Feeling my glare, Ryder peeks at me over his shoulder. His eyebrows rise and he faces me. “Come on, bro,” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a large dog that’s foaming at the mouth. “You know I won’t tell anyone. All I’m saying is that you need to loosen up on your big-brother act. One of these days, she’ll date someone, and it won’t be?—”
“It won’t bewho?” I wait for him to finish what he’s saying, but he stares at me with a terrified look. “She won’t date,” I finally say. Not anybody else but me, that is.
Ryder shakes his head. “You can’t deprive her of that.”
“For her to be used like a fuck doll and have her heart broken?” I clench my jaw. “That’s a hard pass.”
Ryder sighs and leans his head back, looking to the ceiling for patience. “She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”
Ignoring him, I walk away, because if I stay any longer, I’ll black out again and possibly kill my best friend.
My motorcycle waits outside for me. I don’t take my time while I ride through the abandoned street. Music plays through the headphones in my helmet. It’s ironic that the song talks about a big brother and his little sister.
I have so much planned for Dahlia. To make her mine. No one can have her but me, even if it means killing those who get in the way.
Iwake up feeling exactly like what happened: like I got the shit kicked out of me. My face throbs, the skin is tight, and all I want to do is curl up and cry myself back to sleep. I lie on my back in bed because rolling onto my side hurts worse. I don’t know how I fell asleep on my side when Jaxon brought me in here earlier.
My stomach flips. Jaxon.
I groan deep in my belly as I sit up and blow strands of hair out of my face. Darkness bathes my room, and a quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand shows that it’s eight p.m. I wonder if he told our parents what happened or if he opted to hide in his room.
I get out of bed and limp to the bathroom. Raising my crop top, I check my reflection and wince at all the bruises on my ribs and the top of my stomach. My face isn’t any better. I have so many marks on my skin that show the world some fragile man got his feelings hurt.
“Ugh. Fucking asshole.”
I drop my shirt and use the toilet. When I finish, I washmy hands and leave my bedroom. My steps falter as I glance at Jaxon’s closed door. The fresh memory of him touching me pops into my head.
Wait, no. He didn’t touch me. Heassessedthe wounds. That’s it. Brothers don’t cop a feel. They just don’t, and that’s totally not what he did.
My cheeks warm and the familiar flutter in my stomach builds.
Movement catches my eye. I look to the other side and tense. A tall figure stands at the end of the hallway, its frame thin and its legs longer than what’s normal. I stumble back a step, then another, until I’m against Jaxon’s door.
“Jax,” I whisper, with a tremor in my voice. I knock my knuckles gently against his door, hoping he hears me. There’s no answer, because of course not.
The tall figure puts one leg in front of the other, closing the distance between me and it. My legs tremble, and I’m frozen in place. Why am I frozen? Why the fuck am I not screaming and running into Jaxon’s room?
It moves closer and reaches its slender fingers toward me. I scream and bolt into Jaxon’s room, slamming the door shut and locking it. I ignore the pain in my body as I run and jump on Jaxon’s bed and throw the covers over me to hide from thatthing.
“What the fuck was that?” I sob and squeeze my eyes shut as tears trail down my cheeks. “Hold it together, Dahl. Fucking. Hold. It. Together.”
I’m not holding it together. I’m freaking out and can’t stop shaking. My once-empty bladder threatens to open the floodgates, and dear god, if I piss on my brother’s bed, I won’t ever wake up. I’ll die, and even in death, I’ll be ashamed for soaking his mattress out of terror.
As minutes pass, my trembling slows, then stops. Whatever that thing was, it hasn’t pulled back the sheets yet, so Imay live another day. I peek from under the fabric, checking to see if it followed me in here. I’m sure a locked door won’t stop it from coming in. That thing didn’t look human, so it could have some type of magical abilities to, I don’t know, walk through walls or some shit.
After checking if the coast is clear, I let out a shaky, relieved sigh when I see nothing. I melt into the mattress as every stiff muscle relaxes until I’m practically a puddle of goo. Then I realize Jaxon isn’t here.
He’s probably out doing whatever it is he does. He and his friends always hang out and ride their motorcycles. I’ve gone with him a few times, watching as he pops wheelies and races with his friends.
I roll onto my side and wince at the sharp sting that dulls to a throb in my ribs. Jaxon’s intoxicating scent fills my lungs, and I start to bury my face in his pillow before I’m cruelly reminded that my face hurts.
I roll out of his bed and head to the door, but I stop as the fear returns. What if that thing is waiting for me outside? The trembles come back, and I debate if it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I shake my head and go to his bathroom. The large room is pristine, giving the impression that it has never been used. I search for the first-aid kit Jaxon used earlier, hoping I can find something for the pain. My clothes are suddenly too tight, and the bands of my shorts and underwear are digging into me.
I find the kit under his sink and dig through, hoping to find something. I huff. “Nothing. Of course there’s nothing.”
I shift uncomfortably and adjust my bra, then my shorts. My face throbs without me touching it. I check my reflection and cringe at the swelling and redness. I growl under my breath from the bands digging into my skin. Whoever made these clothes sucks. It leaves little to no room when you’re swelling like a ripening berry.
