No one touches what’s mine. Only I do.
I turned and walked out of her bedroom. Made my way back to the living room. I stood in the corner, staring out the window, watching shadows shift across the grass. But in my mind, all I saw was blood.
Their screams echoed back to me.
A year ago, Cameron found the Mechanic and the Cop. Told them I was still alive. Said he knew where the money was. We lured them in, easy as dragging bait through shallow water.
The first thing I did? Took their tongues.
Because of living alone for so long, every word from a stranger felt like a hammer to the skull. Silence was cleaner. More honest.
They’re rotting with the rest, beneath the house.
And Cameron? He finished the job. Now he’s got a wife and kids. Changed man. Family guy. I wish I had his life. But maybe it was never mine to live.
And if you’re wondering if his life is better, the answer’s simple. It always is.
I heard the footsteps; she was coming down the stairs.
When she stepped into the living room, I saw her. And I couldn’t resist.
“Hello, little stepsister,” I said, watching her closely.
She gasped and spun around, confused, not knowing where the voice had come from.
I stepped forward. When she turned, my hand brushed hers.
“Dorian,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like glass.
“Shhh,” I said in a low voice. “Don’t speak.”
She shivered the moment my skin touched hers, and all I wanted was to kiss her. But my pride wouldn’t let me. That sick part of me, the one that always needed control, tightened its grip.
So I grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. Her palms hit the wallpaper with a smack, and she cried out.
“Am I dreaming?” she whispered.
“No,” I said.
My hands moved under her nightdress, fingers gliding along her bare skin until they reached her hips. When I found her there, I pulled her hard against me. Her head fell to my chest, trembling.
“Break for me, Trouble.”
“I am already broken,” she whispered, her voice cracked and wet with tears.
I shoved her back against the wall again, harder this time, then stepped away.
“Why did you leave?” I asked.
“I had no choice,” she whispered.
“You always have a choice.”
“Not when it’s stolen from you,” she cried, trying to turn around.
Before she could, I was behind her again, pressing her against the wall, my body tight to hers.
“Liar,” I growled into her ear. “You’re a fucking liar, Trouble.”
