32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tyler

" D o it again, little savage." I caress Dahlia's face. Well, not her face precisely. A rabbit's face. "Do that sound for me."

What a sweet rabbit she makes. With her cute rabbit ears and a wide pink snout instead of a protruding one.

It was vital for it to be that way, for our act.

Which will come later. For the time being, I just want to love her.

She's adorable. Innocent looking.

A contradiction to the matte black mask I have on. The mask that says don't fuck with me. A mask of an entity instead of a human. Of a creature that came from hell. Strong and ruthless enough to jab a knife into another man's eye and twist the blade and not lose sleep over it.

Who'll do anything and everything for his woman.

Dahlia tilts her head, and suddenly, I change my mind. Even as a rabbit, she's just as terrifying as I am .

Doesn't make me any less protective. Any less her defender.

Sure, she can slaughter men twice her size without batting an eye. Make it look as artful as decorating a cupcake.

Dahlia can fend for herself. Fight anything and anyone.

She can.

She won't ever have to again. She has me.

I'm here.

Fate reached its grubby hand into our pockets. Stole everything it could from Dahlia and me.

Almost everything.

Something's remained.

That glimmer of hope. That kindling of love. That spark of obsession. They've always been there. Ours.

When I look through the almond-shaped holes for eyes on Dahlia's mask, I see all of those things. See them behind her blue eyes. See what I feel reflected in her soul.

We burn so bright that nothing can scare us. We fear fucking nothing.

We'll have an eternity to catch up on the time we lost. I'll love her in this life and the next. We'll share a casket so that when our bodies are nothing but bones, our souls will be together.

"Nm, nm, nm," Dahlia impersonates a rabbit. At least what she claims their clucking sounds like.

Fuck. Me. That's hot.

I let it distract me, if only for a second .

We're not here to fuck while she makes clucking sounds. We're here waiting for Johnathan in the baking room of Sweet DeNights.

It's nine in the evening. The sun set a while ago. People are everywhere outside. We don't see them, but we hear them. Laughter and shrieks and Boo!

The perfect setting for him. The FyndUsHere Killer can blend into the crowd. Feel invincible and invisible all at once.

He already left a message on the baking community on FyndUsHere.

My game. My rules.

Couldn't help it, the miserable shithead. Couldn't resist the impulse, the pattern. It always boils down to the fucking pattern.

"My innocent little bunny." My fingers rake through her hair, sliding lower to her neck.

Under my fingertips, I feel the soft scar tissue. Right there, hiding beneath the snake tattoo. No matter how many times I bite it, how many times I break the skin, it remains.

Over time, I've stopped resenting either the tattoo or the scar. Our pasts have lost their hold on me. There's only Dahlia and me. Only a dark future ahead of us.

I place my thumbs beneath her chin. Tip her face up to me. Her mask twists at an angle. Messing her hair just the right way.

"So beautiful." I kiss her snout. "Always beautiful. Always mine."

"You're a handsome, creepy man yourself." She hooks her fingers on the lapels of my pea coat .

No hoodie for either of us tonight. We're both in black jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirts and black pea coats. Boots for me, black Chucks for her.

Both of us are dark shadows in her sparkling baking room.

Waiting.

"One thing I loathe about these masks," I growl.

Johnathan will be here any minute, and look at me, finding the time to growl. It's an impulse. Can't control it, just like I can't control the beast that tears through my skin whenever I'm around my Dahlia.

"Let me guess." She slides one hand to the front of my jeans, her fingers curling around my aching cock. "You hate you can't eat me out?"

"Among other things."

Without another word, I pull my mask up. Then hers. I bend to her red, parted lips. Smell the cinnamon on her breath. What's left of the Pay for Your Cins cupcake she just had.

Our masks clash when I crush my mouth to hers. I eat her out all right, just the other set of lips. I dip my tongue into another wet hole in her body. I lick her. I suck on her tongue. Her bottom lip. Take everything she offers, and then some.

I'm a greedy bastard like that.

Pulling back is fucking agony. "This. Fuck. I've missed you."

"I'm standing right here." Blonde eyebrows wag, taunting me.

"Later," I tell myself more than her. "We'll have time later. "

This isn't fear speaking. By the end of the night, Dahlia and I will be together. At home, under the covers. We'll be fine. Come out of this confrontation unscathed.

That's a fact.

Except this incessant, never-ending need to bend her over and fuck her senseless.

It'll be careless to follow through with it.

Being careless will get us killed.

I lower her mask, straightening it on her beautiful face. Hiding her swollen lips. The smeared lipstick around her mouth. I hate that I can't see her.

Better this way, just for a little while longer.

"You're applying the lipstick again when we're home." Two steps back. I need the space, or I'll lose it. "After I've fucked you here with our masks on, we'll go home. You'll have your lips red and pretty for me. First, so I can see them part when I eat you out. Then for when you get down on your knees. When you wrap them around my cock."

"Anything for you, Daddy ." That tease. Brat.

"You keep that up, pretty girl, and I swear by all that's holy—" The rest of the sentence is I'll fuck the taunting tone out of your mouth .

I never get to say it.

Ding.

Technically, it could be anyone. Could be kids wandering into the shop. They could've caught sight of what's left of Dahlia's cupcakes in the display and wanted to help themselves for one.

Could be, but no. Those aren't kids out front .

For starters, the footsteps are heavy ones. The soft clink indicates the person who walked inside the shop is wearing dress shoes.

Working alongside Dahlia over the past few nights has sharpened my senses. Nothing hardly ever slips past me anymore. I hear better. Smell better. My attention to detail has become a form of art.

It's him.

"I'm ready," she whispers, her words rushed as she whirls to face away from me.

"Good girl." I fish out the silk red scarf from my coat pocket. "My good girl."

In a matter of three seconds—exactly like we practiced at home—I have her wrists bound behind her back. The knot is a weak one. Dahlia could break free from it at any moment in case something goes wrong.

Johnathan doesn't have to know that, though. He won't know that. He'll only see what we want him to see.

And that's a helpless Dahlia and me, out of my mind with lust.

Two people at their most vulnerable state.

"You're going to suck my dick later." I push Dahlia to the floor, my fingers making a fist of her hair. "Little cum slut. You think I care if you're not in the mood? You think I give a fuck?"

"Let me go." Such a good actress, my Dahlia. Shrieking as if I really mean to scare her. As if I'll rape her mouth later. "Don't, please, help! Help me! "

Her eyes, though, they can't lie. Through the thin almond shapes in the mask, there's the real her. The woman who would've begged for the opposite. Had it been just the two of us here, she would've cried for me to violate her mouth.

"Well, well, well." The door to the baking room flies open, hitting the wall behind it. "What do we have here?"

By letting himself in, Johnathan so-called exposes Dahlia and me. He sees my plans for what they are. A man ready to rip off the woman's mask and stuff her mouth with my dick.

He doesn't move to help her.

He's watching the scene unfold.

Guess what, fucker? We're watching you too.

The pictures of him didn't lie. He's tall, lean, built. His blond hair is thick and cut short and brushed to the side. His brown gaze is cocky as fuck. His smug smile is worse.

Jerk.

"Get lost." My fist in Dahlia's hair tightens. I thrust her masked face into my cock. The crunching sound of her mask makes my cock jerk. "We're busy here."

He doesn't move.

"If you don't mind."

"Help!"

"Oh, but I do mind." Johnathan doesn't disappoint. He pushes the door closed behind him. Granting us the privacy we need. " CTCyfrin . That's you behind that mask, isn't it?"

This fucking guy thinks his so smart. Truthfully, he's nothing but an amateur.

First, he gives away his identity by calling out mine. Second, his hand moves to the inside of his expensive navy suit jacket. Surreptitiously reaching for his weapon of choice.

Surreptitiously, my ass.

It's as if he hasn't killed anyone before.

"You're a fan?" I snarl. Dahlia whimpers. Both of us pretend we have no idea what's going on.

"You wish, jerkoff."

"Help," Dahlia whines. Her voice is so small.

Finally, Johnathan stops in his tracks. Three feet separate him and us. His hand remains hidden in his jacket, his eyes studying Dahlia before they're back on me.

"That's interesting." He smirks. It takes everything in me to hold still instead of twisting my body, kicking his knee, watching him fall. I'll have the best fucking time, smashing his face with my boot. "Here I was thinking you liked that bitch."

He's a foot closer. Mentally, I'm already on him, choking the life out of him for calling Dahlia a bitch. I keep reminding myself he's headed for a world of torture.

That helps subdue my murderous needs. Helps me stick to my act.

"Get the hell out," I tell him. I bait him. Just like Dahlia baited me not too long ago. "She's mine. Go find someone else to suck you off, whoever the fuck you are."

He's focused on me. So focused that he doesn't pay attention to the frying pan on the stove.

He's blind to the fumes rising from the empty utensil. Has no idea that I'm loosening my grip on Dahlia's hair .

"I don't think I would." His hand slides out of his jacket, exposing a sharp knife.

Silently, Dahlia slips out of my grip. From the corner of my eye, I see her crawling back to the stove. So sneaky.

I tilt my head. "Oh, really?"

"I'm here to kill you, CT. Or should I call you Tyler?" Pride is a sin. Johnathan is going to realize that.

Soon.

"How do you know my name again?" I pretend to care, buying Dahlia time to free herself from the binds. To sneak up on him.

"I'm rich, that's how." He's such an easy target, it's laughable. "I have my resources. Men I pay to do research for me. Men I pay to do what I ask them and keep their mouths shut."

Nothing in this world could force me to break eye contact with Johnathan. As much as I'm hungry for a glimpse of Dahlia, I stay focused on him. Looking at her will turn her into an easy target.

He might hurt her, hot pan or not.

"I'm going to rape your woman while you watch. Then I'll kill both of you while I laugh, and when I'm done, my men will clean it up."

The vein in my neck pulses. My jaw tics, my teeth grinding. You can hear the gnashing sound all the way to Jersey.

We prepared for this, but he's getting to me. No one talks about Dahlia like that.

No one .

I'm hanging on a motherfucking thread.

"Hey, rapist wannabe." My woman sounds sweeter than Boston Cream cake. She waves to me behind Johnathan's back with her free hand. One finger after the other. A murderer pulled out of a horror movie. "Over here."

Johnathan turns to her, his arrogant smirk never leaving his lips.

He doesn't get to complete his slow spin.

A scorching frying pan is flung to the side of his head. The blow fucks with his balance, and he stumbles to the floor.

"You want to rape me? Yeah, right." Dahlia goes to stand at his side. I prowl to the other. "Dream on, shithead."

"I'll fuck your ass dry." He tries to get up on his hands.

"Oh, yeah? With what dick?" The pan lands on Johnathan a second time.

On his cock.

He doesn't last after that. Doesn't even scream. Johnathan passes out like the loser he is, his body sprawled out on the baking room tiles.

"Let's drag him in." Dahlia twists to place the pan back in place. "I'll go lock up the front after that."

"Wait." Just because he's out doesn't mean I'm any less furious. Our plan can take a setback. A short one.

Explanations are a waste of breath. Dahlia and I get each other.

Planets—no, fucking universes—could separate us, and it won't change a thing. We'll still hear each other. Still know exactly what the other person needs .

And this minute—this exact second—I need the scorching pan. I can't wait for him to wake up.

Dahlia passes me one of her mitts, then the pan. Even with the mitt, the pan's heat seeps through.

My rage is hotter. Redder.

"She's not a bitch." I crouch down, tearing the buttons of Johnathan's stark white, expensive shirt. "She's my woman . Mine ."

The sounds coming from my throat remind me of a hungry bear in the woods.

It's nothing remotely close to a human's.

And it's okay.

All I care about is the sizzle of the scorching pan as I press it to Johnathan's stomach. All that matters is how it snaps him back to life. How he opens his mouth to scream.

How he passes out from the pain before he can cry out for help.

My head tilts up to my giggling woman. "Now, we're dragging him in."