16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tyler

" S ounds good, Tyler." Clint, my boss, wraps up our virtual conference. "I'll pass this on to our QA team to test out the new features."

His short black hair is a mess from running his hand through it one too many times. There are dark circles under his eyes.

That's what a director position in one of the leading online gaming companies gets you. Stress and anxiety. Sleep becomes a luxury when there are deadlines you have to meet.

Some would point out the fact that his compensation is worth it. A hefty salary, a shit ton of shares and health insurance should make up for the time he spends away from his family.

I'm not one of those people.

Money is a means to an end, as far as I'm concerned. A way to live a carefree life once I clock out for the day, where the night is mine .

Where I can have her.

Being a sleuth, keeping an eye out for New York's serial killers and killing some of them too, that's nice.

I could've lived without it. Easy.

Nothing, not a damn thing, would ever compensate me for a week of not stalking Dahlia. Of having to leave bed instead of feeling her warm body and soft breaths on me while she slept.

Three nights ago, Clint had a video conference with the East Asia branch in the middle of the night.

I got to have Dahlia snuggled in my arms.

Take your money. Take your expensive cars. Take your extensive health insurance.

Shove it up your ass. The only thing I've ever asked of Blazing Fire is to design a game instead of just coding it. Ever since, I just wanted to work. Get paid. Live my life.

And my life was Dahlia. It is Dahlia.

"Okay." My voice is clipped. Impatient. "We're done, then."

This conversation needs to end. Dahlia closed her shop less than two hours ago. She's killing someone. I'm going to be there for it. I'm going to be there for her.

No more hiding.

She's been visiting me late at night for two nights straight. Never sleeping over, no matter how many times I licked her into an orgasm. No matter how many times I told her I have to protect her by being under the same roof together.

A line was drawn in the sand .

You don't get to be a controlling asshole , she said. Not until I say so.

Clearly, it's a lie. What's happening is she's hiding herself from me. Being the sneaky killer she is. I haven't earned her trust yet, and that's on me.

So I let her. Because I'm the one who needs to prove himself to her. Show up at her shop. Prove to her by actions, not words, that I approve of her special brand of coping mechanism. That I'll help.

I'm ready for her. Ready for us. For whatever comes our way. I'll protect her with my own life. If her heart stops, I'll rip mine out and put it there instead. Or better yet. I'll follow her soul wherever it might go. And I sure as shit won't tell her to stop killing people.

This woman is so fucking perfect that it hurts.

"Hey, Tyler?"

"What?" Hang the fuck up, Clint.

"Everything okay?" Over the last couple of years, HR embedded this new bullshit protocol in our company.

Check up on your employees. Look at them as people and not just employees.

Four years ago, when I showed up to work unshaven and with bloodshot eyes, no one bothered to ask me what was wrong.

I don't need anyone to ask me, not anymore.

Don't care for their fake compassion.

Don't care for anything.

Liar.

You care for Dahlia. You love her .

Talking to myself doesn't surprise me anymore.

Yes, I care for her. Yes, I love her.

"The scratch marks on your face…" he keeps probing when I say nothing. "Want to talk about that?"

"Cut myself while shaving." Another lie. I don't shave my fucking cheekbones.

I won't talk about her. She's mine. My secret. My woman. My psycho.

Jesus fuck, would he just end the goddamn call?

"Good, you're smiling," my boss says. I leave that smile on, hoping it will appease him. That it'd cut this conversation short. "Great, then we'll catch up tomorrow."

"Great." The single word appeases both of us.

The video conference ends. It's quiet again.

First thing I do is turn off the overhead lights. Can't stand those, though they're a necessity. Gotta keep up that functioning member of society appearance. Normal people don't prefer the dark to the light because it makes them feel closer to a serial killer I obsess over. At least I don't think so.

I'm tempted to throw a hoodie over my Black Sabbath T-shirt, put my boots on, and go to Dahlia.

Except I'm too eager. Eager to watch her carrying a dead body. Eager to fuck her afterward. Choke her. Feel her nails on my cheeks, back, stomach. Take another one of her holes.

Too fucking eager. And eager people are prone to mistakes.

I could hurt her. Cause damage. Emotional or physical or both. I want that, but only when I have my shit together so I won't ruin her. Or us.

One thing never fails to take off the edge before I get out there and stalk her. I stand up, gripping the ledge of the dining table. Head bowed. Hair falling on my forehead. I have to wait it out. For her.

Going after other serial killers.

There's one in particular that caught my attention. A filthy blip on my radar. He has a pattern, same as the rest of them. His is a random one, but I see it nonetheless.

ImEverywhere . That's his username on FyndUsHere, one of the largest social media boards out there.

The posts appear on different boards whenever he's on the hunt.

My game. My rules.

Cryptic? More like a joke. It's been so overdone, yet here they are, doing the same thing others have done before them.

Still, he manages to get away with it. People disappear every time one of these messages pops up.

A Knicks fan disappeared nine months ago, a night after ImEverywhere 's message came up on the NBA board. That's how I found ImEverywhere . Call it a sixth sense, but I was drawn to that particular social media after that particular murder.

In April, a missing person's report was filed by one of the biggest modeling agencies. A woman who worked for them vanished, and guess what? My game. My rules was one of the messages posted on the fashion board a day before that.

A manager of a hedge fund this summer. My game. My rules was up there, a taunting message on the stock market board. One. Day. Before.

The pattern. The motherfucking pattern .

I haven't been able to track him down. I can't stalk everyone in finance in the city, just like I can't have eyes on every model, or Wall Street asshole.

What I do is the next best thing. I warn them.

My eyes skim through the top boards ImEverywhere hasn't picked on yet.

Music , movies , travel .

It takes the edge off, just like I hoped it would. The wires in my brain aren't as fried.

This way, I'll be as levelheaded as I can when I'm with her. I'll fuck her without losing myself. I'll be in charge. I'll own her.

She won't have any doubts when I'm balls deep inside her. She'll know I'm okay. That I won't let fear rip us apart again.

My game. My rules. There that is. A message in humor from today.

Conceited motherfucker.

Was that what Dahlia did? Stalked meand caught me killing people? Does she know I know about her?

I'll worry about that later. For now, I worry about her. It's past midnight, and she's not here yet, in my home. In my arms.

It could only mean one thing. She's still at the shop.

I'll go over there to meet her, and she'll have me, whether she likes it or not.

Once I'll warn the citizens of New York.

Readers and critters,

Tonight, I won't discuss our October Killer. Not because I've lost them—I haven't.

Another predator is on the loose. An elusive one. One I've had my eye on for a while .

I admit, I have no idea who they are. I will say this one thing: if you're out there, laughing and holding your bellies at a standup comedy club, watch your back. Don't walk home alone. Don't ride a cab or an Uber by yourself.

He'll be on the prowl tomorrow. I can guarantee it.

You are not safe.

I repeat. You. Are. Not. Safe.

Until later,

CTCyfrin.

The second I hit send, a comment pops up. I expect Watcher1988 to have something clever to say.

Instead, I get this. My game. My rules.

The fucker follows my blog.

Before this month, I would've seethed at his challenge. Would've done everything in my power to lure him out of the shadows. The primal need to destroy him, to bury a knife through his chest, it would've been too great.

Many years ago, holding back cost me a life. Many lives. I let a killer go, and ever since, my subconscious has been working hard to make up for that mistake. Even when I don't want to, I do it.

But there's no compulsion when it comes to ImEverywhere .

Not anymore

Dahlia is a part of my life again.

And I…

Fuck.

I thought I was getting better. But there it is. That itch. That violent urge that won't let go. It's messing with my head.

My vision blurs around the edges.

I'm the opposite of calm. Thinking about going to see her has turned me into a madman. I'm a storm of need and wrath and I have to have her.

Dahlia .

Own her. Take her.

Tonight and in the next thousand years.

I guess she'll have to accept the broken man I am. The monster I've become.

And I'll have to try not to suffocate her with how much I need her.

With my bag slung over my shoulder and the special gift I have just for her, I'm out the door.

I'm going to my woman.