8. CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tyler

E vening, October Killer fans.

This is the third day of October. Three days without a word from me.

Worry not. I've read your comments, have gone through your emails.

You're curious. Hungry for information that only I can feed you. Desperate to see if I have any news.

I do. It's no excuse, but I've been swamped with work. My day job has been demanding my attention. Deadlines wait for no one. Only then could I stalk them. Had to keep my eyes on my October Killer.

I'm here now, though. And what do I have to tell you?

One thing, and one thing only—I'm close. Closer than I've ever been.

Will I catch them? Will I stop them?

You'll know soon enough. Or not .

Until later,

CTCyfrin.

I slam my laptop shut.

After long hours, and yes—deadlines at work, I wasn't lying about that—I'm sick of looking at the fucking screen.

Lines and lines of code are my art form.

It's what lets me keep this place near Bryant Park. It's also kept me metaphorically chained to a chair for ten hours a day, five days a week, for the past two weeks.

The past two days have been even more intense. Twelve-hour days that have been holding me back. Away from her.

I should be grateful for the distraction. For only being able to catch a glimpse of Dahlia yesterday.

I'm not.

Nothing calms the throbbing ache in my ribs. Nothing makes missing Dahlia any less agonizing.

My eyes burn. I scrub them once, twice until my vision clears. Get up and out of the chair. After a quick shower, I throw on a pair of jeans and a dark T-shirt. I have a light dinner.

And it's still early. Early, as in Sweet DeNights is still open.

I sprawl out on my couch. Stare up at the ceiling.

Yesterday, I ached for Dahlia. My bones hurt. That pain led me to her shop, where I saw her with the older lady.

My fucking heart was destroyed at the sight. Memories of her spending afternoons at our place flashed before my eyes. Suffocated me. While I'd been her formal legal guardian, my grandma had taken on the role of being Dahlia's grandmother .

On the long days Dahlia had waited for her brother to show up, she visited us. Did her homework in our living room. Helped Grandma around the kitchen. Read the newspaper to her or ask her for her opinion about the cupcakes she baked.

Dahlia had looked at my grandma the same way she looked at the old lady at the shop yesterday.

But my grandma isn't here anymore. She's gone.

I was there to see her dead body in our apartment. My grandma's intestines sprawled on the floor. Slipping between Dahlia's fingers, who hugged her. Who tried to push them back in.

Guilt and shame and pain barreled into me like a freight train. A punch to the gut would be too delicate of a description of what I experienced.

Then to imagine it might happen to Dahlia if I stayed…

I couldn't stay at the bakery a second later. I turned around and speeded in the direction of home. Bumped into a guy's shoulder on the way. Probably another target.

The distance didn't help. Didn't make me miss her any less.

It never does.

My arms need to hug her. My heart demands to leave my lonely, stubborn chest and find its mate.

No.

We're better off apart.

We are.

So why am I in my boots? In my hoodie? Heading downtown by foot?

To see her. I have to see her .

And then what? Touch her. Have my hands on her. Fingers digging into her neck, arms, waist. Fuck. It's wrong. It'll put her life in danger.

I don't want to go to her. I have to go to her.

I walk through the alley that'd lead me to Sweet DeNights. At the end of it, I have a view of her storefront. I don't step into the street, don't expose myself under the streetlamp. I remain where I am, hidden in the shadows.

My hands are deep in the pockets of my hoodie. My thoughts are with the sweet psycho killer that isn't mine and yet is absolutely, completely mine.

Dahlia's barely visible in the dim light inside the shop. I see her still, behind the short line of people.

I'd recognize her in a crowd of a million faces. They could all be blonde. All be the same height. Same weight. Same everything.

I'd spot Dahlia and yank her into my arms in a heartbeat.

My phone says it's seven forty-five.

The line of four people turns to three. They know better. She almost always runs out of cupcakes by this time.

She does it on purpose. Bakes just the right amount so she can close on time during October. Only during October. I've studied her enough to learn that fun fact.

A pang of jealousy slashes through me. Her targets. What does she do with them? I've never snuck to the back to find out. That's her secret. Her life. I'm not a part of it anymore.

Taking a peek ended badly for me. I would've come just by watching her handle dead bodies.

I would've .

I can't.

"Thank you." Her mouth creates the shape around the words.

Dahlia smiles at an older man in a tweed jacket and a tattered pair of brown slacks. He's the last of her customers. Even from this far, his trembling hand is noticeable. The bill in his hand quivers.

She must notice it too, because she shakes her head.

The messy bun on top of her head bounces, just a little. Her breasts are hidden behind the grotesque yet beautiful orange Halloween apron. Beneath it, if I squint my eyes, I can make out another one of her black knit dresses.

Her bright red lips scrunch. The man in front of her keeps sticking his trembling hand out to her. She keeps shaking her head.

He's not on her shitlist, that's for sure. He's safe. Has no idea how lucky he is.

If he knew, he would've dropped the cupcake and left.

Like I should.

I push away from the building I've been leaning on. Cross the road. Let the old man pass me by on his way out.

The bell doesn't ring as I slip inside. Dahlia doesn't hear me step inside. Doesn't see me flip the sign on the door to closed .

She's wiping the tiles on the wall behind the counter. The bright orange cloth in her hand moves over the black and white tiles.

Her round ass sways as she cleans and hums the Halloween movie theme to herself. Her body moves gracefully in the knit dress that reaches just over her ankles. She's at ease and so fucking alluring that I want to scream.

I want to bend her over that counter and feed her pretty cunt my cum. Make her come. Make her cry out my name when I empty myself inside her.

Every drop of blood in my body travels south. My dick gets hard listening to her voice as she hums. Watching her do something as mundane as swiping a cloth over tiles is electric.

She's mesmerizing when she's at peace. Just as gorgeous as when she's sleeping, screaming, or baking.

I'll always, forever, be crazy in love with her.

I'm not just turned on. It's more than that. My hands feel like claws. My teeth demand to have her flesh. She shakes her ass to the dark melody and the pressure in my head is unbearable.

I need to ruin her. Love her.

I need to stay away.

Bam . Both my hands slam on the counter, my body leaning forward.

"Ty." She doesn't even jump. Doesn't rush to turn to me.

When she does, she's slow about it. I sense hesitation. A brief, fleeting one. Then hope glitters behind her blue eyes.

"You didn't hear me."

"No. I felt you."

Of course, she did. She's more than just my prey. She's a predator herself. She wouldn't have made it this far without senses that are as sharp as her canines.

A glance at the display counter proves what I already suspected. Empty. Not a single cupcake in sight .

I place an order anyway. "Give Me Your Eyes."

"It's a new one. Sold out fast." She straightens her spine, tugs at the hairband, and lets her hair loose. Thick, blonde locks cascade down the front of her body in waves. They smell of cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla. Of her. "In fact, I was about to close, so if that's all you came for—"

It takes me less than a second to put myself behind the counter. Get in her personal space. Her face. I push her against the wall with one hand on her throat, the other shoving her apron up, bunching it up her waist.

My palm cups the warm space between her thighs and over her dress.

She snarls at me.

"No, little savage." When she struggles, I shove her harder into the wall. Level my face with hers. "I didn't come here for your carrot cupcake. I'm here for you."

A million layers of rage dissolve as soon as I say these words. Her sharp canines glisten under the lighting fixture when she smiles.

I'm a fucker for being here. For doing the thing I swore I wouldn't.

Happiness. A dangerous tinge of it.

This is okay, though. This isn't the kind of happiness that lasts. That destroys.

A hand will not reach down from the sky and take her.

No one will.

Anger at the universe swells in me at the thought. I snap. Fucking lose it .

For now, there's no other God but her. I drop to my knees before the woman I'm supposed to stay away from. The person I'm supposed to help keep alive by staying away.

This isn't staying away.

From my place on the floor, my body is hidden behind the counter. No one will be able to watch me shove Dahlia's long, heavy dress and apron up her hips.

"Tyler." Her hands are on my shoulders. Stopping me. Pulling me to her.

My eyes snap to hers. "Dahlia."

She has plans, I'm aware of that. A person—a target—will be here any second now.

They'll have to wait.

Two nights ago, I kissed her for the first time. Such an intimate moment to share. Far more than rubbing our initials on her stomach with my cum. And I haven't stopped thinking about that kiss ever since.

And I have her cunt now. No one's stopping me.

Fucking no one.

"Hold this." I push her dress into her hand.

Return to looking between her legs.

No leggings, good. She has panties on, though, and that's not going to work for me. I run my nose along the soaking center before I push them to the side.

"You smell so good." I dip my tongue out, trace the tip between her lips until I find her clit.

Dahlia stares at me. Her cheeks redden. Her body is vibrating.

She wants me, but something's holding her back .

Me.

She's a spider watching the fly getting close in her web. She doesn't make a sound as she's trying to catch me.

Doesn't she realize I've always been hers?

That I'm living without the other half of my heart for her?

"You're soaked. For me." I circle my tongue around her lips. Bury my face in her pussy and suck. Taste every inch of her.

I've licked her cunt throughout the years. One quick swipe of my tongue when she was asleep.

Never like this.

Her tremors and eyes—her fucking eyes—there's no comparing anything I've done in the past to this. Day and motherfucking night.

"Oh, fuck," she cries when my free hand spreads her pussy lips. When I suck harder on her clit. "Oh, fuck, Tyler."

I don't slow. Sure as shit don't stop. Swirl my tongue on her clit. Blow on it, then suck on her again.

She shivers so hard she can barely stay upright. The wall holds her weight. My hands on her panties do too.

I gaze up at her, at those blue eyes I'm obsessed with. "Such a greedy cunt you have. Do you still want me to leave, or do you want more, Dahlia?"

"Please. More. Please."

I need to be inside her. Or at least make her come before her last customer for the day arrives.

"I put up the Closed sign. Didn't lock the door." Her juices drip down her thighs. I drag my tongue along the wet trails. "But just in case anyone walks in, tell them to leave. "

"Why'd you ask me that?" She breathes hard. Her body leans into me. "So you can bite off my clit without interruptions?"

"Dirty girl." I punish her by clasping my teeth on her sensitive, hard clit.

Then my lips and tongue kiss and lick and suck her. She moans and grasps at my hair.

Her back arches, her grip on my hair is as desperate as I feel. "Don't go. Don't ever go, Ty."

Our gazes clash. I lift my lips from her pussy, hating that she'd ask that of me. That I'd be so close to saying yes.

"I'm fucked in the head for being here. You're just as fucked up for letting me do this to you." This isn't an answer. Those are the only words I have for her. "We're here now. And no one will get in the way. No one will stop me from making your virgin pussy come all over my mouth."

Those are too many seconds spent talking instead of eating her out. My tongue returns to flick on her clit, my fingers shoved in her hot, dripping cunt.

"Does this"—her moan comes with a thump on the wall when she thrashes her head back—"mean we're back to talking?"

"Don't know." I should've said no.

I barged in here on an impulse. My muscles were responsible for me being here. My broken, tattered heart demanded I walk in.

I should leave.

She has to come first. The territorial animal side in me won't have it any other way .

"Fine, asshole." Her fangs peek. A threat. "Make me come. Then you owe me a date."

My cock jumps in my jeans. Maybe we could and—

Cardiac arrest. Choking on food. The wall in that miserable apartment collapsing on her head.

A million ways for fate to take her from me. Because we're together. Because we're happy.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. I want Dahlia.

"Be a good girl, Dahlia, and take what I'm giving you." I draw back, despite her tight hold on my hair. "This evening, I'm giving you an orgasm with my tongue. My teeth. My fingers. I'll rub and lick you until you're nothing but a desperate little thing. Until you make a mess of my face. That'll have to be enough. That's all I've got. Oh, and Dahlia?"

"What?"

"If anyone walks in, tell them to leave. Did I make myself clear?"

Pain. Physical, emotional. All of it. So much of it that if Dahlia's answer is no, I'll still suck her clit and make her come every day for the rest of her life.

Her short life.

"I won't." She rocks her hips, begging me with her body for me. "It's my shop. When you"—she moans, because I'm not done tasting and finger-fucking her—"disappear tomorrow, this place is the one thing I have left. My c-c-customers are what keep me going."

Customers. The only person coming in here this late is another target .

It's cute how she thinks she can lie to me. The man who's obsessed with her. Who had been her guardian and stalker for years.

I too used to be what some people would deem cute. But life stripped away that part of me. Tore my heart piece by piece. Sucked the blood from my veins.

Who cares about that? Not me. Not right now.

Dahlia's close to orgasming.

She's also refused to do as I said.

"As you wish."

As hungry and ravenous as I am, I pull away. Put her panties, then dress back in place. Get up on my feet. Cradle her cheek in my palm and torture her some more by kissing her forehead ever so gently.

"Ty," she huffs, tears in her voice.

"Your orgasm isn't yours, little savage. It's mine."

A million emotions come alive behind her blue eyes. Betrayal. Fury. Desperation. She clutches at the sleeves of my hoodie, her mouth opening to give me hell.

Ding.

My head snaps to the sound of the bell. A middle-aged woman saunters inside as if the sign doesn't say Closed . She wears a cream-colored tracksuit, her short black bob looking fresh out of the salon.

"Dahlia? You said you wanted to apologize." The woman's voice is a snotty one. Grates on my nerves. "Why does it seem like I'm interrupting?"

"He's leaving." Dahlia flashes her a smile. A predator's smile .

Morbid curiosity. That's what I'm feeling. Other than wanting to fuck Dahlia raw, I'm dying to stay and watch.

One of her suppliers could rape her. A fire could catch in her shop. Lightning could strike her.

Fuck.

Leaving is the lesser of two evils.

When Dahlia ushers me out the door, I say nothing. Neither does she.

I want to scream. To break something. Demand the universe to end our curse.

All I do is taste her on my fingers, sucking on them all the way home.