Chapter Nineteen

Iswitch the lock into place, hating that I have to do it but knowing there isn’t a better option at this moment. Things have changed so radically in the last twenty-four hours. Everything has gone to shit, and if I didn’t need my fucking brother’s help, he’d be half digested on a pig farm or quickly decomposing in a vat of acid by now.

He’s leaned over the kitchen island, knuckles gripped against the marble edges, eyes locked on her locked door like he can burst it down with his gaze alone. Zayden has always been this way. He likes something, he fixates, and then that fixation turns into an obsession. First it was knives, then it was bloodshed, and now it’s…her.

When I step into his line of vision, blocking his view of her, his eyes are the only thing to move, flicking up to me in an irritated scowl.

“Move,” he grits out.

“Why? So you can stare at the door? No. We have work to do and plans to make to get us out of the shit situation you have now placed us in.”

Zayden’s knuckles tighten against the counter as he speaks.

“I’ve got it under control. I’ll keep him happy, and you keep her safe when I can’t be here.”

I shake my head as I move into the living room, grabbing my laptop before I fire up my software.

“That isn’t a life. What, should I just keep her locked in the bedroom until the end of time?”

“Yes.”

“No,” I scold. “She deserves more.”

His eyes are on the door, confliction flickering past his face before he nods once in agreement.

“I still can’t believe you called him,” I mutter under my breath.

His eyes fly over to me as he moves across the room like lighting. My laptop snaps shut before he throws it against the wall, forcing it to shatter into pieces.

Fucking prick.

“I still can’t believe my own brother, my fucking twin, would leave me like that. You left me to rot in prison so you could steal my angel. So, yes, I did whatever I deemed necessary to get out, get her, and kill you.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. The fact of the matter is that we both talk a big game. I think we would both do every single form of torture to one another gladly, but actually killing each other? Taking away the only other Graves this world has? We could never.

“You won’t kill me, and you know it,” I say with a shake of my head.

“For her, I would,” he says, causing my head to tilt to the side. “If it was between you living or her, it would be her. Every. Time.”

The seriousness in his tone and the manic look in his eye should irritate me, upset me at least. Instead, I feel a sort of peace with it as I nod.

“As you should.”

Surprise flashes across his face before he nods once.

“So,” I continue. “What’s our next move?”

I’m sitting in the chair on the far-left corner of the darkened room, the takeout bag firmly gripped in my hands. Her breathing is rhythmic, in, out, in, out. It’s mesmerizing the way her soft exhale seems to fill up this room, her rosy cheeks and full lips laying perfectly still as if she were a porcelain doll. She’s breathtaking like this. If I could keep her preserved like this forever, I would.

Maybe in death.

She must feel my presence because, in the next moment, she rouses awake, her eyes bouncing around the room before landing on me. Contempt fills her gaze instantly.

“What are you doing in here, Zayden?”

The sound of my name on her lips has me practically groaning. My cock stiffens to a steel fucking rod, and I do my best not to fall to my knees and eat her until she passes out right here and now.

“Dinner,” I say simply. “How did you know it was me without seeing my eyes?”

“Because Dom isn’t creepy enough to sit and watch me sleep,” she snaps, her fire I love so much coming out in full flame.

I narrow my eyes at her though, as a piece of that sentence lingers that I don’t like.

“You’ve called him Dom several times now.”

“So?” she questions. “It’s a nickname. Normal people use them from time to time.”

“Normal?” I question, enjoying the irritation that passes over her face at my teasing.

“Yeah, I understand it’s a foreign concept for a psycho stalker rapist like you.”

I blink at her words but don’t say anything more. The hate on her tongue is so strong, surprisingly strong. For some reason, I thought she would understand why I did all that I did. Why I will continue to do all I do. It’s all for her. For us.

“Eat,” I say as I set the food onto the bed beside her.

“I’m not hungry,” she mutters.

“I didn’t ask if you were. Eat.”

She looks like she is about to refuse when her stomach lets out a thunderous growl. Looking away quickly, she faces the wall but doesn’t say anything. I let out a heavy sigh before coming to the side of her bed. I crouch down on my hands and knees, I know how much she hates being towered over, before I meet her eyes.

“Please.”

My angel blinks hard once, shaking her head like she’s confused by me, before she turns back over and opens the bag, grabbing the first fry she can and plopping it into her mouth. I stand up, walking back over to my chair where I left her milkshake on the floor. When I hand it to her, her eyes light up, just for a moment, because of me. It gives me a rush unlike any kill ever has.

She hesitates for a moment before I nod in encouragement. Taking the cup from me, she grabs another french fry and dips it into her shake. It’s one of her favorite combinations. Sometimes she’d go to this little twenty-four-hour diner after work and order a side of french fries and a vanilla shake, never anything more or less. I started ordering the same thing too from the other side of the restaurant, and though I don’t love it like her, it’s not bad.

I watch as her chewing slows, and she looks up at me with a frown.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“I feel like I should say thank you, but I hate you. You’re a bad person. I don’t think you deserve thanks.”

I nod at that, confused as to her dilemma. Her eyes narrow at that.

“You’re not even gonna try to refute it?”

“No. You’re right, I’m a very bad man.”

She swallows roughly for a moment but maintains her composure as she speaks.

“Are you going to kill me?”

I tilt my head to the side as I look at her.

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know what to think. One moment, I was dating my boyfriend, moving in with him. The next I find out he’s a liar with a secret twin brother who has been stalking me. Now I’m locked inside a bedroom with no way out.”

“The door is right there.” I gesture easily.

“So I’m free to go?” she asks.

“No.”

An irritated huff leaves her as she tosses up her hands.

“See? I’m a fucking prisoner. So just do whatever you plan on doing and get it over with.”

She grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut, bracing her body as if she’s prepared for whatever comes next. I’m more intrigued as to why she feels the instinct to allow whatever is about to happen in order to escape. Most people would beg and plead. Try to run or fight. She’s giving up, and that doesn’t coincide with who I know she is.

Slowly, I reach a hand out, brushing my knuckles over her cheek as I speak.

“All I want to do is keep you safe, angel.”

One eye slowly opens at that as she watches me for several seconds.

“Then let me go,” she whispers.

I don’t respond before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t fight me off, which leads me to believe she’s still doing whatever she thinks she needs to survive this, and I fucking hate that. I leave without another word, an idea sprouting in my mind. She has such intense survival skills. I’m beginning to see she’s had to survive worse than me in her time, which is a chilling thought because I’m just about the worst there is.