Chapter Twenty-Four

S itting on my desk chair in my bedroom, I watch Dahlia sleep in my bed. She looks perfect, tangled up in my sheets and thoroughly fucked. Her cheeks lost their flush, but I'm sure if I feel like it, my face can burrow between her thick thighs and bring back the color.

The thing is, I'm not in the mood. I keep thinking about what she said earlier about someone watching us. My mind went straight to my friends and them finding us, but if they had, they would've already called or texted me about it.

So it's not them.

I flex my fingers and settle more in my seat as I go through everything that happened, searching for potential clues. Dahlia didn't have any solid descriptions of this person, and I wonder if it's one of her hallucinations. I've researched mental illnesses that make someone see demons and, after dismissing all the blogs about demonic possessions, I came across articles about schizophrenia.

The information lines up with her symptoms, except for a few that aren't listed. She sometimes becomes bubblier than usual. More daring and outgoing. She's terrible at holding a job, and I don't think it's because of the schizophrenia—if she has it. My best bet is she struggles because of the antipsychotics she's taking.

Even with all of that knowledge, worry still sours my stomach.

I meant what I said to her. I don't care if everybody knows about us. Dahlia, on the other hand, is stressed about it. I'm merely a mortal man bowing at the feet of my goddess. I bend at her will, and if she doesn't want anyone to know about our relationship, then so be it. People will find out eventually, and I hate that for her. I hate being a dirty little secret, but I refuse to break Dahlia's trust.

My jaw clenches.

It doesn't mean that I won't break it in a different way. I hope she'll overcome her anger toward me when I put my plans into action. It's all in her best interest.

Dahlia shifts in her sleep and sighs with a little moan. I lick my front teeth behind my closed lips. I hope she isn't having any nightmares. She's mentioned them before, and now that I know about what's really happening, it fucking terrifies me. I want to protect my sister, but how can I protect her from the one thing I can't touch? Her mind must be a scary place, and I hope I can be her safety. Her haven. Just as she is for me.

Her piece-of-shit mom doesn't care about what happened. Neither does our dad. If I could kill them right now, I would, but I have to wait less than twenty-four hours until I unleash every bit of rage on them, Kyle, Connor, and Mickey.

Michael, too.

I haven't forgotten about that fucker sitting like a waiting duck at the mansion with a barely alive Kyle. Every single person on my shit list is a dead man walking. Even though I can't find Mickey, he'll eventually show his face. It doesn't matter if the Reckoning is happening or not. I'll gladly go to jail for ridding the world of that piece of shit.

Dahlia turns onto her other side. Her arm slips over the side of the mattress and dangles. I want to climb into bed and lie behind her, hugging her against me. I hate being touched, but I crave Dahlia's hands on me. Holding her has always been my happy place because she provides me peace in the hell that is my mind. I realize that she's right there beside me, and I didn't realize until three days ago.

Standing, I angle my head to the side to work out the tension in my muscles. Cartilage pops, and I groan under my breath from the slight relief it brings.

As much as I want to stay here with Dahlia, I need to get ready for tomorrow night if I can't sleep.

I look at the time. It's 1:24 a.m. Okay. So technically, later tonight is when the ten-hour reckoning happens. The last time I went, I was thirteen, flustered by Dahlia kissing me, and saw a lot of shit that would traumatize anyone. People were having sex, and others were killing. There was a party and general mayhem.

Now, as an adult, I crave it all. The same darkness that was inside me as a kid festered and became a monster. Because that's what I am. I'm a monster who corrupted his little sister, and I can't let her go.

I'll never allow her out of my grasp, and when the time is right, I'm fucking a baby into her. I'll have her dripping my cum at all hours of the day and night until she tells me she's pregnant. Even then, I'm still fucking her to make up for all the time we've missed out on.

I cross the room and move Dahlia's messy green hair out of her face. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead and linger for a moment, enjoying the feel of her warm, silky skin against my lips. Her deep, even breaths fan against my throat, making my cock twitch. This girl proves Pavlov's theory on me. Just the barest touch on my skin from her, and I'm hard.

After a moment, I pull away, already missing touching her. I check her arm, making sure the stitches are still intact and don't look infected. Dahlia groans, still fast asleep but aware enough to feel my fingers brushing over her uninjured skin.

"I'll be back soon, flower," I murmur, then leave the bedroom and close the door behind me.I've left the bathroom light on for her since she's mentioned in passing how she can't sleep without it.

I leave the house and straddle my motorcycle after gearing up. In eighteen hours and thirty minutes, Dahlia will be my wife.