Feel me nearby?
When she turns in the direction opposite of her house, heading down a strip of shops and restaurants, my blood cools a few degrees colder than the weather. If she’s not going home, it means being left to the whims of her adventuring—and that isn’t the plan. She has to go home so we can reconnect.
She walks half a block more until stopping by a restaurant with a red awning.
An evening job? That’s a new development, and something she’ll be quitting soon. She won’t need multiple jobs when she has me to take care of her, and there’s no point in her being on her feet more than necessary. Besides, last year she wascompleting fancy post-secondary education; what happened to that?
Ducking my head, I cross the street to gain a better view and avoid being noticed by her. I melt into the background of a building, disappearing into the crowds as Aspen enters the restaurant.
Well, this is irritating.If she’s working, this could very well be the final time seeing her until later, something I didn’t intend nor prepare for. Crossing my arms, my fingers drum against my coat.
By some cruel or lucky trick of fate, she appears again in the front bay window, being led by a tux-wearing waiter to a candle-lit table situated right in front of the window. She greets someone with a smile that should only be for me, and my blood hammers harder when a second person comes into view, standing to assist her from her coat.
My arms drop as the need to murder him nearly pushes me across the street. Her final letter led to pain and devastation and rage, but all that feels like rainbows and sunshine now as my body locks with the instinctual demand to fight—tokill. My teeth grind with every curse word in my personal dictionary as pure depravity takes hold.
Someone’s getting hurt tonight.
Himfor touching her, for taking her coat and draping it on the back of the chair and helping her sit—like he’s some fairy tale prince.Hewho disappears from view to reclaim his seat, leaving only her in my view. An issue, because she’s on a motherfuckingdatewith another man.
She isn’t his. She’s mine. All fuckingmine.He’ll be taught that soon enough.
And then she’ll learn fairy tale princes are a fantasy for a reason. The pretty boys of the world won’t do what’s necessaryto protect her. I’d kill for her, bleed for her, become anything for her.
If she wants a fairy tale romance, then tonight I’ll become the monster who locks her in the tower. Because after dealing with him, I’ll remind her why gifting her smiles to another man isn’t wise. She gave herselfto mea year ago. In a series of letters and smiles and visits, of cards and chocolates and touches, she ismineand mine alone.
Was the reason she ended things with me forhim? Had I known this was a possibility, I’d have gotten Miles to do his job sooner, and then sent my crew to stalk her, report back, and end the lives of any man who tried to steal from me.
The murder fuelling me twists in my insides right around on me. Why didn’t I fucking consider this a while back? I could and should have been protecting her this entire time.
It’s okay, I got you now. You won’t need anyone else.
Even speaking to her pushes oxygen through my body. Enough to help me focus and plan for the dead man walking she’s having dinner with. I could very well storm in there, drag the pompous ass out by his hair and make him less pretty. He’s definitely pompous because who the fuck else eats at a place like this? A few scars, a couple less fingers, a mouth empty of teeth—sounds much better.
Through the red haze, she smiles and flips her hair and immediately the need to commit murder lessens. Even though she’s smiling, it’s obvious she doesn’t like him. Even from a distance, her tense posture and forced smile is clear. If he knew her even the slightest, he’d realize she isn’t his and she’s announcing this very fact.
She was nervous during her first visit to me, but it wasn’t like this. Even then, her smile wasn’t fake. She was tense but eased quickly. I claimed her soul that day, and her body knows it. Now, it won’t ease up around another.
That’s right, sweetheart. Deep down, you know you’re already owned.
She’s made for me. Aspen once told me not to take people at face value; she may look and act like a good girl, but she also hinted towards there being more beneath her bright blues and innocent smile. Judging by appearance, the fucker looks more suited for her. Closer in age, able to take her to places like this—a suit versus my leather jacket and ripped jeans. But if examining her soul, I’m best for her.
Dragging my attention away from the restaurant, I go to pull my phone from my pocket, only for my attention to snag on the date on the lock screen, realization crashing harder than the thin damn mattress that’d been home for years. It’s February twelfth. Two days before Valentine’s Day. That means people are picking their “special someone.”
He’s trying to stealmysomeone. Lessons will be taught tonight.
To them both.
EIGHT
ASPEN
Owen Humphrey IIIis everything his dating profile claimed he is. The third generation of bankers—that’d be the very Humphreys of the Humphrey National Bank Corporation. Something he speaks ofextensivelyby the time the main course of dinner arrives, as though it’s supposed to impress me. Despite the tens of thousands of dollars of student debt I have to my name, wealth doesn’t sway me.
He’s straight-laced, polite, and everything a name like his suggests. Neatly trimmed hair, a shaven face, an impeccable suit costing more than my rent—all paired with a charming smile. He should be every woman’s dream.
If he weren’t so fuckingboring.
Boring—and nothing like what my heart actually wants. But the man who haunts my dreams, even twelve months later, isn’t available. When the desire to write again tohimgrows too strongly, when his mysterious eyes and cocky smirk consume my mind day in and day out, I scour the dating apps to distract myself by going out with the exact opposite.
