Page 43 of Bake the Town Red

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dahlia

Normally, before a kill, my heart rate slows.

My muscles strain. I’m poised to fight. The little tips of my canines feel sharper against my bottom lip. The snake at my neck crawls.

Tonight is nothing like that.

Tonight, my heart jackhammers. Lurches in its cage like a goddamn lunatic, knocking itself against my chest, down my belly, up my throat.

Fucking Tyler.

He knew. Heknew.

Knew I had my target coming. Knew how to fuck with my head.

A part of me resents him for showing up. For trying to get in the way.

He had to have realized how much I needed this.

And he tried to do what? Stop me? Turn me into this sweet, pure girl he remembered?

Fuck that. Fuck him for leaving me here with my pussy throbbing and my breasts heavy. With my heart torn into so many pieces.

I want—no,have—to get him back here to patch it up. Stop the incessant bleeding.

Later. I have work to do.

Without him taking up every available space inside the shop, I can breathe. I can focus. Iwillfocus.

“You asked me to come this late to apologize to me.” Birdieclicks, clicks, clickson her heels as she saunters toward the cupcakes display. She taps on it with one of her clumsy fingers. A smudge forms. “I’m all ears.”

I beg with my pulse to slow down. I can’t do this, can’tfocus, with my heart pounding so loud in my chest. The sound is deafening. Maddening.

“You’re right.” Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Better. “You’re owed an apology.”

She jerks her chin up, condescending and entitled as ever. Her eyes skate over to the display again. The empty display. Lines crease her forehead. A frown twists her lips down.

She’s desperate for a fix of my cupcakes. I hold back from offering it right away. Won’t give it to her until it’s time. I’m stalling. Toying with her.

“For what?” She raises her eyebrows. Another entitled gesture. Bitch knows very fucking well why both of us are here. But she’s looking to humiliate me. Her ego demands it. “Be specific, Dahlia. What have you done that calls for an apology?”

Me? Nothing. It’s you who’s been such a fucking bitch.

“What I said the other day.”

My gaze darts to the floor. Hands wringing. Putting on a show as if I’m ashamed and remorseful for my outburst.

“What was it you said?”

Poor, dumb dummy of a woman. Getting into shark-infested waters with a gaping wound. That’s what she’s doing.

“I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. What happened to you was a mistake. You didn’t mean to.” Deep down, a smile spreads. A bloody one. “Sometimes things fall from our hands. We’re only human, after all.”

Only humans, my ass. This rich, cheap asshole has the same routine. Twice a month, at least, she shows up at my shop. Orders one cupcake. Pays two-fifty, and takes a hearty bite, swallowing half of it.

What’s left of it, she drops on the floor.

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