3. CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Dahlia

B aking at four-thirty in the morning could only be described as exquisite.

Made ten times more exquisite on the first day of October.

The month my healing process starts.

That first October when I started killing people as a form of therapy, I wasn't happy about it. The murder part was fun. Always is.

What pushed me to do it… That part wasn't fun at all.

Panic. Pain. Loneliness.

October—or more accurately, Halloween—will forever remind me how I lost everything. Not once but twice.

My brother disappeared. I gained Tyler as a guardian that day, and I still cried for months.

Fast forward three years later, and Ian came back. Only this time, I lost him for good. Him, Mrs. Price, and Tyler.

I should hate this month. Loathe the hell out of it .

Except my soul won't let me. My soul demands that I find happiness in killing people. Bad people. All but one of my targets. The woman I haven't killed yet. The woman who'll die this month. Technically, she's not a bad person. She still has it coming. I have my reasons.

Can't help it.

Just like I couldn't help killing thirty-one people at nineteen. What creative murders they were.

Even if I hated it, it's not like I had a choice. Tyler wasn't there. Tyler's out there, getting over our bad luck nonsense excuse he clings on to. Murdering people at the back of Sweet DeNights helps me slay my demons, all by myself.

I smile to myself while I wrap sandwich cookies in a food vacuum package, lift the rolling pin, and bash them. Bam, bam, bam and they're crumpling into tiny pieces.

I'm what one might call the Santa Clause of Halloween. While no one gets gifts, the naughty ones get punishments.

Deadly ones.

They're chosen carefully, my targets. For eleven months, I watch my customers like a snake in the grass. Study their behaviors. Single out the bad ones and stalk them.

The sun hasn't risen yet when I turn on the oven. I roll up the sleeves of my black knit dress and re-do the bun on the top of my head. Go to the fridge to take out the frosting I made last night.

The fridge, not the freeze dryer. That's where I'll keep them .

I stare at it longingly, at the freezers lining the wall of the back-back room. I bought the space behind me once my cupcake business started picking up.

Every October, this space becomes my playground. Today won't be any different.

The thought of the coming month offers me a shred of comfort. A sense of escapism. It casts a black shade over the pink, jolly space in my heart. Saves me from rotten feelings such as love and hope.

Useless emotions. I kissed those suckers goodbye a long time ago. Without Tyler, I'm pretty sure I'll never get them back.

There's no one left. Ian would never tell me everything's going to be all right again. Tyler's grandma will never pat my head and call me sweet girl .

Will Tyler ever look at me with his large brown eyes again? While I'm awake?

I don't know.

I don't know if affection would ever shine from his gaze when he looks at me. I'm not sure he'll find it in him to stop being scared and mend the pieces of my broken, crazy heart.

His eyes might never darken again as they'd roam along my body.

These days, when I do see him, he's hovering at the side of my bed, so focused on my tits that he doesn't see me peeking, or he's sleeping. His eyelids won't let me into the windows of his soul. I break into his apartment, crawl into his bed, and move up his body. Grind on his mouth until I come .

He works hard. Has two jobs. Works out. He's out like a light by the time I'm on top of him.

Just remembering him turns my knees to jelly. My nipples harden from the memory.

Instead of obsessing over him, I grind my teeth. I get to work, pouring heavy whipping and powdered sugar and vanilla extract into the mixer. I add red and yellow food coloring. For Halloween, duh.

The sound of the electronic devices pacifies me. Takes off the edge.

I get why Tyler's staying away.

I get it.

I. Get. It.

But he's the only man I've ever loved. Will ever love.

He doesn't get to leave me.

Tyler Price is mine .

Before I get lost in possessive thoughts about locking Tyler up in my room, I blink a couple of times. Return to the moment. To my job.

No more neglecting my frosting, or it'll ruin. I have to prepare so many cupcakes. Every second counts when you're baking. When you count on those cupcakes to support yourself financially.

The scent of vanilla extract wafts into my nose. Those of butter, chocolate, and cinnamon join it quickly. The baking room—the front-back room of Sweet DeNights—is neat and organized. Nothing's out of place and everything is clean and sparkling. It always is. Nothing in my life will ever be a dirty, filthy mess like it was when Al was my guardian .

Nothing.

Enough of Al. It's just as bad as reminiscing over Tyler.

My cupcakes. That's what I want to think about. And my customers, who are expecting my Halloween specials.

The orange sign with black spider decorations isn't necessary to let them know it's started. They know. Everyone does. They beg for it throughout September, but no. Like my late-night activities, the only time I make my Halloween specials is throughout October.

Every year, I showcase a mixture of new and old ones. My regulars know which ones to expect. They come back for them.

Hence why one of my old cupcakes will be missing today.

Wink, wink .

"You stay there like the good little boys you are." I point my silicone scraper at the two containers of black, orange, and purple sprinkles.

The absolute, must-have ingredient for my Halloween Funfetti cupcakes. You don't have sprinkles, you don't have Funfettis. It's common knowledge.

"A special kind of shithead will be here this morning." Gunner, my first victim. "He'll be asking for his Happy DeathDay cupcakes."

He's always here on the first day of October. Has done so for the past two years without fail. Which is why I'll use his favorite cupcake to trick him into coming to get them after hours.

You catch more flies with cupcakes, right? That's how the saying should go, anyway .

"You remember what we talked about." My brow furrows while the ovens work at full capacity around me. "He cannot find you, ladies and gents. Understood?"

They don't answer. In my head, though, I see them moving. They move inside the container, the black sprinkles creating the shape of a grin. A Cheshire Cat grin. Two of them, given I have two containers lying around here.

Do I feel bad for the people I kill?

Hell. No. Gunner's earned it, fair and fucking square.

Over the last few months, he's also shown his cruel side, both here and in his home. He'll get his Happy DeathDay, all right. He'll get all the cake the fucker can dream of.

The images of what I have planned for him are a movie playing in my head. My own lips curve in a smile. Worse than that of a Cheshire Cat.

A vicious one.

Tyler won't be here this Halloween to help me through my meltdowns. To save me.

His blog said as much. He'll be watching.

I'll just have to get over it by myself.

And Gunner, target number one, will be there to fix my little problem.

They're always here to fix it for me.