Page 68 of Ink Deep Devotion

I pull my shirt off.Yes, do the next thing you planned. Do it, Mila!With shaking fingers, I unbutton my jeans and slip them down my legs until I’m left standing in nothing but my bra and panties.

I slide into his bed quicker than I want, but I’m still proud of myself; I reach for the sheets and pull them over me.“Something to dream about.” I smirk as I lay my head on his pillow.

I clear my throat.“You can go now. Turn the lights off on your way out.”

I close my eyes, feeling his presence lingering.

Seething.

It takes all my strength not to wiggle and squirm under it.

I feel a strange high mixed with nausea. Is this what turning into a villain feels like?No, I'm not a monster. I'm trying to save Dash and our love. I'm fighting so his hate and fear don't consume him.

I'm the hero.

Heroes have to throw punches and fight back, even if that means hurting others.

A slow, powerful exhale slithers along the plush carpet, crawling up the bed until it sinks into my ears. Footsteps move, and the light switches off, but before Dash leaves, he says,“Be careful, little fox; dreams can turn into nightmares without you even realizing it.” He slams the door shut.

My eyes snap open; an anxious sweat coats my palms. I just started a new game, per Damian’s suggestion. I hope it doesn’t kill me in the end.

Chapter 25

Damian

I shouldn’t be here. I’ve fought the desire for one year. Every time Mila needs to donate art to the gallery, I hide inside the coffee shop and watch the girl who runs the bookstore.

It was a mistake giving her my number, but then again, she never called or texted me.

I bite my lip involuntarily, then wince, forgetting about the fresh cut scarring it. Two days ago, when I picked a physical fight with my father, when his fist hit me hard, I thought of her smiling as she made me my latte.

Dad thinks he can still beat me; he can’t. I’m stronger but also broken enough to welcome his hits. I still feel like I deserve them, and Dad still blames me for my mother’s passing.

I still blame myself.

So I let him hit me, landing a solid punch to my ribs and then my mouth.

One question plagued my mind as I forced myself not to react and punch him back. What’s her name?

I wanted to die having her name on my smiling lips.

So I drove here, ignoring my phone. I just need one hour of an escape. Sixty minutes of being a normal guy who doesn’t live a fucked up life, who didn’t watch his mother die, whose father doesn’t hate him, who doesn’t hate himself sometimes.

Normal.

“We’re closing soon!” A sweet voice calls out as the bell over the door jingles a merry tune.

Glancing up, I see that old rusty gold bell, the blue paint chipping around the doorframe, and my lips pull at a melancholy smile. It’s so typical here. I wish I had this growing up—a small town with one bustling street, a girl next door I could have fallen in love with. It’s a dream so vivid and beautiful in my mind that having it feels like a nightmare, a reality forever out of reach.

I shake my head the moment I spot my prey.There you are.A twisted satisfaction tugs a smirk onto my face.

Oh no. Her back is to me. To the goddamn door. Again.

See? She needs you. She’s too trusting—too unaware. She needs someone to protect her.

Her act of innocence has me scanning the bookstore. No cameras.

I snort. Would it be too much to put a security team on her?

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