Page 164 of Bake the Town Red

I’m desperate to find out if our kids will have her eyes. Her temper. Her resilience.

But since she’s asked me to handle Al together, I do my best. My character leans over and grabs Fake Earl’s cock through his pants.

“No,” he mewls, reaching forward.

I step on his hand. “Chop it off.” This order is for Dahlia. “Chop the goddamn thing off before I come deep inside your womb. Before you come on my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

“Yes,” Dahlia screams while her pussy clenches and unclenches on my cock. Milking me with her orgasm. “Yes.”

My remote goes flying to the floor. I come so hard that every nerve ending in my body is on fire. Every part of me comes when I shoot my seed inside her.

Fake Al’s character chokes on its own blood.

It dies.

The game announces we’ve beat one monster.

Neither of us cares.

“I love you.” I kiss her wounded, bleeding flesh. Lick the remaining blood off her shoulder.

“I love you.” Dahlia lets me lift her off my cock. Trembles in my hold when I push my seed back inside her pussy.

“Tomorrow, we’re planning.” Her eyes are droopy. Her arms are heavy on my neck as I carry her to our bed. “We have to catch Johnathan.”

“We will.” Once we’re both tucked in, I fold her into me. Hug her as hard as I ever had. Give her my warmth. Give this woman my goddamn soul. “Tomorrow night. We’ll have a plan. Together.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dahlia

My tarp has been sliced into neat squares. Shoved into three large, black trash bags. They’re placed in the corner, waiting to be hauled outside and thrown into the dumpster.

My nails, hands, and face have been wiped clean of any trace of blood.

The dogs have been fed. Flesh in the freeze dryer, bones are in the freezer downstairs.

“All clean.” Tyler puts the last of the knives back in its place. He looks at me over his shoulder, a small smile curling his lips up. “What?”

“What, what?” My hands are in the pockets of my bright orange wool dress. Another gift from Tyler. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to.” One sweep of the paper towel on my stainless-steel sink, and it’s dry. Tyler turns to me, wiping hishands on his dark blue jeans. “Your face did the talking for you.”

I’m not the only one. His talks too. His eyes are droopy.

He’s exhausted, though he’ll never admit to it.

We’ve been running on three-to-four-hours of sleep a night over the past few days. Killing people and getting rid of their bodies. Fucking in that break-your-bed kind of way every day, even yesterday when he said he wouldn’t.

He hasn’t stopped being protective and possessive for a second. Tyler’s been walking me to work every sunrise. My own personal bodyguard. I don’t need one, but he won’t hear of it. It’s sweet.

It’s even sweeter when we hunt for Johnathan together.

We keep our eyes open for him. We sense him nearby.

We ignore him.

We ignore him while Ty walks me to work. While we talk about video games and baking until we get to my bakery. That’s how we fool him.

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