As he drew the covers over them, she murmured sleepily against his chest, “What will happen now?”
“Nothing will change.” His arm tightened around her. “Nothing except the fact that only I get to fuck you—-”
“And I get to love you.”
After a beat, he said, “And you get to love me.”
Bree giggled weakly at that, too tired to even get mad. “Dyl, you were supposed to say vice versa or I love you, too.”
“And I do, babe. I’ve always loved you, but it won’t change a thing.”
She wanted to argue with that, but her mind was already shutting down. Her last thought was of him, and if she could only wish for one thing in this life, then that was to have a reason to always think of Dylan.
Because she had always loved him.
And she didn’t know what else to do but love him.
Chapter Five
“Dylan, be a good boy and watch.” The purr in his mother’s voice made his skin crawl. It made her sound like a different person.
He wanted to turn his head away from what was happening but knew from experience that it would only mean getting another beating from his father. His insides still hurt from the last one. He didn’t think he would survive if he had to go through another one.
His mother was naked, her large breasts drooping and jiggling against the also naked man on top of her. What was more repulsive about the sight was that it was not just two of them. There was also another man under his mother, making them appear like a human sandwich.
Bile rose in his throat, but he worked hard not to throw up, knowing it would only make matters worse. If he started, he would not stop.
He didn’t want to look at his father because somehow seeing his face was worse. But he couldn’t help it, his eyes darting towards the man standing next to him.
Dylan used to think his father was like Superman, able to do everything. But Superman was weak against kryptonite and it was beginning to dawn on him that his mother was his father’s kryptonite.
His father’s face was a blank mask. Somehow, that made him more terrifying, like a living man turned into a scarecrow, a person who Dylan once called Dad but was a dangerous stranger now.
His father’s head suddenly snapped towards him and Dylan jumped, his blood curling at the maniacal smile on his father’s face.
Before Dylan could speak, his father lunged at him, snarling, “Why aren’t you looking like your mother told you to?”
Dylan woke up with a gasp, his body completely bathed in cold sweat. The darkness in his bedroom felt like a hungry presence, reminding him of the empty blackness in his father’s eyes.
Both of them had been dead for years, but their memories were a constant reminder of where he came from and the monster he could be.
The bed dipped, and he looked towards where the movement came from – Bree, still asleep, turning towards him, the covers slipping down to reveal the curve of one naked breast.
Love – the kind that was all-consuming and overpowering – threatened to spill over from his heart. Looking at Bree, her face innocent and peaceful in her slumber, all Dylan could think about was how much he wanted to chain her to his side, to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, until the only thing she would ever think about was him—-
No!
Dylan jumped out of the bed, chest heaving painfully, an awful sensation unfurling inside him.
Even if he was his own worst enemy, he would not let that cause harm to Bree, would rather kill himself than have one strand of her hair hurt.
He took his phone from the bedside table and accessed his contact list. He found what he was looking for, clicked on the entry, and his call immediately went through.
“Dylan, babe, I’m so thrilled to hear from you.” Henrietta’s fake English voice trilled over the line. She was one of the many supermodels who thought pretending not to be American gave them an edge.
His skin crawled at someone calling him ‘babe’ – something he explicitly forbid all women to do.
“I’m in Miami...”
Henrietta’s fake gasp traveled through the line like a shrill gust of wind. “Truly? But I’m in the area, too!”
Of course she was, he thought tiredly. She had always been obsessed with him, a condition easy for someone with his history to recognize. But he had never told her off, had in fact allowed her to become a semi-permanent part of his life. It was as if he needed constant reminders of why he could never really enjoy a normal and happy life by Bree’s side.
Telling himself he was doing the right thing, even if it felt wrong, he said in a voice that revealed nothing of his inner turmoil, “Can you throw a party in thirty?”