Page 74 of All the Things We Buried

No one touches what’s mine. Only I do.

I turned and walked out of her bedroom. Made my way back to the living room. I stood in the corner, staring out the window, watching shadows shift across the grass. But in my mind, all I saw was blood.

Their screams echoed back to me.

A year ago, Cameron found the Mechanic and the Cop. Told them I was still alive. Said he knew where the money was. We lured them in, easy as dragging bait through shallow water.

The first thing I did? Took their tongues.

Because of living alone for so long, every word from a stranger felt like a hammer to the skull. Silence was cleaner. More honest.

They’re rotting with the rest, beneath the house.

And Cameron? He finished the job. Now he’s got a wife and kids. Changed man. Family guy. I wish I had his life. But maybe it was never mine to live.

And if you’re wondering if his life is better, the answer’s simple. It always is.

I heard the footsteps; she was coming down the stairs.

When she stepped into the living room, I saw her. And I couldn’t resist.

“Hello, little stepsister,” I said, watching her closely.

She gasped and spun around, confused, not knowing where the voice had come from.

I stepped forward. When she turned, my hand brushed hers.

“Dorian,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like glass.

“Shhh,” I said in a low voice. “Don’t speak.”

She shivered the moment my skin touched hers, and all I wanted was to kiss her. But my pride wouldn’t let me. That sick part of me, the one that always needed control, tightened its grip.

So I grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. Her palms hit the wallpaper with a smack, and she cried out.

“Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

“No,” I said.

My hands moved under her nightdress, fingers gliding along her bare skin until they reached her hips. When I found her there, I pulled her hard against me. Her head fell to my chest, trembling.

“Break for me, Trouble.”

“I am already broken,” she whispered, her voice cracked and wet with tears.

I shoved her back against the wall again, harder this time, then stepped away.

“Why did you leave?” I asked.

“I had no choice,” she whispered.

“You always have a choice.”

“Not when it’s stolen from you,” she cried, trying to turn around.

Before she could, I was behind her again, pressing her against the wall, my body tight to hers.

“Liar,” I growled into her ear. “You’re a fucking liar, Trouble.”