Her piece-of-shit mom doesn’t care about what happened. Neither does our dad. If I could kill them right now, I would, but I have to wait less than twenty-four hours until I unleash every bit of rage on them, Kyle, Connor, and Mickey.
Michael, too.
I haven’t forgotten about that fucker sitting like a waiting duck at the mansion with a barely alive Kyle. Every single person on my shit list is a dead man walking. Even though I can’t find Mickey, he’ll eventually show hisface. It doesn’t matter if the Reckoning is happening or not. I’ll gladly go to jail for ridding the world of that piece of shit.
Dahlia turns onto her other side. Her arm slips over the side of the mattress and dangles. I want to climb into bed and lie behind her, hugging her against me. I hate being touched, but I crave Dahlia’s hands on me. Holding her has always been my happy place because she provides me peace in the hell that is my mind. I realize that she’s right there beside me, and I didn’t realize until three days ago.
Standing, I angle my head to the side to work out the tension in my muscles. Cartilage pops, and I groan under my breath from the slight relief it brings.
As much as I want to stay here with Dahlia, I need to get ready for tomorrow night if I can’t sleep.
I look at the time. It’s 1:24 a.m. Okay. So technically, later tonight is when the ten-hour reckoning happens. The last time I went, I was thirteen, flustered by Dahlia kissing me, and saw a lot of shit that would traumatize anyone. People were having sex, and others were killing. There was a party and general mayhem.
Now, as an adult, I crave it all. The same darkness that was inside me as a kid festered and became a monster. Because that’s what I am. I’m a monster who corrupted his little sister, and I can’t let her go.
I’ll never allow her out of my grasp, and when the time is right, I’m fucking a baby into her. I’ll have her dripping my cum at all hours of the day and night until she tells me she’s pregnant. Even then, I’m still fucking her to make up for all the time we’ve missed out on.
I cross the room and move Dahlia’s messy green hair out of her face. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead and linger for a moment, enjoying the feel of her warm, silky skin against my lips. Her deep, even breaths fan against my throat, making mycock twitch. This girl proves Pavlov’s theory on me. Just the barest touch on my skin from her, and I’m hard.
After a moment, I pull away, already missing touching her. I check her arm, making sure the stitches are still intact and don’t look infected. Dahlia groans, still fast asleep but aware enough to feel my fingers brushing over her uninjured skin.
“I’ll be back soon, flower,” I murmur, then leave the bedroom and close the door behind me.I’ve left the bathroom light on for her since she’s mentioned in passing how she can’t sleep without it.
I leave the house and straddle my motorcycle after gearing up. In eighteen hours and thirty minutes, Dahlia will be my wife.
“Ireally don’t want to go,” I say.
Mom sighs and aggressively scrambles the egg mixture in a bowl. Once upon a time, that would have made me squirm in my seat and worry about what I’ve done to make her mad.
“You have no choice in this,” she says. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house.”
I roll my eyes and lean into my chair. The manga paperback I’ve been reading drops to the table with athumpthat earns me a glare from my mom.
“Okay,” I mumble. “I’ll bite. Why?”
“Speak up, Dahlia. You’re mumbling.”
I bite back the snarky comment I want to say, and I refrain from starting anything. I’m exhausted and don’t have the spoons for her bullshit. When will people listen and stop focusing on themselves for once? I’m sick and tired of everyone but Jaxon not listening to me.
“I said, I’ll bite. Why?”
Mom pours the egg mixture into the frying pan.I hate scrambled eggs. Anything she cooks is always terrible, and to avoid hurting her fragile feelings, I have to pretend I like it. “After your little tantrum the other day, I figure this is a great reason to do a mental-health vacation.”
My littletantrumthe other day... Are youfuckingkidding me?
That’s not the real reason, and we both know it. She knows I heard her conversation on the phone the other day. “What is a Reckoning?”
Mom’s shoulders tense, but she doesn’t look at me. She whisks the mixture in the pan, pretending to be busy with cooking. “Look it up in the dictionary.”
I stand from my seat, snatch my paperback, and give her back an icy glare. “I’m not stupid.”
Mom huffs, turns around, and folds her arms over her chest. “Speak up.”
“I’m sick and tired of you not listening to me. If you can’t hear me, maybe you should shut the fuck up for once and listen.” I snap my mouth closed, my eyes widening a fraction. Did I just say that out loud?
Her lips flatten, and fire burns in her gaze. “How dare you talk to me like that! I’m your mother. Show a little respect.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Respect is earned, not given. You haven’t done anything to earn it.”
