Page 171 of Bake the Town Red

Silently, Dahlia slips out of my grip. From the corner of my eye, I see her crawling back to the stove. So sneaky.

I tilt my head. “Oh, really?”

“I’m here to kill you, CT. Or should I call you Tyler?” Pride is a sin. Johnathan is going to realize that.

Soon.

“How do you know my name again?” I pretend to care, buying Dahlia time to free herself from the binds. To sneak up on him.

“I’m rich, that’s how.” He’s such an easy target, it’s laughable. “I have my resources. Men I pay to do research for me. Men I pay to do what I ask them and keep their mouths shut.”

Nothing in this world could force me to break eye contact with Johnathan. As much as I’m hungry for a glimpse of Dahlia, I stay focused on him. Looking at her will turn her into an easy target.

He might hurt her, hot pan or not.

“I’m going to rape your woman while you watch. Then I’ll kill both of you while I laugh, and when I’m done, my men will clean it up.”

The vein in my neck pulses. My jaw tics, my teeth grinding. You can hear the gnashing sound all the way to Jersey.

We prepared for this, but he’s getting to me. No one talks about Dahlia like that.

No one.

I’m hanging on a motherfucking thread.

“Hey, rapist wannabe.” My woman sounds sweeter than Boston Cream cake. She waves to me behind Johnathan’s back with her free hand. One finger after the other. A murderer pulled out of a horror movie. “Over here.”

Johnathan turns to her, his arrogant smirk never leaving his lips.

He doesn’t get to complete his slow spin.

A scorching frying pan is flung to the side of his head. The blow fucks with his balance, and he stumbles to the floor.

“You want to rape me? Yeah, right.” Dahlia goes to stand at his side. I prowl to the other. “Dream on, shithead.”

“I’ll fuck your ass dry.” He tries to get up on his hands.

“Oh, yeah? With what dick?” The pan lands on Johnathan a second time.

On his cock.

He doesn’t last after that. Doesn’t even scream. Johnathan passes out like the loser he is, his body sprawled out on the baking room tiles.

“Let’s drag him in.” Dahlia twists to place the pan back in place. “I’ll go lock up the front after that.”

“Wait.” Just because he’s out doesn’t mean I’m any less furious. Our plan can take a setback. A short one.

Explanations are a waste of breath. Dahlia and I get each other.

Planets—no, fucking universes—could separate us, and it won’t change a thing. We’ll still hear each other. Still know exactly what the other person needs.

And this minute—this exact second—I need the scorching pan. I can’t wait for him to wake up.

Dahlia passes me one of her mitts, then the pan. Even with the mitt, the pan’s heat seeps through.

My rage is hotter. Redder.

“She’s not a bitch.” I crouch down, tearing the buttons of Johnathan’s stark white, expensive shirt. “She’s mywoman.Mine.”

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