Page 49 of Painter's Obsession

“That’s where you’re wrong. You are, and I think it’s perfect,” I reply, stepping closer.

“Isn’t your thing killing women? What are you planning on doing with me?”

“You’re not my typical type. And, if it helps you feel any better, you saved your sister by simply existing. She was next, you know.”

I turn off the hose, walking toward the storage rack. The sound of water dripping echoes behind me, mingling with his shallow, uneven breaths. “And, to answer your question. I plan to keep you, but remember the very real threat that hangs over your sister’s life.”

“If you touch her—“

His voice is behind me now, sharp and trembling with barely restrained fury.

I turn around with a smile, my head cocked. “Nothing happens,” I say, my voice calm, taunting. “I showed you that last night. Didn’t I?”

Byron’s body trembles with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. His chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven, his fury palpable in the air between us.

He’s fuming now. And it’s beautiful.

Returning to my previous question, I ask, “Before I forget, I really need to know. Why did he beat you? Gabriela told me.”

The mention of her name is enough to break through his armor. It’s almost admirable—the lengths he’ll go for his younger sister.Almost.

“I was sick,” he finally says, his voice quiet and distant.

“Sick?” I arch a brow, the bottle hovering just out of reach. Slowly, I bring it to his lips, tipping it slightly.

He nods, his gaze dropping. “Yes.”

“Because you like men?”

The question strikes like a whip, the shock and anger flickering across his face betraying him. He looks furious, but it’s writtenall over him. He’s gay—or at least bi—just as much as I’m a monster. You can only run from the truth for so long.

I pour a small sip into his waiting mouth. He swallows reluctantly, a few drops escaping to trail down his chin.

“I don’t like men,” he mutters, wiping the water from the corner of his lips. “And I’m not gay.”

“And denial is a river in Egypt.” I shrug, the smirk tugging at my lips, mocking him. “I guess if you’re not gay, I must not be a monster.”

His head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes, his voice cracking as he asks, “What about you? Is this why you do it? Because of your mother’s lessons?”

The air between us shifts, sharp and heavy. My head turns to him slowly, my eyes narrowing.How dare he?

“Don’t go there,” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “You’re walking on a thin line.”

“I guess that’s a yes,” he taunts, the faintest hint of a smirk curling his lips. His eyes narrow, challenging me, daring me.

The fury ignites before I can stop it. I march toward him, my fist connecting with his jaw in one swift motion. The impact sends him sprawling onto his back. He’s too weak to fight back, too broken, but that doesn’t stop him from smiling, his crimson-stained teeth glinting in the dim light.

“I guess we’re the same,” he says, the words like poison dripping from his lips.

My vision goes red as I slam my fist into his face again, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the room.

“We are nothing alike,” I snarl, grabbing the chain attached to his collar and yanking him toward me. His body drags across the floor as I pull him close enough that our foreheads press together, his blood smearing against my skin.

“You’re my pet. My puppet. Something for me to break.” My voice drops, a venomous hiss. “I am a monster, and you’re justplaying in the shadows. But I live in them. Iamthe shadows. Iamdeath.”

Byron’s lips curl into another defiant smile, even as his body trembles from the pain. “Then kill me,” he whispers. But before I can answer, he spits, the warmth of it splattering onto my lips. It clings there, mixed with his blood, the metallic tang sharp and intrusive.

I don’t flinch.

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