Page 65 of Bake the Town Red

“It had to be me.” Ian swiped at his tears angrily with the back of his hand. Sat up straight. Cleared his throat. “Better me than him. Better me than him.”

“Always, brother.” Dahlia smiled. Fucking smiled.

“She told me to go fuck myself when I ordered her to clean the floor,” smug Al says from somewhere far, far behind me. “I threw the disgusting red sauce she made to the floor. And the soggy pasta. And the bitch wouldn’t clean it up.”

Punching him wasn’t an option. Grabbing the knife from Ian and slashing Al’s throat would be even worse. It would land me in prison. Where I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on these two.

But fuck, how I wanted to slaughter Al that day.

“No more.” I fell to my knees. Took the knife from Ian. Tossed it far away. I grabbed Ian’s chin, forcing him to look at me. “Ian. Where’s the first aid kit I got you?”

I knew Al could and would hurt them. I just never imagined it’d be this bad.

Ian blinked twice until he snapped out of his trance. “In one of the cupboards.”

“Bring it here. That and a clean, wet cloth.”

I couldn’t leave Dahlia.Wouldn’tleave her.

Such a sweet girl with a crazy laugh that made staying in this building worth it. She baked cupcakes for Grandma while Al went to work. She had stolen one of my hoodies when she thought I wasn’t watching.

I loved that girl. Not in the sense that Al suggested. Not at all. But I loved her.

My eyes sliced to Al, who shut the door behind us. Chuckling as he strolled to the couch and flopped down. The fucker turned on the news as though his niece didn’t have blistering skin on her neck.

He wore a satisfied smirk. The night was over for him.

I’d burn him myself if I could. I’d make him suffer for every time these kids had to hurt. Her. Especially her.

It killed me that I couldn’t. I was fucking powerless.

But I could be there for her. “Dahlia.”

The hand I placed gently on her cheek woke her up. Her smile vanished. She watched me for a second before slapping her hand on the burn marks.

“Don’t look,” she whispered, her eyes horrified. “It’s ugly. Has to be. Don’t look, Tyler. Please.”

Ian was rummaging through the cupboards. “Found it,” he exclaimed, rushing back.

“It could never be ugly.” I was gentle when I pried her hand off her neck. I had to sterilize it. And I wasn’t disgusted. Never by her. “You could never be ugly. You know what you are?”

Ian dropped to the floor, the first aid kit already opened. Dahlia didn’t answer. Her head whipped around to Al, and she growled at him. He flipped her off.

“Dalí,” Ian whispered. Demanded. “Look at us. Forget about him.”

“Come here.” With the softest pressure on her cheek, I turned her to me. Softly. “Keep your eyes on me. I’m going to clean the burns and disinfect them. It might sting, but guess what?”

This time, she answered. She came back to me. To Ian and me. “What?”

“You’re a brave girl,” I said while I used the cloth to clean the burns. While I applied the antibiotic ointment. “Such a brave girl.”

Her lips curled into a smile. When I’d just walked in, the smile belonged to Ian. A fake, reassuring smile.

Now, it was genuine. Ian and I managed to smile back.

My heart broke into a million pieces that day. My sanity couldn’t take the scene I’d been a part of.

I see that it wasn’t Ian and the massacre.

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