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CHAPTER NINE

Tyler

F or almost forty-eight hours, I’ve been talking to myself. Convincing myself that staying away is the right thing to do.

When I left Dahlia on the third night of October, I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t concentrate on saving her. All I wanted was to bring her pleasure. Make her cry for me. Take her home and love her for all I’m worth, which isn’t much.

But I’d given it to her.

My cock throbbed. Every wire in my head was fried.

I forgot about my anger. Forgot I hated her for not making it easy for me to cut her out of my life. For being so beautifully stubborn. For refusing to let me protect her.

Her obsession with me has always posed a risk. To her, and consequently me .

A world without Dahlia isn’t one worth living in. Hell on earth, that’s what it would be. I should’ve remembered that. I always remember that.

Except every time I’m near her, I don’t remember any of it.

The guillotine over our heads. The way fate has it in for us. Her imminent death. Our pasts, the stuff nightmares were made of.

None of those register in her presence.

Grief, loss, and mayhem have been what the world had to offer us. Whenever Dahlia’s and my orbits collided, bad things happened.

First, her parents. Then her uncle. Ian. My grandma. Our entire apartment building.

She presses a metaphorical button inside me, and I forget everything.

In the privacy of my home, I remember.

Leaving her is a necessity.

Still…

I love her.

Forty-eight hours apart from her is an agony.

Especially since the memories from two nights ago are gone. Her scent disappeared from my fingers. The taste of her is no longer on my tongue.

I’ve been working, eating, shitting, and sleeping.

Dying on the inside.

Matter of fact, I haven’t been truly living for years.

Ever since I fell for her. It happened over the second year I’d acted as her ward .

On that damn Halloween night.

Dahlia was seventeen. I was twenty-nine. We were friends. She wanted me, I knew that. But I didn’t. Until that night when something clicked.

The night my love for her took a dark, dangerous turn.

I hadn’t left for work that Halloween morning. After last year, I didn’t dare leave her to herself. When I walked into her apartment late at night to find her on the floor. Screaming, crying. On all fours, in a puddle of her pee. She must have been there for hours.

There was no chance in hell I’d let that happen a second time around.

So, I’d taken the day off work. Showered and changed into jeans and a black Henley.

At exactly eight that morning, I knocked on her door. “Dahlia?”

No answer.

I had the keys to her apartment. That was a part of our deal. She gets to live there, and social services would never find out. But I had to keep the keys Ian had given me. I had to be able to protect her.

“Dahlia.”

Even though I had them, I wouldn’t barge in there. Unless I suspected something was off, I had no right to—

“I killed you.” Sob. Sniffle. “I killed you. How are you back here?”

One turn of the key and I was inside her apartment.

Dahlia was exactly where I’d worried she’d be. On all fours, wearing one of my black hoodies she’d taken without my permission. Without my verbal one, anyway. It was obvious at that point that I’d offer her the world. That was the least I could do after the universe had let her down time and again .

“Dahlia, I’m here.”

No answer.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks and dropped to the floor. Her hair hadn’t been combed. She held a knife in her hand, pressed between her palm and the floor.

Staring at a ghost.

Most days, I’d worried for Ian’s sake. Admittedly, not as much as I should, given the fact he hadn’t contacted either Dahlia or me. He’d been out there by himself. On the run for two years now.

My conscience demanded I cared more. My soul wouldn’t hear it. I belonged here. With Dahlia. Every second of every day, I had to be here for her.

At her lack of response, I dropped to my knees. I kneeled before her face, at a safe distance, yet close enough to reach out and touch her.

Wounded wild animals needed to be handled with special care.

“Little savage.”

A low roar vibrated in her chest. Her eyes were trained on the floor between us. The knife in her hand slowly lifted.

“Dahlia, it’s me.” I lowered my head until we were at eye level. “It’s Tyler. Al’s gone. You killed him.”

The words did something to her. Just not what I intended them to be. Dahlia sat back on her shins, grasping the knife so tight her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were unfocused as she was staring at the past.

Not at me. I could tell that with absolute certainty.

“Go away,” Dahlia snarled, aiming the knife at my chest. Right at the point where new, unfamiliar emotions began to swirl. I hadn’t had them before I left my apartment. I do now. “Go away, Al. I won’t let you hurt Ian or me. I killed you once, I can—and will —kill you again.”

I didn’t say a single word. Didn’t do a damn thing other than stare. For her benefit. So I could make sense of this feeling that scraped at my heart.

This heat. This attraction. Dahlia had always been feral. Always been slightly unhinged, even in her good moments. Watching her unravel was nothing new.

What was new was the need to claim her. What was new was me wanting to kiss her lips. Dive my hands in her hair. Pin her to the floor and make everything better for her with my cock and fingers and teeth.

Or maybe none of it was new. Maybe it’d been simmering inside me for a couple of months now.

Jesus. That wasn’t right. She was seventeen and that wasn’t fucking right.

I shook my head. Kept saying nothing.

“I’ll gut you like a fish, Al.” The fingernails of her free hand scratched her bare leg, breaking the skin. “I’ll gut you like a fish and have your insides for breakfast. Is that what you want? Huh? That’s why you’re staying here?”

Fuck being careful. Fuck my sick desires. Fuck worrying about her gutting me like a fish.

She was losing it and fast. I had to save her.

“Dahlia.” I leaned forward, cupping her face in my palms.

I tilted her head up. She still wasn’t seeing me. In a desperate move, I lowered my face to hers, squeezing her cheeks .

“It’s Tyler, Dahlia.” My bones hummed her name. My heart ignored the knife in her hand. She had to be saved. Nothing else mattered. “Al is gone, you hear? Al. Is. Gone.”

For a split second, the corners of her lips ticked up. Her eyes twinkled.

I knew that glint.

I stayed in place regardless.

“You’re dead, fucker.”

It happened fast. The blade of a knife sliced through my T-shirt, sinking into my forearm.

And fuck me, that violent move made me fall for her even harder.

Hot blood flowed down my arm. Dahlia cut me a second time, just above the other gash, hurting me in that sweet way of hers. More blood poured from the second gash and fuck.

The only words on the tip of my tongue for her were Let me cut you too. I need to see just how deeply I own you. I need you .

That would’ve been selfish. Would’ve been wrong.

She was seventeen and stuck inside her head.

“You had your fun, little savage.” I twisted my wrist, catching her off guard and dismantling her of her weapon. “But I can’t let you stay there.” I picked her off the floor despite her screams. Despite the throbbing pain between my legs. She was my priority. Always. “Can’t let you stay inside your head—”

“I’ll kill you!” Her fingernails scratched at my cheeks. Drawing more blood. I let her have it. “I’ll kill you a million times until you’re finally fucking dead! Put me down, motherfucker! ”

Nothing deterred me as I walked us to her bathroom. I stepped into the shower, blasting the hot water on. It was hot because I’d turned on the heater from my phone as soon as I’d woken up that morning.

“Don’t touch me!” The spray sputtered, coughed, then sprayed both of us. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Dahlia.” My voice sounded angry, so I cleared my throat. Water dripped down my lips. “Al is gone. It’s Tyler, baby. It’s me.”

What the fuck. I just called her baby. Didn’t matter. She didn’t hear me, anyway, by the look in her eyes.

“Put me down!”

“It’s Tyler,” I repeated. That trick helped last year. “Al’s dead. It’s Tyler.”

She screamed and thrashed, her voice garbled by the water she was choking on. Strands of her hair were glued to her forehead and cheeks.

And her eyes, fuck. Blue and wild and precious.

A person living in their own version of hell shouldn’t look this beautiful.

“Dahlia.” My shirt and jeans clung to my body. My boots were soaked. I pushed both of us into the wall of the shower, hoping the pain would wake her. “It’s me. Tyler. Tyler. Tyler. I love you. I’m here.”

About five inches from her head, I caught a glimpse of the old tile that had cracked last year. I would’ve fixed it for her. I could afford it, had Dahlia been less stubborn. She’d insisted on leaving the place exactly the same for when Ian returned and—

Later .

Al had a hold on her, in her mind, and I wasn’t losing that fight.

“I love you,” I shouted through the spray of the water. “I love you. Come back.”

She started banging her head against the wall. And I did the only thing I could think of. I leaned into her. Between one head bashing and the other, I planted my lips on her temple.

No more words. No more begging. I just let my lips press to her skin. Let us stand under the stream. Praying for her to climb back out of the hell she was stuck in.

Fuck, that felt good. Kissing her. Wrong, too. I’d never do it again.

I had to do it then.

“Tyler?” A soft whisper. I wasn’t even sure I heard it. “Tyler. You’re here.”

She returned to me. I sucked in a deep, relieved breath. Water filtered through my nostrils when I did, but fuck it. I’d have drowned for Dahlia. I’d have died for her. I would’ve.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” I didn’t let go. “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

I stayed with her throughout the entire day. A year later, tragedy struck. Ian came back with a vengeance. Slaughtered every neighbor throughout the building for failing to help him save Dahlia all those years ago.

Sitting up, I tap my fingers on my dining table and look around my dark apartment. I’m wide awake even though it’s pushing two in the morning .

Where is she?

Back in her apartment, probably. Sleeping.

I could stay here. I should stay here.

We’re cursed. We’re cursed. We’re cursed.

Boots. Jeans. My favorite black hoodie.

There’s hardly anyone outside on my walk over to Dahlia’s home. The late night’s chill seeps through my clothes no matter how fast I walk. My home is far, far behind me, and I’m still not anywhere near warm.

I’m determined, though. This pain in my chest. This longing that pulls me to her.

My hands go to my hoodie pockets. I lower my head. Pick up my pace to match the beating of my heart.

Every pore in my body comes alive the closer I am to Dahlia.

A sleeping Dahlia. That’s how it won’t count. If she’s asleep. If she’s not up, then we’re not actually together. I won’t be a complete bastard who’ll be responsible for her death.

Just a taste. Just one fucking taste.

Damn her fire escape for dropping without a fight. For putting her—yes, even a murderer like her—in danger. Someone could creep up and hurt her.

Only they won’t. As long as I’m out of the picture, no one will touch her.

She’ll be safe.

The climb to the second floor is one I’m familiar with. My muscles don’t protest on the way up. They take me up there, to her .

No one hears or cares that a man in a hoodie sneaks up here in the middle of the night. That’s a given. No one’s ever called the police when I hang out here in the shadows. I don’t imagine they’ll start tonight.

I peek into her apartment, searching for her. The lights in the living room are out. As are the ones in her room. Darkness permeates beneath her closed bedroom door.

Even if I can’t see her, I’m sure she’s sleeping.

For five nights in a row, she’s been killing people. Disposing of their bodies all by herself. Wakes up at the crack of dawn to start over.

Bake, sell, kill, repeat.

There’s no way she’s up at two-thirty in the morning.

This is the best time to have her. The only time I can have her.

The lock on her window and I are friends by now. It gives, and I climb inside Dahlia’s apartment.

My heart doesn’t beat the same when I’m in her space. Not slow or fast. Different. Everything’s different around her.

Unhinged. Feral. Wild.

And it gets crazier as I near her closed bedroom door.

I recognize the transformation as it happens. As I walk past the tiny kitchen and the smaller living room.

The sick desire calls for me to do worse than jack off to her. I want to bind her to the bed. Spank and bite and drive my cock so deep inside her that she’ll be sore for months.

Worse than that. I want to be with her. Forever .

Before I enter her bedroom, my eye catches something interesting. My cock rages when I turn back to the kitchen. When I tear one yellow Post-it off its stack and take it with me.

My orgasm can’t wait. But it will. The possessive, unhinged man I’m turning into demands it.

Her door opens without making a sound and I’m in there.

Throbbing. Maddened.

Starving.

Dahlia is sleeping, like I thought. She’s lying on her back, her soft hair still damp from the shower. Her pouty lips are pressed together. She’s peaceful, resting there with the covers pulled up to her chin.

It won’t last.

I swallow down the need to touch her face. To caress her cheeks that feel as silky as rose petals. That’ll wake her.

We can’t. Be. Together.

Carefully, I peel the thick blankets off her body. That I can do. I lift her red sweater and black T-shirt until they reach her collarbone. They scrunch up there, hiding the snake tattoo on her neck.

Revealing the rest of her.

Soft belly. Pink nipples. Plump breasts that I’m dying to take a bite of.

My woman.

Not yours .

I bite back a growl. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to return to her and ruin her life. But I’m hard and obsessed and fuck . Staying away hurts. Staying away is the worst kind of torture .

My cock is out of my briefs, throbbing in my fist. Precum leaks from the head, and I squeeze myself harder, feeling the pulse beneath my palm.

Inside my head—where Dahlia can’t hear me—I curse. Fuck, and fuck, and motherfucker. Damn this distance I have to put between us. Damn this curse I couldn’t get rid of.

I’m not here to cry over life, though, am I?

I’m here for her. She’s beautiful. Breathing softly, her chest rising and falling. Her nipples harden from the cold.

Mine.

Same as I’ve done every other night I broke in here, I fuck my hand, hard. I imagine what it would be like to be the first man inside her virgin cunt. She’d be tight. Would bleed for me. Scream for me.

I won’t close my eyes for a second. I’ll watch her scream in pain and pleasure. I’ll be a vampire feeding off her feelings. Swallow up every emotion that pours out of her.

She’ll clench around my cock and— oh, fuck, that feels good —soak me. I’ll make her that wet. Make her pussy cry for me.

Dahlia will love it when I fuck her like the beast I am. When I choke her. When I spank her ass and call her my whore.

I don’t know if I could take her any other way. I don’t know that I want to.

The distance has turned me into an animal. She’s turned me into one.

My balls tighten, and it takes everything in me not to crumple the yellow Post-it in my other hand. That’s how maddening it is to jack off to Dahlia while she’s here, begging for me to come all over her.

It’s so good that I want to break things. Set the world on fire.

Dahlia hums in her sleep and the sound reaches straight to my heart. To my cock. I lose it and then I’m shooting hot spurts of cum on her stomach.

Then I hold back. It hurts like a motherfucker to keep it in, but I’m on a mission. Normally, I’d dip my finger, paint D and T with my cum on her skin.

Tonight, I’m leaving her a message. Much like the ones she used to leave on my sofa bed years ago at my old home.

Except my message won’t be a creepy one.

My message will contain one word, and one word only.

An undeniable truth. The thing that’ll always be out of my reach.

Mine .

I aim the head of my cock at the yellow Post-it. With what’s left of my cum, I scribble the message to the paper. Press it to the pillow next to Dahlia. Hover an inch above her face, pretending to kiss her before I put her clothes back in place. Tuck her under the covers.

She’ll find what I left her when she wakes up.

She’ll know it was me.

Still doesn’t mean we’re together.

This doesn’t mean a goddamned thing.

I just hope the universe hears me too.