Page 24 of Moth to a Flame

The muscles on my face are frozen in place. My feet are planted on the pavement while the world moves around me.

I glower at her, mad that she’s turned my life upside down. Loathing the way my fingers itch to cause damage and mark every inch of her body.

How dare she keep staring back.

How dare she accept the eyeballs I left at her doorstep as a gift.

I didn’t see what she’d done with them. Her laptop was closed by the time I came back home last night.

But I don’t see police or yellow tape anywhere. No news vans lurking around.

Nothing. Nothing but a beautiful girl with large brown eyes that glowers back at me.

Fuck, I’m hard. Fuck, I’m losing it.

The sane part of me recognizes her red-headed sister at the cash register. It’s a quick observation before my focus snaps back to Regan.

Can’t stay away.

That’s the worst thing I could possibly do. In a day, a year, a goddamn decade, this harmless obsession could change. My hands could become weapons.

She and I, we’d share our last breaths. I’ll take her to an early grave with me.

Or I won’t. Maybe I’ll be satisfied with killing any man who comes within a ten-mile radius of her. Yesterday helped.

I can keep herandescape the sickness that lurks inside of me. I can.

My little lamb is up on her feet, her eyes fixed on mine. Every inch of me wants to do the worst possible things to every inch of her. She won’t be as brave when I gag and fuck her.

Not here.

Her sister is inside. People, fuck, so many of them, are everywhere. If I’m going to touch Regan, if I’m going to make her moan, no one else can be anywhere near us.

No one is allowed to hear her little sounds and watch her body react to my touch.

I’ll kill them for her.

I got away with killing Marshall. Breaking the necks of dozens of New Yorkers in broad daylight wouldn’t go over as well.

She rounds the counter, heading toward me. Determined.

Adorable. This sweet woman thinks she has an ounce of control over this situation.

She doesn’t.

I turn and disappear into her building. Hoping—no, knowing—she’ll follow me.

“Landon.” Her voice is a sweet caress. She’s coming after me. And I’m going to have her. “Landon, wait up.”

The front door to her building closes behind her. I climb the stairs to the second floor where we can be alone. Her footsteps are right behind me.

“What’s going—”

She’ll have to finish her sentence another time.

I need her.

She gasps when I turn around, when my hand curls around her throat. I slam her back against the wall. Groan at how beautiful she is. Squeeze her so I can feel her pulse.

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