Page 11 of Bake the Town Red

I wish Dahlia wouldn’t have insisted on giving Ian a head start before the cops swarmed into the crime scene.

I wish…

I slam my fist on the round dining table of my apartment. The laptop rattles in response.

Fate. I fucking hate the bastard. I hate that it’s hellbent on keeping Dahlia and me out of each other’s lives.

What happened is no one’s fault but fate’s. Not even Ian.

The night Dahlia killed Al was the night that Ian’s sanity slashed right down the middle. The last straw.

He’s not here anymore. What good would it do to blame him? None.

The past is dead.

I can prevent bad shit from happening in the future. And I do. It tears bits and pieces of my soul to be away from Dahlia. I ache to talk to her. To hug her. To be around her while she’s awake.

“I know, Grams. I know you want me to go get her.” I run my knuckles over the screen. Over my late grandmother’s temple. Her cheek. “I can’t have her. If Dahlia and I find happiness, the world will find a way to destroy us. Or worse, I will. Four years of missing the love of your life will turn any man insane, right?”

I remember how my grandma smelled of cinnamon and sugar. How smooth her skin felt. How much Dahlia loved her.

My fingers move on their own. They click on the locked folder on my desktop namedLittle Savage. Insert the passwordMine2A.

There are pictures there. Many of them. Pictures of Dahlia in her cupcake shop, wearing an orange short-sleeved dress, her blonde hair in a high bun. Of Dahlia carrying milk gallons into her shop. Eggs. Bags of flour. Helping the delivery men I wanted to kill but couldn’t.

So many photos, none of them were taken in October. Any October. I’ve never gotten too close on those days.

“You’re so beautiful. Way too beautiful for this world.” My eyebrows furl, my resolve waning the longer I look at her. “At a distance. I won’t risk your life. Be angry at me all you like, curse me, little savage. I won’t.”

Lies. All lies. Hell, even I don't even believe a word I’m saying.

My late grandma’s voice chimes in with a,This Dahlia kid, she’s such a sweet one. Don’t leave her, Tyler. Stay. Help her.

“She doesn’t need me. She kills people, for crying out loud.”

She was always an eccentric one. That’s what we loved about her. Besides, she’s doing God’s work. Killing those bad people. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you joining her.

My voice might have slipped into Grams’ words. And it’s not wrong.

No one misses the people who disappear inside Sweet DeNights. Dahlia used to love me, that’s another truth. She might let me. She might…

The tattoo on my back itches.

The blonde image of a woman that’s inked to my skin takes up almost every square inch of my back. Covered by a black gown, the hair of the faceless woman flails as though she’s levitating. She’s wielding a scythe with spiders climbing on top of it.

It’s Death. It’s Dahlia.

The itch is a familiar one. The burning happens whenever I so much as think of Dahlia. When I watch her. When I jerk off to her sleeping form.

I’m hard in my jeans, remembering the nights in her apartment. I limit my visits to once a month, except in October when my need for her grows tenfold.

The little savage is beautiful, that’s a given.

Her tits are rounder these days. Her hips have widened. Her cheeks are fuller. She’s no longer a starved, abused, wounded animal. She’s a lioness. Baking some of the most famous cupcakes in Manhattan.

She’s gorgeous. She’s ruthless.

She intrigues me to no end, and that infuriates me.

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