7. CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Dahlia

T hirty minutes to closing time on the second day of October.

Timothy, my second target, should be here in thirty-five minutes. After the numerous times he tried and failed at shoving bill after bill into my cleavage, I had to add him to my list.

I might or might have promised him a blow job to lure him here. A lie, obviously.

He's a dead man.

Waiting to kill him is the only thing keeping me calm while I serve the last of my customers.

The rest, a little less.

Tyler.

Another five-dollar bill is in my hands. Two cupcakes in a neat box given in exchange.

And my mind is with Tyler .

I underestimated my love for and obsession with him. Tormenting and killing Gunner helped me forget Ty for a few hours and that was that. As soon as I stepped inside my apartment, Ty was all I could think of.

His attempts at pushing me away. They hurt. A sweet kind of hurt. One that keeps you up at night. That makes you toss and turn in bed.

I can't let go of him. He needs my patience, and I can't give it to him anymore.

"Hi, Miss Valentine." Cora and Atlas wave at me.

The identical twins are shorter than the counter, but I see them. Their blonde, soft hair. Their little enthusiastic, waving hands.

Gotta love kids and how loud they are. How happy they are. This pair in particular. Always smiling, laughing. Never once have they pressed their hands on my glass display. They don't leave smudges. Practically angels.

Their energies lift mine.

"Hi, yourselves." I give them my wide, genuine smile. "What can I get you?"

The twins' wide brown eyes dart from me to the cupcakes and they launch into an intense debate on which one to choose.

"Come on, kids." Their dad shoots me an apologetic look. His lips curve downward as he watches over them. "You're holding up the line. Choose anything you'd like. I promise we'll be back tomorrow for more."

I don't remember his name. He's a good man, that I remember. Kind and polite. Never been on my radar .

"No worries." The line has dwindled, anyway. No need to rush them when at eight p.m. sharp, I'm kicking everyone out. "Take your time."

While they do, my love-riddled brain drifts back to Tyler. The less depressing memories from last night.

His lips. His tongue. The way his fingers closed around my neck. My tattoo. My scar.

His cock grinding into me.

His blog. Nope. That part is still depressing.

A low humph escapes me. There was no blog entry about me yesterday. CTCyfrin promised he'd blog again. He saw my target walk in here.

For the past three years, he's been writing in his blog about me. CTCyfrin always had something to say. Especially at the end of the first day of October. A short entry that would rile up his readers. Start a speculation thread in the comments.

Darling protective Tyler never tells his readers I'm a woman. He hides my gender and thus my identity.

His obsession forces him to add me to his blog.

His devotion for me forces him to protect me. Keep my identity a secret.

He's conflicted. At war with himself. Hates our history but loves me so insanely that it's impossible for him to do the so-called right thing. Leave me alone.

I'm willing to bet thousands of dollars on this assumption. Millions.

Fuck, if anyone can prove me wrong, I'll bake them a billion cupcakes, or just enough to last them a lifetime .

So, yeah, he didn't write anything last night and I'm bummed. And butthurt.

Curious too.

Maybe… Yes. I'm worried about him.

A man who hunts down serial killers could have a target on his back.

Note to self: Climb Tyler's fire escape on my way home to check he's alive.

"Michael!" Atlas yells.

"Myers!" Cora matches his scream and adds a giggle on top.

Their dad doesn't cringe. They don't embarrass him.

That's what my parents used to be like. Whenever my teachers called them to inform them I'd been drawing spiders and maggots climbing out of graves instead of happy-happy-crappy stuff, Mom or Dad would hang the phone in their faces.

My parents would go over to my classroom, take my drawings home, and put them up on the fridge.

They hadn't taken them down. Hadn't thrown them to the trash.

Uncle Al did.

Fuck that guy.

"One Michael and one Myers coming right up."

I reach for the chocolate and vanilla cupcakes. They have frosting in the shape of Michael Myers's hollow eyes on top. Vanilla for the chocolate cupcake, chocolate for the vanilla cupcake.

The kids squeal as their dad hands me a five-dollar bill. A moment later, they're gone .

They, like the rest of my customers, will bite into the cupcakes. Hum at the vanilla, cream, and sugar exploding in their mouths. At the moist, wonderful texture is. Might even lick their fingers.

In a matter of seconds, the cupcakes will be devoured.

Much like Gunner's remains. The freeze dryer did a great job of getting him ready for the strays overnight. My dogs were overjoyed at the taste of the powdered flesh.

Thank God for this shop. I wouldn't have survived otherwise.

I'm sure my parents understand. And Ian.

Tyler will, as well. He knows I kill people. Has no idea what it is exactly I do with them. His blog doesn't say whether he hates or loves what I do.

But he's missed me…

I guess I'll find out soon.

Three customers choose their cupcakes one by one. Pay for their orders. Disappear into the evening.

"One Pirate's Teeth, please." An older lady I don't recognize smiles at me.

The dress she's wearing under her long black coat is a pale blue one. Her thin, gray hair is pinned in a bun at her nape.

I'm taken aback at the sight. My heart creaks one second, expands the next. A grin hikes the corners of my lips next. Tyler's grandma is here. Perfect timing she has, this woman. No better occasion for the rise of the dead than Halloween.

"Miss?"

Miss? Not sweet girl ?

Ugh. Life, you fucker. What a nasty trick to play on me.

This isn't Mrs. Price.

Disappointment and a pang of longing crash into me. My chest caves in on itself.

Guess that's what Tyler feels every day.

Sigh .

"Of course." My grin returns. A fake one.

This woman seems nice. It's cruel to look at her like a disappointment. She's anything but.

"I'm surprised you still have one left." She huffs a sweet, short laugh. "My granddaughter told me they could run out near closing time."

"Sometimes, but…" I lean into the row of chocolate chip cupcakes, choosing the one that has the most frosting on top. "This one's here. There you are."

The woman beams at me before curling her fingers around the cupcake. Her blue eyes are curious as they inspect the white frosting. The chocolate chips I arranged in the shape of a smile with one tooth missing. At the black pirate flag I pinned at the center.

The shop is empty. There's no line stretching behind her. Nothing in here except the lady, me, and the cobwebs, skeletons, and pumpkin decorations I hung up on every available surface.

Her awe and enthusiasm drag me away from my nightly mission. From Tyler. From everything. She marvels at my cupcake. Adores it.

Long seconds pass as she twists the cupcake back and forth in her hand, mumbling, "This is spectacular."

My attention and glee belong to her and her alone .

Until they don't. Until a familiar chill creeps up my spine. Making the hair at the back of my neck stand.

I sense him. Don't have to look up to know he's there.

A magnet pulling at my insides. A hook that's been sunk into my mouth and pops out of my chin. One that its owner yanks on.

Being watched so intently feels dangerous. It's also remarkable, being hunted by him.

While the older woman continues to ooh and ahh at the cupcake, I look outside. Look at him .

My master.

Tyler has always been it.

He might deny it. Lie to himself that we're nothing to each other. Tell me life with him will end with my premature death.

False. He's mine. And from the moment I saw him, I was his. Possessed. Owned. Loved in one capacity or another. One day, I'll be collared.

The idea has me smiling. The idea has me waving and mouthing the word, "Hey."

Tyler says nothing. Doesn't wave back.

He hovers out there, hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. His pale blue jeans are torn at the knees and his boots give him an almost combative look. I can hardly see his expression. The hood of his hoodie is pulled over his head. I can only make out his eyes.

Sharp, inquisitive, and demanding eyes that flicker in the dark .

Tremors run up my spine. I shudder at his intense attention.

My sexy sleuth. My dominant future husband.

His silence and creepy stance call to me. I toss my apron on the counter. Push through the swinging door. Release the bun on the top of my head.

Tyler's chin dips as his eyes rake my outfit. Long-sleeved, mini red T-shirt dress with black cobweb prints. I bet he likes it. Who wouldn't?

The wind whips at my cheeks when I open the door, though I'm not cold. Tyler's presence is the only warmth I'll ever need.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," the lady behind me says.

I hear her shoes scuffling on the tile floor as she rushes to my side. Her slender hand is on my shoulder, and I have to turn to her. Have to break eye contact with my man.

"I've been so enamored by the cupcake that I forgot to pay." She hands me a ten-dollar bill. "Here."

"This one's on me." I nod at her.

We're about the same height, her blue eyes leveling with mine. "I couldn't—"

"Yes, you could." My hands grab her shoulders for less than a second. Reassuring her. "It would make me really happy if you did."

It'd make me even happier if you could just go away and let me have Tyler until Timothy arrives for our date .

"Are you sure?" Tears well in her eyes. "This is more than a cupcake. This is art. "

"Absolutely." I don't want to be rude, but I can't help but sneak a glance at Tyler.

What the hell? He's gone?

Sneaky man.

In his place stands douchebag Timothy. The man who pushes bills into my cleavage. The man with mysteriously-shut-sexual-harassment charges. Some hacking and a lot of research later, and I recovered them.

Poor women who take the subway. I'll avenge them.

"Thank you." The woman who cost me Tyler leans in, pressing a kiss on my cheek. "Have a great night."

This is all very awkward for me. The tightness in my heart loosens at her warmth. It reminds me of the people I lost.

But that feeling is immediately replaced by an itch of panic prickles, starting in my fingertips. It'll be the end of me if I don't get a handle on it.

I do. Of course, I do.

"You too," I tell her, then to the pervert, "Hi there."

Timothy strolls in when I move aside, casting a what the fuck glare at my customer. His blond hair reaches his shoulders, his green eyes leering as usual.

"She's a good woman," my new friend says as she's about to leave the shop, thinking Timothy is my boyfriend. Vomit . "Take care of this one."

"Will do." He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, and it's all I can do not to puke.

Truth is, I don't vomit throughout the entire night after that .

Timothy does all the throwing up for both of us. Until he dies.

I forget about everything again. While I skin him. Package his flesh. Put away his bones.

Then I'm back home, missing Tyler as if I never stopped.