9. CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dahlia

N ormally, before a kill, my heart rate slows.

My muscles strain. I'm poised to fight. The little tips of my canines feel sharper against my bottom lip. The snake at my neck crawls.

Tonight is nothing like that.

Tonight, my heart jackhammers. Lurches in its cage like a goddamn lunatic, knocking itself against my chest, down my belly, up my throat.

Fucking Tyler.

He knew. He knew .

Knew I had my target coming. Knew how to fuck with my head.

A part of me resents him for showing up. For trying to get in the way.

He had to have realized how much I needed this .

And he tried to do what? Stop me? Turn me into this sweet, pure girl he remembered?

Fuck that. Fuck him for leaving me here with my pussy throbbing and my breasts heavy. With my heart torn into so many pieces.

I want—no, have —to get him back here to patch it up. Stop the incessant bleeding.

Later. I have work to do.

Without him taking up every available space inside the shop, I can breathe. I can focus. I will focus.

"You asked me to come this late to apologize to me." Birdie clicks, clicks, clicks on her heels as she saunters toward the cupcakes display. She taps on it with one of her clumsy fingers. A smudge forms. "I'm all ears."

I beg with my pulse to slow down. I can't do this, can't focus , with my heart pounding so loud in my chest. The sound is deafening. Maddening.

"You're right." Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Better. "You're owed an apology."

She jerks her chin up, condescending and entitled as ever. Her eyes skate over to the display again. The empty display. Lines crease her forehead. A frown twists her lips down.

She's desperate for a fix of my cupcakes. I hold back from offering it right away. Won't give it to her until it's time. I'm stalling. Toying with her.

"For what?" She raises her eyebrows. Another entitled gesture. Bitch knows very fucking well why both of us are here. But she's looking to humiliate me. Her ego demands it. " Be specific, Dahlia. What have you done that calls for an apology?"

Me? Nothing. It's you who's been such a fucking bitch.

"What I said the other day."

My gaze darts to the floor. Hands wringing. Putting on a show as if I'm ashamed and remorseful for my outburst.

"What was it you said?"

Poor, dumb dummy of a woman. Getting into shark-infested waters with a gaping wound. That's what she's doing.

"I shouldn't have raised my voice at you. What happened to you was a mistake. You didn't mean to." Deep down, a smile spreads. A bloody one. "Sometimes things fall from our hands. We're only human, after all."

Only humans, my ass. This rich, cheap asshole has the same routine. Twice a month, at least, she shows up at my shop. Orders one cupcake. Pays two-fifty, and takes a hearty bite, swallowing half of it.

What's left of it, she drops on the floor.

Oopsie poopsie. Look at me and my two left hands. You understand, Dahlia, right? Be a doll and give me a new one. I'd hate to cause a scene and tell everyone here that you're mistreating a sick woman.

If Miss Cunt over here would've had some sort of medical condition that caused this, I wouldn't have peeped. I would've given her three cupcakes on the fucking house, just in case one or two would've fallen on the way.

Except that's not the case.

After the millionth incident, I couldn't take it anymore .

I had her checked. A few Bitcoin transactions on the dark web gave me access to her medical records.

The woman is healthier than I've ever been.

And she's rich. Flaunts around with her Birkin bag and wears clothes that cost thousands of dollars. Yet here she is, conning me out of two and a half dollars.

Off to my October hitlist she went.

When I return her gaze, she smiles. Thinks she's winning this round.

Ha.

"That we are." She lifts on her tiptoes, eyeing the baking room behind me. Searching for the source of the sweet, delicious scents. "My feelings are still hurt, though. You yelled at me in front of everyone, Dahlia. Humiliated me. Falsely accused me of trying to con you."

She's not the only actress between the two of us. I did that intentionally. Told her off and heard her tirade about how her friends would never visit my shop again.

Screw her and her rich friends. I didn't need her two fifty times fuck-knows-how-much, either. I needed to set the stage to reel her in here. And I did exactly that.

My, my. I played her better than Chopin ever played the piano.

She would feel so dumb if she ever found out the truth. I wish I could pat myself on the back. I don't, but I do hear the applause in my head.

And the Oscar goes to…

"I would never stoop that low." Birdie blinks twice, forcing tears to the corners of her eyes. Cry me a motherfucking river. "My husband and the mayor play golf together, for heaven's sake. That's how rich we are. Why would I lie to get free cupcakes?"

Here's a great answer to her question. Some behaviors can't be explained, even by the world's greatest psychiatrists.

Sure, people are nice. People are funny. People are sweet. People—Tyler, particularly—are dark and hot and possessive as fuck.

Others are simply born cruel and heartless. Al and my mom grew up in the same house, had the same loving parents. She turned up sweet and caring. He became an abusive psycho.

Birdie loves the power trip just because. Every time she threatens to make a scene in exchange for a freebie, she gloats.

But this isn't the moment to enlighten her.

Soon.

"I don't know how I haven't thought about it sooner. Apologies." Apologies, my ass. I step forward, hold the swinging door open for her. She comes in, naturally. Damn Birdie never stood a chance against my trickery. "Let me make this up to you. I have this new flavor in the works."

"Tell me more," she glees.

"I'd love for a worldly woman such as yourself to get the first taste. Tell me what you think."

"You've found the right person to ask." Birdie is ecstatic.

So ecstatic from humiliating me. From bending me to her will and forcing me to suck up to her. I bet the rest of the world does that. I bet the power trip gets to her head every single time.

It sure gets to her head now, that much is obvious .

She puffs her chest, searching for those new cupcakes I promised her. Distracted.

I am not. I'm here, careful not to make a noise as I close the door to the baking room. Lock it.

We're all alone here. She and I.

My nose scrunches. Why does my heart ache at that?

Tyler. That's why.

A part of me wishes he would've stayed for this. He would've been proud, I imagine, watching me take matters into my own hands. Get a grip on my October meltdowns. Murder bad people in the most creative ways.

He might've even liked it. Might've wanted to stay for good.

Except he left. Again.

He's not going to get far.

This isn't over, Ty .

But it is over for Birdie. I wrap an arm around her throat. Choke her.

Grin widely when she passes out.

"For our next trick, I present to you—Birdie."

My invisible audience roars. Hands clap. People hoot.

Then it's just Birdie and me again.

I tower over her naked, hogtied body, arms crossed over my chest.

"What the—" Her face is flush red. She wiggles on her stomach, doing her best to escape. "What the hell is going on? "

It must be really uncomfortable, the way I left her. Wrists and ankles bound together and to each other. Ropes lacing around her chest and arms, pinning them to each other.

Some people work out to stay flexible. Birdie isn't one of them. Everything about the fifty-something-year-old woman screams pain. Lying on her stomach and being bent in this position must hurt. Her muscles work against the restraints. Sweat beads her forehead.

"Please," she whispers when I don't make a move to help her. "Please."

"Fine, fine," I groan, rolling my eyes. "I'll help you."

There's hope in hers. She doesn't scream.

Yet.

"Thank you. Thank you." She jerks her chin up as much as the restraints allow. Clinging on to the last of her dignity. What's left of it. She is naked and have I mentioned hogtied? "This must be some huge misunderstanding—"

I'm at her side. The tip of my Chucks is shoved between Birdie's stomach and the tarp on the floor.

"Whoops." I kick, flipping her on her side. "See? All better."

"No." Her frown and angry blue eyes must be every service provider's worst nightmare. "Not better. Let me go. I'll destroy you, Dahlia. I swear to God, by the time I'm done with you, no one will remember you ever existed."

"Oooh, look at me." My arms wrap around my middle again and I shiver, my teeth chattering. "I'm terrified. Fine, you got me. I'll release you."

Of course, I won't .

I reach behind me to the table. Grab a basic chocolate and another basic vanilla cupcake for the basic bitch at my feet.

"Serves you right." Pretending the ties don't hurt her fails miserably. She winces when I crouch next to her face. "Start by untying my ankles. My back hurts. But take off the latex gloves before you touch me. I'm allergic."

"Sure you are." I move around her, pretending I'm there to untie her. "Here, I just need to stretch this…"

"Dahlia?" Her voice grows frantic when I pull one of her butt cheeks to the side.

"What are you doing?" She squirms. "These are my private parts."

"And those were my cupcakes you dropped." Before I finish the sentence, I push the cupcake into her clenched asshole.

A smidge of the cupcake goes in. The rest smears on her pucker and ass. Crap. This isn't going the way I hoped it would.

"Noooo," she mewls, jerking her body when I swivel it, trying to shove more into her. "Not there. You said you'd let me go."

"Hmm." I remove what's left of the cupcake, keeping it within reach. Using the frosting as a lubricant, I take two fingers and jam them in her ass. That does it. That gets the cupcake inside her. "Success!"

"Noooo," she cries out, same as before. "Enough."

"Would you have stopped threatening me if I begged you to?"

"Help! "

"Help isn't an answer, B."

I curl my fingers and push them to the side, forcing her butthole open. The clenched ring of muscles widens for me, and there you go, more frosting and a larger chunk of the cupcake are jammed in.

The big chunks are the trickiest. I pull it off anyway.

"Yes," she screams. "I would've stopped."

She locks her ass tighter. One push and she would've farted the whole pastry in my face. Good thing her brain is too fucked to think about that.

"Liar."

Once I'm done with the chocolate, I grab the vanilla cupcake.

"Please, no," she cries when I move around to her front and wiggle the cupcake in her face. "Enough."

"No can do."

Her pussy is bare, the lips fat, hiding her other hole from me. Undeterred, I push one to the side with my dirty latex cupcake- and poop-covered fingers.

I've learned my lesson from her ass, so I don't just shove it in. I place the cupcake on the floor, ignoring the soundtrack of Birdie's cries. Or maybe I do listen to them. Yes, I do. Her humiliation is music to my ears.

I dip three fingers into the cupcake.

Vanilla and frosting coat my fingers. I collect a good, healthy chunk. Just as big as the bites she used to take before dropping my pastries to the floor.

"There you go." I push it as deep as it'd go inside her pussy. It's loose, unlike her ass. It can fit more too. I take what's left of the cupcake and fill her up. "Two complementary cupcakes, Birds. Can I interest you in another one?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her eyes follow my movements as I straighten and head for the table. A selection of seven chocolate and vanilla cupcakes waits for me there, ready for her. "Please, stop this. You can't do this. I'm one of New York's finest."

"You're a prick." I point an accusing finger at her, smiling as I do. "That's what you are."

"Fine, fine. I am. You're absolutely right." Tears that actually look genuine leak from her eyes and land on my tarp. "I'm the worst prick in the world. That's me. Anything you say."

"You should've thought about that before today." Armed with one chocolate and one vanilla cupcake, I squat in front of her face. I wonder if she smells the cupcakes or her body fluids. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty."

"True, true—" More futile attempts to get herself out of this mess.

Won't work.

Both cupcakes go into her eyes. Her left eye has turned into a white smudge, her right one a dark shade of brown. Gravity pulls on the cups, and two large chunks of the cupcakes go down with them to the tarp.

"No, no, this can't be." A new wave of tears breaks through the pastries and frosting, just barely. "Make it stop."

"The only thing I want to stop is your lame voice and useless pleadings." With a pep in my step, I hop over to the table and gather the rest of the cupcakes in my arms .

"I'm sorry." Saliva drips down her cheek and to the floor. "I'll be quiet, I swear, I'll be so quiet that—"

"Yes, you will." A chocolate cupcake is jammed into her mouth. Another goes to her nose.

Hmm. Her ears. I didn't consider that when I flipped her to the side. I can only see one when she's positioned like that.

"Come here."

"No." She spits the cupcake at me. "No."

"Yes."

My gloves are filthy as they grab onto her shoulders. She shudders, trying to get me off her.

To delay the inevitable.

Ha.

Ha.

"Don't worry, darling." I'm sarcastic as hell, though I don't think she notices. "This is the last you'll hear from me. Promise."

It really is. Two cupcakes go to either one of her ears, both chocolate flavored.

The scent of pee permeates through the delicious chocolate and vanilla scents. I'd say I'm disgusted, except Birds here won't hear a thing I'm saying. I'd rather save my breath.

I have one last cupcake left to wrap up this shitshow. A vanilla one. I left the best for last, so I'd be able to witness the damage I'm about to cause.

Birdie is a sputtering, unattractive mess when I grab my butcher's knife from beneath the table. She has no idea I'm approaching her with a deadly weapon. She won't have any idea about anything anymore .

The blade of the knife I wield glistens in the light one second. Next, I land a final blow to the back of her head. And again. And again.

She stops wiggling. Stops fighting me.

I still shove the last cupcake into the hole I dug.

The last freebie she'll ever get.