24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tyler

W hen I showed up at Dahlia's shop to walk her home, she was already outside, waiting for me on the sidewalk.

The second she saw me, she ran into my open arms with a wide smile. She smelled of copper, bleach, and a hint of something citrusy.

Her lips were red again. I ruined it for the second time that night at home. Devoured her in my living room, then in my shower.

I ignored the warning bells in my head.

Fate could be cruel. Fate could come to try me.

While I rubbed soap into every inch of her body—while I cleaned the dried blood beneath her fingernails—I decided I'd had it.

If someone or something ever tried separating us, I'll be ready. No man, woman, or any other being could take her from me. Dahlia could snap like Ian had and raise a knife to my throat, and I'd welcome it. I'd fuck her hard, spank her to tears. I'll even let her cut me.

I'd done that. I liked it.

Other than that, all I could do was stalk her. Make sure she has everything she needs. That she's healthy and well and no freak accident will rip her from me.

Even when she's back at work, like she is this morning.

But death? One of us going while the other stayed on this planet?

Fuck no. That wouldn't happen.

Worst case is I'd follow her to the depths of hell. I wouldn't hesitate for a second.

My eyes scan my empty apartment, though I'm not alone. Wherever Dahlia is, whatever she's doing, she's mine.

The tattoo on her breast says asmuch. As well as the chastity belt I put on her this morning.

And I'm hers.

She made sure I won't ever forget that or her either—as if I could—leaving me a coffee cake on the counter and three yellow Post-its glued around the apartment. Quotes from "Think of Me" from Phantom of the Opera were her choice for today.

The first line is written on the Post-it on the dining table where I do most of my work

Second one is on the coffee table in the living room.

Third on the fridge.

The way I'm obsessed with her can't be healthy. Can't be stopped .

It's worse than before. Better than before. Dahlia Valentine is a cold I don't ever want to recover from.

The thought has my lips ticking up. The screen of my laptop has to be shocked at the gesture. I can count on one hand the number of times it's witnessed me wearing a genuine smile.

This time, I'm not going to fuck this up. Nothing is going to fuck it up.

Remember the last time you were that happy?

The stupid voice to fuck me over. I won't let it.

I won't.

Just to tell that voice how much I don't care what it says, I go back to when we were happy. To the months between her eighteenth birthday and…Ian.

To spite it.

Because I can do it. I can remember and I'll be fine.

"Well?" Dahlia screamed. Pinched my forearm for emphasis.

We were standing next to the counter in her kitchen. Aromas of vanilla, strawberries, and melted butter permeated the air. I didn't think I could ever get these scents off me. Didn't want to.

I chewed on the strawberry cupcake slower than I normally would. Watching Dahlia squirm had been one of my guilty pleasures for the past few weeks. It'd been feeding my wild fantasies of how she'd look when I finally pounded into her.

The twelve-year age gap made little difference to me by then.

I loved her. Loved her as the woman she'd become.

She'd graduate soon. Stop renting her parents' shop and become a business owner. Walk with her head held high toward the bright future that was waiting for her.

A fresh start .

I was so proud of her. I was honored to be the first person to taste her cupcakes, too.

And I could've told her all her cupcakes were perfect.

Except teasing her was much more entertaining.

For the time being. Just until the right time. Then I'd pin her to the wall and kiss the living fuck out of her. Tease her by licking her pussy slowly, softly. I wanted her to beg for me, even back then.

"Hello, asshole?" She shoved at my chest. I felt that all the way down to my balls. "What do you say? Good? Bad? So gross that the trash would be insulted if I threw it there?"

"Not sure." My eyes swallowed up the flush on her cheeks. Her round cheeks. Gone were the months when Al starved her. She lived in her family's apartment, but I brought her groceries at least twice a week. Made sure she ate. "You had better."

She did not, in fact, have better ones. The cupcake was messing with my head, the sweet taste lingering on my tongue. She baked a masterpiece.

"No." Her lips gaped, eyebrows rising to her hairline. Her eyes jumped between me and the cupcake. She wondered if I'm teasing her. Wouldn't be the first time I did that. "No."

At the sight of her flushed cheeks and the disbelief on her face, I thought of something. I'd keep teasing her. Not to get under her skin.

To look for signs. Check whether she was still into me.

A year ago, my mind started wrapping around the fact that she was growing into a woman. She'd been off-limits back then.

The law hadn't scared me. I'd have gone to prison for life for Dahlia .

It was her innocence I protected. Too much of it had been stripped away for me. I had no right to demand she gave me a piece of herself when she wasn't ready.

A year has gone by. I could have this woman now. Thing was, it'd been a few months since she demanded that I touch her.

"Come. Try for yourself." We were already less than two feet apart in her tiny kitchen area. I needed more, so I kept the cupcake close to my chest. "Something's missing. You tell me what."

Nothing was missing.

She bit the corner of her mouth. Sucked on it. A thousand questions chased one after the other in her blue eyes. I said nothing. Didn't move a muscle as I held the cupcake up for her.

The moment, for lack of a better description, was cute. Fluffy, in a sense. Unlike now.

Tension pulsed between us, sure. Neither of us was innocent back then. My heart would never be the same after witnessing the abuse Dahlia went through. Hers was that of a warrior. Of a survivor.

We were, however, more…pure in a sense. Our desires revolved around pastries, work, and our twisted version of a family. She'd never stopped thinking about Ian. I'd never stopped being her guardian.

We dared to have hope.

"Come here," I repeated, quirking an eyebrow. "I won't bite."

I most definitely would.

My eyes raked over her bright orange T-shirt. Over the Edward Scissorhands apron I'd gifted her for her last birthday. I lingered on every flour splotch, every frosting smear. Gazed lower to her ripped jeans and her bare toes .

"I'll bite back," she threatened, her expression dead serious. I had no doubt she would. "Consider yourself warned."

"Just come over here." A low laugh burst past my lips when she scowled at me. Crazy and beautiful. That was her, and I fucking loved that. "You can bite me all you like after."

Her breathing hitched at that. In two steps, she was so close she had to tilt her head up to see me. More red burst on her cheeks. Her breaths slowed. Her hand went to the cupcake.

I shook my head. Her hand dropped. Just like that.

She was mine.

"Open up," I meant to say, but whispered instead, my voice hoarse.

Her lips parted the tiniest bit. Her sweet tongue rested on her bottom lip, ready for the cupcake.

For me.

"That's it." My jeans felt tight at the groin. "Bite, Dahlia."

We were both eager for this moment. Too eager that I moved the cupcake her way the moment she inched her face toward me.

Strawberry frosting and cupcake connected to her mouth. Got smeared all around it. I doubted a bite of it actually made its way past her lips.

The accident ruined the moment and created another one instead. Dahlia and I were wide-eyed for a second before we burst out laughing.

I placed the cupcake on the counter. Dahlia lifted her forearm to wipe her mouth.

"Now, little savage." My fingers curled around her wrist. The skin on her forearm broke in goosebumps I pretended to ignore. There would be time for us. I had to take it slow. "Don't you want to taste your cupcake? See what's missing?"

Her pulse jackhammered beneath the pads of my fingers. She gazed at the floor, then up at me beneath her eyelashes. "I'm a mess. I have to clean this."

"Let me help." Using two fingers, I collected the smashed cupcake from Dahlia's bottom lip and the area under it. Pressed my fingers to the tip of her tongue. "Here. Taste."

She wrapped her lips around me. Licked me. Fucking sucked.

I suppressed a groan. The blood surging to my cock didn't help my situation one fucking bit.

Stopping wasn't an option either, though. I pushed my fingers farther in, behind her teeth, nearly reaching her throat.

"Lips. Closed. Tighter," I grunted.

She did. Closed her eyes. Sucked me harder. Moaned.

This wasn't the right moment to tell her I wanted her. Couldn't be in a small, cramped kitchen. I couldn't say that in the same space where her piece of shit uncle abused her.

It was wrong.

So before I replaced my fingers with my tongue, I pulled out. Took a step back.

"Figured out what's missing?"

"Nothing." Dahlia's voice was hoarse.

"Your funeral." I joked. Bantering like we used to was easier. It was safe .

Dahlia seemed to agree, even though I didn't say a word. She grabbed a fistful of frosting and threw it on my black T-shirt. We laughed again. Things were supposed to be lighter between us after that .

Truth was, they weren't. The need for her never stopped. It'd rested in the pit of my stomach every single day.

My hand balls into a fist on the dining table. My eyes squint at the looming evening just outside my window.

Back then, I shouldn't have waited. I know that now. A kiss from her would've changed everything. It did when I went to see her again. A switch flipped within me. A glimmer of hope. A reason to fight.

The second I had my lips on her—when she kissed me back—I was ready to slay dragons. I'm sure it would've had the same effect over four years ago.

I would've watched the horrifying results of Ian's breakdown. Would've mourned the senseless death of my grandma.

But instead of pushing Dahlia away, I would've kept her close. With her lips and arms and warmth, she would've reminded me that the safest place for Dahlia was with me.

The sound of my fist punching the table echoes in the silent apartment. Bounces on the walls. Lands inside my heart.

Being angry over the past is useless, I remind myself. I'm here for her now. I'm hers.

And tonight, I'm finally going to witness her murdering a person.

Jesus fuck, I'm hard just thinking about it. I'll fuck my hand soon. When I watch her.

The clock on my laptop says it's six thirty p.m. I have a little over an hour to kill.

There's no need to go drill a hole in her wall. Already did that this morning. Dahlia told me where the best spot was after I walked her to work. She said it would be the farthest away from prying eyes. I took her word for it, then drilled a hole with stray, healthy-looking dogs sniffing and barking around me.

As soon as I finished, she was there, in her bakery, slamming duct tape over the hole. Promised that I'd enjoy it more if everything—the room included—was a surprise.

So, yeah, I have nothing to do now.

Or do I?

The FyndUsHere Killer.

No one has disappeared or has been murdered since the last message.

He wouldn't have given up. No fucking way.

My fingers fly on the touchpad of the laptop. The FyndUsHere website opens, and in a few clicks, I find a message from him. The timestamp states it was posted this morning.

It's exactly as I suspected. Up there in humor.

My game. My rules.

He could be planning a kill.

He could be baiting me.

I'd like to see him try. He doesn't scare me. I murdered people who were bigger than me. Taller. Fiercer. If he wants me to have another blog post for him, to announce I'm ready for a fight, then he's got it.

Readers,

I know you've been dying to hear about our October Killer's tales. Well, they've been dormant for days. No one's disappeared behind the doors of a certain shop in Manhattan. There's nothing to report there.

The FyndUsHere Killer, on the other hand, is very much active.

We, as a collective, have thrown a wrench into his plans the other day. I'm here to ask for your help to do it again.

Much like last time, we're talking c omedy clubs, rom-com movies, anything like that. Keep your eyes open for the FyndUsHere Killer.

They'd be there.

Fight this menace.

Don't let them win.

Catch him if you can. Or I'll catch them first.

Until later,

CTCyfrin.

The first comment pops up in less than five minutes. ImEverywhere , of course. Obsessive stalker.

As I move the mouse on the screen to click on the notification, I make a mental note to talk to Dahlia about this person. I can't afford to have her unprepared for an attack.

Especially given his following message.

Catch me? You? A nerd? A sleuth? A nobody? What a joke. A joke I'm about to put an end to. I'm coming for you. The rest of New York is safe. You. Are. Not.

Enjoy your last days of breathing fresh air. The clock is ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

My molars gnash.

Any threat to me is a potential threat to Dahlia. I come alive at the challenge. Alive and murderous .

Dahlia and I could join forces. Some couples go out on dinner dates. Some have picnics on a sunny weekend in Central Park. Others stroll around in bookstores.

Dahlia and I are a different breed. Forged by tragedy, we've evolved into something better. Stronger. More feral.

First, though, I have to talk to her about the FyndUsHere Killer's existence. Later, we'll discuss how I'm more than okay with her killing other people for the rest of her life. Just to be sure she knows.

Then we'll plan how to catch the fucker.

Together.

But before I do any of that, I have a show to attend. A private show.

After four years, I can't fucking wait.

Even the video game I helped design inspired by Dahlia seems bland in comparison to what I'll see today.

And that game is as gory and twisted as they come.

Fuck the game. Fuck everything other than my girl and her hands sucking the life out of a person.

I.

Can't.

Wait.