Page 26 of Red Dreams

This isn't a gesture of care or apology. It's a thinly veiled threat.

Kaden's hand tightens around mine as he surveys the room, his posture rigid and eyes sharp. Tension wafts from him, every muscle primed and ready to strike.

He's in full soldier mode now, hyperaware and assessing each new element in our surroundings.

Kaden’s gaze lands on the bed and narrows. I follow his line of sight, and my breath catches.

The covers are turned down invitingly, rose petals scattered across the silk sheets. But strewn among the petals are glossy photographs. From this distance, I can't make out the images, but a sense of foreboding streaks down my spine.

Kaden releases my hand to approach the bed. He lifts one of the photos, examining it closely, and his already severe expression hardens further. Wordlessly, he hands it to me as I come up beside him.

It's a surveillance shot of me. I'm walking down Main Street, my hair whipping in the wind and a distracted expression on my face. Based on my outfit, it was taken in the spring long before Kaden—or Cassie—entered my life. The realization that she's been watching and gathering information for so much longer than I thought sends a violent shiver through me.

With mounting dread, I pick up another photo. This one shows the Scythe and me in the forest, our first encounter, standing close and engaged in an intense conversation. My eyes are locked on his through the mask, my infallible attraction to him written all over my face and captured in high definition.

Kaden snatches up another photo, pressing so hard, the pads of his fingers turn white. It shows me pinned against the railing at the top of the lighthouse, Kaden's hand around my throat, just before he pushed his fingers inside me. The angle is taken from the beach below, capturing the exact instant my body curved into his touch rather than away from the threat of falling.

Cassie had witnessed my surrender to him and seen how quickly I gave myself over to the man who was supposed to be my killer.

Kaden's fingers dig into the photo's edges. He'd been so certain of his control that night, forcing my submission while holding me over the railing. Yet Cassie also documented his first taste of weakness for me.

Another photo reveals the moment Kaden saved me from being hit by a car in the fog before I knew him as the Scythe. His powerful frame yanks me back, our bodies colliding with the pavement. Even through the mist, you can see the instant connection between us—my fingers clutching his arm, my startled gaze meeting his scarred face for the first time.

I glance at one more photo, one of Reaper sitting on my bedroom’s windowsill at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, staring directly down the lens of the camera where she must’ve spotted Cassie hiding and snapping photos a few yards away. I put my hands to my mouth and turn my back, readying to be sick.

Until I hear Kaden’s breaths coming out hard and fast, his composure fracturing with every exhale.

I whirl back around, momentarily forgetting my nausea at his palpable anguish. “Kaden? What is it?”

He’s lifted another photo from the rumpled sheets, and this one is different. Older. The edges are worn, the colors slightly faded. In it, a much younger Kaden smiles at the camera, his features carefree. Perched on his shoulders is a little girl, no more than four or five years old, her tiny hands fisted in his dark hair as she throws her head back in gleeful laughter.

Pain lances through me at the pure joy captured in this single snapshot—a father and daughter in a moment of unbridled happiness, unaware of the horrific fate waiting in the wings.

More photos are scattered across the sheets, a breadcrumb trail of memories. Each one he touches seems to rip open a new wound—Kaden teaching Cassie to ride a bike, the two of them covered in flour while baking, and Cassie asleep on Kaden's chest, his hand protectively cradling her head even in slumber.

My heart cracks for the little girl smiling up at her daddy with such unbridled trust and adoration, for the man who had that precious love ripped away. I can't begin to imagine the despair and self-loathing that must be carving him up inside to know that same little girl is now the architect of our suffering.

Kaden screws his eyes shut against the onslaught.

I lay a tentative hand on his arm, feeling the tremors running through him. “Kaden...”

“She was my everything.” His voice is scraped raw. “And I failed her.”

“You didn't fail her,” I say fiercely. “What happened to Cassie is not your fault.”

A harsh laugh rips from his throat. “Isn't it?”

“The only assholes here are the ones who stole her from you,” I counter. “The ones who broke a little girl, something you would never,everdo.”

“Daddy was always so careful with his little girl, wasn't he?”

The voice behind us is light, playful, and almost musical. We spin around to find Cassie lounging in the doorway, twirling one of Kaden's knives between her fingers with practiced ease. Her eyes gleam with manic energy as she surveys the scattered photos.

“All those rules about being gentle, being kind.” She catches the knife by its tip. “Look how well that turned out.” Her grin widens, sharp and wrong. “I’mthe one who breaks things now. Want to see how good I’ve gotten at it?”

10

KADEN

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