searing pain oozing from every pore of his skin. Dylan tsked, “So many questions. All right this time I wouldn’t disappoint you. But we will go with the second part first, hmm. Now tell me have you heard about ‘The Black’?” Dominique quirked a brow at his absurd question. Nevertheless answered. “Of course, I know. He is the psychopathic Mafia Lord of America, Leader of the Night Stalkers.” He grated out. “Ouch,” Dylan feigned a hurt expression and placed his palm over his heart.

If the ghosts pressed their palms to the glass every night waiting for someone to listen. “You think I’m lying?” Jake asked. He sounded calm. Too calm. “You think you’re special? That he loves you? He doesn’t love anything. He’ll break you because that’s what he does. He had tried to kill me once. He was diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder. He's basically a psychopath.” Jake sat beside me. Leaned forward. His forehead touched mine. Warm. Steady. Good. Everything Hayden wasn’t. “Promise me… Promise you won’t let him get near you again.”

This man is sending me on a suicide mission and he knows it. That's utterly impossible. “It's exactly what you're thinking Adrian. Get the job done.” He states, not a single emotion crossing his face. “This is the same thing as asking me to kill myself. Nobody can get to this man.” I've heard rumors about him. Nikolai Rostov. The most ruthless man in the whole of Russia. Каратель ( The punisher ) That’s what they call him and I know that he shouldn’t be dwelt with.

He had read up on her in the file - her interests, her habits, her daily routine. Her fetish was interesting. According to a part of the file, it read: the subject possesses a tremendous affinity for mental and physical dominance and exhibits exceptional skills in subduing men she deems powerful. Black Hound dressed the part and looked the part. The kind of power she wanted, he had no idea but he knew that his power was lethal and it worked for him. He had mastered the art of manipulation, effortlessly swaying people to his will. However, he was cautious of the woman driving. She was a psychopathic and unpredictable woman.

"Your Honor, the psychological evaluation report on Ronald Werther's youngest son, Thomas Werther, has been completed. I believe this report has significant bearing on the nature of this case." The judge permitted him to speak. The psychiatrist took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the courtroom before finally landing on the gaunt, hollow figure in the defendant's box. "After joint consultations among multiple specialists and brain scan comparisons, we have reached a very rare but definitive conclusion." The psychiatrist paused and enunciated each word clearly, "Thomas Werther suffers from an extremely severe, congenital case of Antisocial Personality Disorder. In layman's terms, he i

Just a few minutes after Zeden had left, I’d headed straight to the bathroom, needing the hot water to wash away the smell of the warehouse still clinging to my skin. I was sure he wouldn’t stay for breakfast after our fight. That was my small luck. I wouldn’t have to see his face and be reminded of what he’d done. He’s a total jerk. A psychopath. A cold, calculating bastard who gets off on control and fear. He thrives on breaking people down until they’re nothing but trembling shadows in his hands. He doesn’t feel remorse. He just rearranges the world until it bends to his will, and if it doesn’t, he destroys it.

Reena asked angrily, her eyes brimming with fire, but Beth’s countenance changed in the next second. “He is Mason Thorne, also known as the Underboss, and he is dangerous, that one, a pure psychopath. And if he claims anybody as his, then it is so, nobody questions him or what he does to them. He could mutilate them as he pleases and no one would say a fucking word, that is until the boss interferes, which is never. He never likes what his brother touches, nor does he ever try to save them.” Beth explained and Reena felt her blood run cold. Psychopath? Mutilate? “What are you saying?” Reena asked softly, but Beth shrugged, a small smirk on her bloody lips. “You my friend, are on your way to

“You see, I don't think you know who Antonio is..I just want to help you out” “I am sorry…what do you mean help me out,I don't remember asking for help,I am not in trouble”. “Antonio is …a bipolar…a psychopath…crazy whatever that is related to a mental illness, he may be perfect now but trust me it won't be for long”. Angela watched her take a sip from her wine glass, a bit offended by her statement. She shifted uncomfortably and looked around before asking. “You called me here to warn me about my man?”

Typical Beverly. Mirabella sighed and looked at her friend. “You are not supposed to smile right now.” “I’m sorry, but come on!” Beverly said, waving her hands dramatically. “That’s like straight out of a dark romance novel. The big bad ruthless and handsome Mafia lord who takes what he wants, who’s all dominant and sinful—girl, it’s wild!” “It’s not wild, Bev. It’s traumatic.” Mirabella gave her a flat stare, rubbing her forehead as though the whole conversation was giving her a headache all over again. “You’re so impossible, Bev.”