17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tyler

I 'm late. She's already gone.

She's not at the front. No light permeates from the door to her back room like there usually is during October. A light glow indicates bad things are happening in this cupcake shop.

Nothing now. It's dark. Pitch black.

Is she in my place then?

After ten minutes that she doesn't answer my texts or my calls, I know what's going on.

She's home. Baiting me.

Waiting for me to come to her instead of the other way around.

As I whip around and start for her apartment. Where she sleeps. Or, she might be up. Either way, I'll worship her body.

Fuck babies into her.

I'm that feral tonight, and nothing will stop me.

Unless she says no .

She won't say no.

Someone's behind me. No, not someone. Someones. Padding and nails scraping on pavement. A couple of short barks follow.

Never breaking a stride with my hands stuffed deep in my hoodie pockets, I twist my head to them.

Dogs. Five of them, trailing me.

None of them has a collar on.

The smallest of the bunch has a burn mark on his back. A tiny circle where there's skin instead of his light brown fur. The one who walks at the head of the pack is a medium-sized white dog. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he seems…happy?

So do the rest of them.

I recognize these strays. Have seen them around Dahlia's shop for as long as I've been stalking her.

The dogs wag their tails, and I realize something. They're not there to beg me for food. They're just energetic. Full of life.

Then it hits me, and I wonder how I've never noticed it before. They aren't like the rest of the strays. They have meat on their bones. Their fur looks healthy.

They're being fed.

Maybe Dahlia gives them treats. She'd do that. This woman who hates injustice. Who takes out the—human—trash.

The girl who threw herself on my grandma when she was dying. When her guts were spilled on the floor. Dahlia did her best to shove her intestines back inside. Even with cops bellowing and two bullets flying, and her brother getting shot, she stayed firm. Did everything she could to patch my grandmother back together .

Another block disappears behind me and I'm at her building. Where my beating heart waits for me.

The dogs have long since left. A man in a wool sweater and baseball cap bumps into me, his shoulder brushing mine. I don't recognize his face. He won't remember mine in the morning.

One bang on the fire escape and it drops for me. I curl my fingers around the rails and start moving up. Each step I climb, I shed another layer of my past behind me. Of the anger and guilt and fear. It's less painful to do it at night. Easier in the dark that embraces me like a warm blanket.

I think of Dahlia trying to help Ian, then my grandma.

I let go of the fact that we let Ian go in his fragile state and haven't searched for him.

We aren't Dahlia and Tyler in my head anymore. She's my unhinged Juliet. I'm her fucked-up Romeo.

Our love story is an impossible one. One riddled with tragedy. Loss. Pain.

So. Much. Gore.

The rail's steps creak beneath me. I shed the pain from my heart. Convince myself we'll have our happy ending. I'm going to cling to that. I'm going to keep clinging to that while being Dahlia's savior and protector for the rest of my goddamn life.

Inside the apartment, her scent hits me like a freight train. A blend of sugar and blood carries to me. Leads me into the sad excuse of a bedroom.

She deserves better. She'll have better. I'll make sure of that .

Hovering at the foot of her bed, I watch Dahlia. She's on her side, wearing the oversized The Nightmare Before Christmas T-shirt I gave her on the last Christmas we spent together. Hugging a pillow to her chest.

A pillow instead of me.

Jealousy swipes over me. Shoots up my spine. Burns my chest.

It's frying my brain cells, this illogical hatred for a pillow. Eating at my sanity.

There's no helping or controlling this, though.

That's how it usually goes. The moment my connection with the world begins to tether, it's impossible to stop it.

The snowball from hell.

Anger, resentment, and self-loathing join it. For the things I've done. For things I've allowed to happen.

Dahlia was there for my grandma when it should've been me. Ian was there for Dahlia even as he left burn marks on her neck, and I wasn't. My fear controlled my actions, and I left Dahlia for four years. I hurt her for four years.

Me.

My brow furrows. Fists clenched.

More than anything, I'm jealous. What the actual fuck.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Focus .

The right thing to do would be to take a few cleansing breaths. Talk myself down from this crazy ledge.

Fuck that.

Fuck that fucking pillow. Fuck being gentle .

Within seconds, I drop my shoulder bag and throw my clothes into a pile.

A strong, furious sense of possessiveness pounds inside my head. Bangs against my skull. The blood in my veins is hot and demanding.

The relentless, feral craving inside me has come alive.

My cock has never been harder. I stroke myself, roll my hips into my hand.

I need to fuck her. Be inside her. Watch her face contort with horror when she wakes up with my cock buried in her cunt. Or delight. Either will do.

I'll go slow at first. Try, at least. Fuck her with her eyes closed. Until she wakes up to the same pain that makes my bones ache. The pain that comes with loving her. With the constant worry of losing her.

That's what I do. I'm on her bed, kneeling beside her. Dahlia's grip on the pillow isn't a strong one, and I steal the offending object that set me off from her. Fuck this pillow.

She remains fast asleep when I toss it to the floor. Her eyelids are heavy on her blue eyes. Mouth slightly parted. Body still as I flip her on her back.

The black snake on her neck glares at me. It does nothing but infuriate me even more. Once, years ago, a heated knife was pressed to her skin. Twice. Until I put myself between it and her. I was too late.

Too late to protect what's mine.

What's always been mine.

If I wait another second, I'll eat her alive. Skin, flesh, muscles. I'll devour it all .

I'll devour her whole.

Fuck, that's tempting. Except I need her alive.

I put my hands on her instead of my teeth. Push her T-shirt up and over her tits. Lean in, flicking my tongue over one nipple, then the other. Making them hard for me.

She doesn't rouse. Doesn't stir. Not even when I spit on each one. Not even when I open my mouth.

They're damp and beautiful in the moonlight, and I can't help but graze them with my teeth. Just a little. Just enough to calm this beast inside of me.

Exhausted from murdering people for ten days in a row, Dahlia stays blissfully knocked out.

Her legs part for me next, soft and pliant as I push them farther apart. Arousal trickles down the inside of Dahlia's thighs from the attention I've given her tits. I still spit on her pretty, bare pussy, twice. Smear my saliva on her lips, shoving it inside her.

My soul rebels against the sweet strokes I'm giving her.

My soul thrives on the sick act of violating her in her sleep.

More.

I crawl up her body. Line myself between her thighs, right there, at her warm and wet entrance. The gates of hell. I hold my cock, push inside, and God. Fuck. I'm all the way in. Fully sated.

Balls fucking deep.

My face casts a shadow over hers. My teeth gnash together with how painful it is to take it slow. But she's sleeping and helpless and about to wake up to me . And that's worth something.

It's worth everything.

One stroke, two, three. Her walls tighten around me. Her pussy soaks my cock.

A movement in my periphery takes me from this moment. A hardly noticeable one. I keep rocking into Dahlia at the same slow, torturous pace as I cast my eyes to the right.

Dahlia's arm has moved and now it's stretched to the side. She must've done it in her sleep.

Doesn't matter. Either way, time to wake up. I drag my cock out, slowly, then slam back.

She's still out.

Before I repeat the motion, though, I realize she isn't.

She's very much awake when her hand flies in my direction. Something glints in the dark.

Then this something is pressed to my throat.

A knife.

Wicked blue eyes flash to me. Small fangs appear when she smiles.

"Hello, handsome."

The knife stays in place. She's threatening me.

She's about to pay for this.

Oh, is she going to pay for this.