5. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Tyler

T his kiss. I'll never recover from it. Fucking ever.

The hold it has on me. That's why I stay put. Why I can't do the right thing and walk away.

I fucking love her. How did I ever leave in the first place?

From the moment her family moved into the building when she was five, our connection was an easy one. A natural one. I'd always wanted a little sister or brother, but my parents passed away early on.

She and Ian had been my siblings ever since that day.

She's the furthest thing from a sister now. Hasn't been for years.

I'm obsessed. In love. Insane over her.

Of course, I am. Otherwise, there's no explaining the deadly error I've committed. Why I'm in here, in Sweet DeNights, holding her. Kissing her .

Instead of saving her, I'm putting her life at risk.

Then again, I've always done what Dahlia wanted. Like being here, even though she hasn't asked me to for the past four years.

I felt her. I feel her.

Same as I have in the past.

"Smells great," I lied to my grandma, yawning after a long day at work.

Truth was, nothing smelled great at the time. Nothing in my life had been great, period.

Two days had gone by since Dahlia killed her uncle. Two days since her brother, Ian, fled the apartment. I hadn't heard from him since. Hadn't been able to think of anything but her .

Little savage. On that fatal day, that kid was brave. Incredibly so. Covered in blood and more beautiful than any creature I'd ever seen, she managed to rearrange her thoughts. Handed Ian warm clothes. Begged me to hold off on calling the police.

She had her priorities straight.

And I had to go to work the day after. And the day after that. Had to stay around my grandma in the evenings to make sure she took her prescription. That she had everything she needed.

I didn't resent my responsibilities. I could never. Writing code for a gaming company was what I dreamt of doing. Caring for the woman who helped raise me had been an honor.

What annoyed me was something else entirely.

Being away from Dahlia bothered me. The girl who'd been sitting across her dead uncle's body for the past day and a half. Constant concern nagged at me. Ate at my sanity .

When I knocked at her door yesterday, she'd yelled she was fine. Barked at me to leave her alone. I'd let her have her space.

Until tonight. Once I saw Grams was doing okay, like I do now, I'd resolved to use the key Ian gave me and go inside their apartment.

"I made her favorite chicken soup." Grams beamed at me. "Dahlia's. For her."

I rushed to my grandma before she started ambling to the kitchen with her walker. Pulled a thick, wool cardigan over her pale blue gown. She didn't chide me or tell me to stop fussing. I wanted to help her and she let me.

"How are you?"

"I'm great." She patted my hand. "The soup is for the sweet girl," she repeats. "I don't know if she's been eating down there. You have to visit her. I couldn't."

"Grams, I'm here. With you." My denial sounded futile even to my own ears. "I'll go soon."

I didn't want to fuck Dahlia. Didn't want to kiss Dahlia. Nothing remotely like that back then. But goddammit, someone had to look after her. There was no one else. I'd have heard Ian coming from her apartment if he were there. He wasn't.

She had no one.

The pang of guilt hurt me harder than before.

"No." My grandma's refusal was firm. Resolute. "Leave me one bowl here, take the pot down, and feed her. Then figure out what to do with the damned corpse, because it's starting to reek. Having one of the neighbors call the cops won't end well for her. You have to help her, Tyler. "

She was right. Two days should've been enough for Ian to escape far, far away. He could've made it to California by then.

I tried explaining it to Dahlia last night, through the door. She wouldn't have it. She'd actually growled at me, "Give Ian more time."

I was done giving him more time. Done leaving her there by herself.

"I will."

"Good boy." The soft skin of my grandma's hand around my cheek soothed my tormented soul.

I had it. I could convince Dahlia it was time.

From that moment, I moved on autopilot. One bowl for Grandma. Pot in my grasp. Three floors down and one lock later, I was standing inside the bloody, stinking scene.

My heart sunk to the floor. Dahlia hadn't moved an inch since I'd left her. Wearing the same clothes. Dunk in the same blood. She hardly cared that I barged inside. Her eyes fleeted to me, then back to her dead uncle.

Any conscious thought I had vanished at that moment. I placed the pot on the kitchen counter. My boots stepped on the puddle of dried blood as I moved to stand in front of her.

Hair messy. Knees hugged to her chest. Chin on top of her knees. Every part of her was covered in blood. Every part other than her face, the part she'd let me wipe clean that damned night.

I'd changed my clothes since then. Three times, to be exact.

I was clean. My light jeans, white Henley, and a jade-green hoodie still smelled of the laundry detergent. Dahlia was filthy. The girl deserved better. She deserved the world after what she'd gone through .

My sense of responsibility for her warred with the guilt and brotherly love I'd had for her.

Fuck. I messed everything up.

It was my job to fix it. Fix her. I came down here to take care of Dahlia. I'd die before letting her turn me away.

"We're going to take a shower."

"No." She frowned, refusing to stare at anything other than her decomposing uncle. "He might wake up."

Any other argument would've been fine. Preserving the integrity of the scene and what the hell not—I could understand that.

Insanity, I wouldn't stand for. Losing her mind was not an option for Dahlia.

Not as long as I had something to do with it.

"Up." I beckoned her with my index finger.

"Might wake up."

"On your feet, little savage. You have to shower. Then we're calling the cops."

She didn't gaze up at me as she growled.

She'd been beaten up for the past six months ever since her parents died. Now, she'd been staring at a rotting corpse for two days.

The irrevocable damage to her psyche could be happening if I wouldn't act, and fast.

"Up. I'm not asking, Dahlia."

"No."

"Little savage." I dropped to my knees. "Living up to your name, aren't you?"

A scream tore from her throat as soon as I scooped her in my arms. A scream the neighbors would hear.

As if they'd care .

Just in case one of them grew a conscience overnight…

I put her back on the floor, went to the kitchen. While I was opening and shutting drawers, she screamed some more.

When I finally found a duct tape roll, Dahlia was on her hands and knees, digging her fingers into the floor. Glaring at her uncle. She had her ass in my face, and I could smell days' old pee. Nothing else, since their monster of an uncle had gotten a kick out of starving her and Ian.

And even if she defecated on herself, I wouldn't have been grossed out. I wasn't grossed out.

I had a mission, and nothing as minor as scents could deter me.

This girl needed a shower. It was the only thing I could think of to get her out of her head.

"Stay away, Tyler," she threatened even though she couldn't see me. "He could wake up. He'll go for Ian. He'll kill my brother. I need to be here to kill him again. I'm not moving. Not moving."

While she blabbered, I pushed her back to a sitting position to hide her naked parts from me. She was too lost in her anger to notice. The duct tape came next.

One tear and—

"Gotta protect Ian. Gotta protect Ian."

"You'll protect him. You already are."

Slam! and the duct tape covered her mouth. I hauled her kicking and screaming off the floor and strode into the bathroom. I didn't let go, gripping her close despite the punches she launched at me. Ignoring her terrified look.

"You'll be there for Ian by pulling out of this."

We were inside the bathroom, and I turned on the hot water. Thank fuck I switched the boiler yesterday from my phone for good two hours. I'd bought her a new one and connected it to my app that terrible Halloween night. I'd had one in my apartment in case ours broke down. It came in really handy.

"You'll be there for him when you keep your shit together." That wasn't the nicest thing to say. But I freaked out. I needed her to be okay, and Dahlia didn't seem to have any idea she wasn't. "I'll help you, Dahl. I'm here."

She screamed no through the tape as her fingers tore into my scalp. Her fists beat at my chest when I put her down on the cheap tile floor of her shower. She even tried to run outside past me.

She had to be cleaned. She had to come back to the real world.

You didn't leave your little sister out there to die or lose her mind. You just didn't.

I pushed her to the wall of the shower, turned on the water. In seconds, hot water rained down on both our bodies. Soaking our hair, making it cling to our faces.

My hoodie and jeans were drenched. Dahlia's T-shirt stuck to her skin.

I was being protective. Overly so. And stubborn Dahlia refused to be protected.

Raged against it.

"For fuck's sake." I held her shoulders while she pushed against me, her eyes never leaving the bathroom door. "Let me have this. Let me take care of you."

She needed to be washed. She needed to sleep in a clean bed.

Most of all, she needed her mind cleared. Al wasn't waking up.

The cops had to be called in. He'd be their problem then. They'd be the ones who'd take him out of here for good .

Dahlia, full of rage and jacked up on crazy, had her hand near the edge of the duct tape. Ready to rip it off.

Hell no.

My fingers closed around her wrist. They acted as shackles when I slammed her arm over her head.

Drop after drop poured into our eyes. Her lashes were heavy with it.

"I'll remove the tape if you promise not to scream."

Her free hand punched me. She wasn't about to be quiet.

"Nod if you understand." My attention never wandered off her eyes. I could tell it made her feel safe. That I was safe. I was. "Come back to me, and I'll make everything right for you. No one will hurt you or Ian again. You have my word."

My breaths were heaved with the effort of restraining her. Her nostrils flared trying to suck in air.

That was another thing she needed. To breathe.

"Nod, goddammit."

She nodded. Finally. A subtle bob of her head. A barely perceptible one.

But she did.

Her face twisted the moment I ripped off the duct tape.

"Tyler," she sighed, her voice void of the edge from before.

"I'm here."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Sadness bled from her to me. "Al is dead."

"Yes, he is." Gazing into her pleading blue eyes made me realize things. It would be my job to be her guardian until we sort out this mess. Every bone in my body needed to keep her safe. So much so that it physically hurt. "You did it, little savage. You slayed the monster. They'll hunt Ian down for it, until they give up. They will. You'll be okay. Both of you."

Every word brought another wave of lucidity into her gaze. Rage swelled there now. Violence brimmed in her shining blues.

The lost part I'd witnessed in Ian's eyes was gone. Thank fuck.

Then her chin wobbled, her lips pinched. "I did it?"

The sadness in her voice tore me apart. The ability to talk had left my body. Checked the fuck out.

I folded Dahlia into a hug. Let her arms sling around my torso. Allowed this tiny person to cry her eyes out.

When she was done, I got out of the bathroom so she could shower. I pulled out a pair of sweats, T-shirt and clean underwear and placed them on the sink for her.

I didn't see her naked, never had. What I did was change the sheets in her bed. Clean the living room and kitchen area without moving the body. Called the cops.

"No, Ian didn't tell me where he's going," I said with a straight face when they interviewed me. "He was here, with Al's body and Dahlia for two days, I think? That was what she said, at least. Then he left."

They never found him. I went to court and became Dahlia's legal guardian. I was also the one responsible for my grandma's death.

"Get out, Tyler." Dahlia's voice slashes through the painful memory. She's so close to me that I feel her rage. A real rage?

Don't think so. She's faking it. Baiting me to argue with her. To stay.

"We're closed. Go. Away."

My heart beats wildly, begging to be freed from the cold cage it's been locked in for the past four years. Desperate to jump out of my chest and be united with its soulmate.

My hand can't seem to release her, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. My cock is harder than it's ever been. I need her, and fuck, I can't release her. Can't leave this place.

I'm losing this fight. I'm failing Dahlia. I need her, and I'm failing her.

The swinging door to the space behind the counter doesn't squeak when I push past it. When I give in to the impulse. I'm right there with Dahlia, looming over her.

"Leave."

I press her to the wall. Wrap her throat with my hand.

"I'm not going anywhere." My tune changes, and I hate myself. I'll be the end of her because I can't resist this woman now that I've had her. "You've been a bad girl, and I'm here to punish you."

She hasn't been bad. I'm a lying motherfucker.

She's everything that's good in this world.

Christ, why can't I push her away? I could go back to my routine. Love her at a safe distance.

Except Dahlia's here. Alive and brimming with the darkest, most intoxicating energy.

My nostrils flare.

My fingers ache to touch her. Do some damage just so I feel her.

"That's what you came here for?" Something glimmers in the dim light of the shop. Beneath me. Between us. A knife. " You want to blame me for what happened all those years ago? Is that it?"

"Watch your tone. You're screaming." Fuck, how I love her screams. It's her shrieks that I hate. From when Al did everything to ruin her life. "And no. I don't fucking blame you and you know it."

Dahlia presses her swollen, wet lips together. Her eyes flick to the door. I feel her swallowing beneath my palm. When her gaze is back on me, there's fire there.

"Blame me. Punish me." The glint of her blade shines brighter as she raises it. "I won't go down without a fight."

Baiting me, that's what she's doing.

I had it right. She wants to use my anger against me so that I'll have to stay. So I'll have to admit that I can't leave.

I…

Can't.

But look at her. Begging me to hurt her.

Then what? You'll give in to her, have your fun, and then what? I'll tell you what. Then she'll die. Good fucking job, Tyler.

I won't give in to her ruse. This manipulative, wonderful serial killer.

I won't.

I…

"You'll fight me?" I'm weak. Desperate. I love her. And I pin her harder to the wall. "Like you fought me when I stole your first kiss?"

Dahlia frowns. Doesn't say a thing. She's not sure how to handle this kind of humiliation. Doesn't understand how it's possible that she likes it .

"It was your first, wasn't it?" I smirk, feeling her red lipstick on my lips as they stretch. With the back of my hand, I swipe it off me. Smear it on her cheek. "There's been no one before me."

"And how would you know?" She regroups quickly, running her tongue along the front row of her teeth. Her lips quirk up to one side, her gaze taunting. "You've been following me, Ty?"

No use denying it. "Someone had to look out for you. Even if I absolutely can't stand you."

A wise gaze tells me she calls my bluff. A cocked eyebrow says it's more than that.

Does she know about the blog? Is the prey chasing down its hunter?

Anything's possible with this girl.

Her sneakiness turns me right the fuck on.

As does the knife she wields.

My hand shoves her into the wall a third time. My hips grind into her. Cock rocking against her soft stomach.

She gives me the sweetest little growl.

Before pinning the knife to my Adam's apple.

Ding.

The bell chimes. Dahlia drops the knife that clatters on the floor.

"I'm here for the cupcakes." The man sounds justified. As if he has the right to demand things from Dahlia. "Where are they?"

Someone's asking to get his head ripped off.

By me .

I want to shout at him to leave and never return. Tell him in my sternest voice that we're closed, then fuck the wild animal beneath me until she writhes and cries. Until both of us get four years' worth of anger and grief out of our systems.

I won't.

This thing Dahlia is doing every October, it's helping her. It fixes her when I can't. Because if I do, she'll end up dead.

A bite from a rabid rat. One of her knives slicing her skin instead of her target's, cutting an artery and making her bleed out. Slipping on a wet floor and breaking her neck.

I'm overwhelmed with every bad thing that could happen to her. I have to leave.

Taking a step back, I shake my head slowly at Dahlia. Her attention is split between me and the entitled jerkoff here.

The space clears my head. I breathe easier. The air makes it easier for me to think. To let go.

"We're not done," I tell her at the door, despite myself. "I'll catch you later."

Dahlia raises her apron to wipe the lipstick streak off her cheek and around her lips.

"Not if I catch you first." She winks.

She can't know about my blog. Impossible.

"Okay, this was nice." She's at my side, pushing me out to the street. Locks behind her. "Bye, Tyler."

The cold night air whips at my face. I stay there, watching her beckon the bulky man behind the counter.

"Come on, Gunner, I have your order in the back."

I press an ear to the door, listening in when they disappear behind the door. Drinking in her saccharine-sweet voice.

"Saved it especially for you. My favorite customer."