Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

  “No. I’m not.”

  “But you kill people?”

  “People who deserve it. Rapists. Murderers. Pedophiles. The scum of the earth who make that same earth a better place by not walking it anymore.”

  That helped the picture come together, but the implication of it made me sick.

  “I’m none of those things, I swear,” I rushed out, reaching up to clutch his forearms. I was a mess, but never anything like that.

  “I know, flower. I told you from the beginning, you were different. With you, it was about mercy and peace. A reward, not a punishment.”

  “Then why didn’t you follow through?”

  “Because I’m selfish. Obsessed. I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how good it is to be alive.”

  It may not have taken the rest of his life, but he’d already succeeded in that.

  I tried to wrap my brain around what he was saying. “So you kill bad people? How? Why?”

  His words came out in an earnest rush, like his life depended on me believing him. “When the bastard who killed my parents got off with court ordered rehab, I hacked into his computer to delete shit, post screenshots, whatever I could find to make his life hell. But then I saw he was talking with his friends about partying and joking about driving since buying his way out of trouble was cheaper than an Uber. He’d killed my parents and was fucking joking about it.”

  Every time I’d told him I was sorry about his parents’ death, he’d said it was a long time ago. The stark rage and pain that coated his features proved that didn’t matter. Time hadn’t lessened his pain.

  “I went to confront him, and he was wasted. He didn’t learn a single thing. But I did. I learned how easy it was to make a murder look like an accidental OD.”

  If this were a TV show, ominous music would’ve begun playing in the background before everything faded to black.

  But we weren’t actors in a drama. Life wasn’t scripted so the bag guy always lost in the end. I knew that for a fact because I’d grown up around those same kind of entitled assholes who thought they were above rules and consequences.

  “When I started my company, I’d find shit on people’s hard drives that they thought was gone forever. I’d tried going to the cops with it, but life isn’t a TV show.” He echoed my own knowledge. “Things don’t get wrapped up in a satisfying bow at the end of the hour. So I stopped following other people’s rules.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d said something similar to me. I assumed he meant he broke the rules in lighter ways. Like, aiding people who wanted to die.

  Or, I dunno, wearing a black belt with brown shoes.

  Stuff like that.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Well, at least he’s honest.

  “So this wasn’t some subconscious way of telling me?” I asked.

  “Hiding the shirt in a bag, buried deep in a closet that you had never stepped foot in?”

  Okay, well, yeah, when he said it like that it sounded implausible.

  “I didn’t have time to burn it yet because you were here. And I never wanted you to know. I wanted you to always look at me the way you do. To you, I’m a superhero. I hope like fuck you’ll still look at me like that because, I swear, I’m done,” Alexander vowed. “I won’t take the risk anymore.”

  “Do you have control over it?” I thought about what I’d read and seen. “Isn’t it, like, a compulsion?”

  “I never did it because I had to. I did it because I wanted to.”

  That should not make me feel better.

  “It gave me satisfaction to make a difference.” He cupped my cheeks. “But now I have you. And you give me more satisfaction than anything in my life ever has.”

  And that should not be flattering.

  If his stalking had been disturbingly reassuring, his obsessive love was codependently vital.

  His darkness called to mine.

  And now I knew that mine called right back to his.

  My soul was torn.

  On one side, he’d admitted to killing people. That alone should’ve been enough to send me running. There was a name for people like him that started with the word serial—and I wasn’t talking about Cap’n Crunch or Lucky Charms. It shouldn’t matter how honorable his reasons were.

  Or how bad his victims were.

  On the other side… Alexander wasn’t the only one who was selfish. I was supposed to throw away my first taste of happiness and love for rapists, murderers, and pedophiles?

  No way.

  I couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t.

  “You’re done.” My tone wasn’t just firm, it was infused with steel and diamond and graphene. “No more. Not ever. Don’t even touch another person.”

  His eyes widened before heating at my unrestrained show of jealousy. “Never.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise, flower.” His hands cupped either side of my throat, and he used his thumbs to tilt my chin up. Studying me, his question was almost faltering—as if he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “Do you wish I’d followed through with you?”

  I didn’t think or hesitate or falter. “No. For the first time in my life, I’m happy.”

  His relief was evident, his eyes closing as he dropped his forehead to mine. “Thank Christ.”

  And then he took my mouth in a kiss so intense, so searing, I wasn’t sure we’d ever separate. I hoped we wouldn’t. I dropped the shirt I was still clutching, the one that smelled of Alexander and was coated in the blood of the real monster, in order to clutch at him instead.

  He lifted me easily, turning and striding to his desk. Lowering me to the cold wood, he pushed my pajama shorts down before working between us to free his cock. He was about to slam in, the thick head of him pressing at my entrance, when I put my hand to his chest and pushed him back.

  Panic flared in his honey eyes, but I used the distance to tug my shirt off. “Clothes off. I don’t want anything between us.”

  He stripped, his movements frantic and hurried and so damn hot. Once he was naked, he slammed into me before pulling nearly all the way out. He thrust back in again, filling me. Stretching me. Fucking me so hard, the force knocked papers and pens and whatever else to the floor.

  Sex with Alexander was always passionate and mind-blowing.

  But our usual chemistry mixed with the heavy current of freeing honesty was a potent combination, giving way to the most powerful experience of my life.

  I wrapped him in my limbs and clung to him. Drowning. Trusting him to keep me afloat.

  Accepting him like he accepted me.

  Flaws.

  Quirks.

  And scars.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pictures

  Briar

  For chicks, man

  “I WANT US to go to the party for the app startup.”

  Yikes.

  No.

  Beyond no.

  I didn’t like going out to begin with. A night doing hipster activities with a bunch of strangers sounded like one of the circles of hell.

  I wasn’t being rude or name calling. They’d leaned fully into their vibe. The invitation was made of recycled paper inside a Mason jar, and it’d arrived via bike messenger. The itinerary had involved craft beer tastings, farm-to-table food, indie bands, and ax throwing.

  Drunk people armed with sharp projectiles wasn’t a circle of hell, but it could definitely be a ticket there if something went wrong.

  “Why?” I was surprised by Alexander’s about-face. He’d been as against attending as I was.

  “It’ll be good PR and networking. But bringing you is the only thing that’ll make it tolerable.”

  I scowled because there was no way I could resist his charm, no matter how badly I wanted to. “Will you stay with me the whole night?”

  “Try to keep me away.”

  My nipples tightened
at the heated dare.

  Things with Alexander had been intense from the start. I used to think it was too fast, too much, too deep. But in the days since finding out about his former hobby, it became obvious that he’d actually been holding back.

  Not anymore. I had every possessive bit of him.

  And I loved every bit of him.

  Which was why I shrugged. “Sounds good.”

  “Liar,” he muttered before hauling me across the couch to sit on his lap.

  “Okay, the night itself sounds like torture,” I admitted. “But spending it by your side sounds good.”

  “You sure? We don’t have to go.”

  We didn’t. If I said no, we’d spend another night in his fortress of solitude.

  Or, since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a night without him, his fortress of duo-tude.

  Schooling my features, I pretended to mull it over so I would have the upper hand for negotiations. “I’ll go if I can bring home the chicks we just got at the rescue.”

  His hold on my hips tightened, and his expression turned unreadable.

  I rushed to explain. “They’re so cute, and I’m worried a cat is going to sneak in and have themselves a Kentucky unfried dinner, if you know what I mean.” I gestured out the big window. “And there’s so much land, we could put the coop far from the house, so you won’t even see it.” At his stretching silence, I figured my negotiating skills sucked and took the loss. “I’ll go with you no matter what.”

  “You said home.”

  My brows lowered. “What?”

  “You said you wanted to bring them home. Here.”

  Well, shit.

  I hadn’t even noticed I’d said it, but since I spent a lot more time at his place than at my apartment…

  “It’s pretty much the truth.”

  “You can have them,” he said, his voice thick with lust and love. “You can bring home every animal in that shelter for all I care. Just keep calling this home.”

  I recognized the gleam in his gaze, like he wanted to kiss me. Like he was dying to.

  He didn’t have the chance.

  Because I kissed him first. Partially to evade more conversation courtesy of the profound moment, but mostly because I liked kissing him.

  I may have started it, but he took over. Holding me. Controlling me. Moving me how he wanted to deepen the kiss until my core was soaked, my heart was pounding, and my lips were deliciously swollen.

  When we finally tore ourselves apart, I said, “I don’t want all the animals. Only the chicks. And I won’t get attached. Chickens can be total assholes and are kinda stupid, so they can die easily.”

  He grinned. “You’re already attached.”

  I really was. I’d thought they’d be a safe way to dip my toes into pet ownership since they weren’t technically a pet. But the more I’d watched them squawk and run around, the more I loved them.

  “We’ll go get a coop and supplies on your day off,” he said.

  I returned his grin and snuggled into his chest. After a few minutes, I lifted back up.

  He moved his focus from the TV to me. He always did that. Giving me his full attention, no matter what else was happening. It made me feel like I was the most important person in existence.

  “You okay, flower?”

  “How do you feel about pit bulls with incredibly stupid names?”

  Alexander

  STANDING ON THE back deck, I watched Briar fuss with her chickens. Her ‘chick army’ as she called it, as if they were badass predators and not harmless balls of feathers she was already spoiling.

  She’d offered to set them up farther from the house. But, even with the stalker cam I’d installed so she could keep an eye on them, I knew Briar would be outside all the time to see them in person. Which meant I wanted the coop close to the house because I’d be outside all the time to see her.

  Once they were fed, watered, and locked in the coop for the night, Briar looked up and saw me. Like always when she caught me watching her—which was often—she rolled her eyes before grinning. She came over, and when she bent to pick up her tea, I grabbed her ass.

  “Not in front of the chicks.” She turned her ass away from me, but the front of her was just as good. “I think they like me. Do chicks imprint on people?”

  “The only things I know about chickens are what you’ve told me and that they taste delicious with BBQ sauce or—”

  My teasing words were cut off when she covered my mouth with her hand. “Don’t talk about food chickens in front of pet chickens.”

  They were the same thing, but I wasn’t going to upset her by saying so.

  I tilted my head toward the coffee table on the deck. “Your phone is going crazy.”

  “What is it?”

  “I didn’t look.” At her disbelieving expression, I pointed out, “I only care about what you do and you’re not currently on your phone.”

  “True.” She handed me the tea that reeked of dead flowers, but that I’d stocked up on because she loved it and I loved her. Picking up her phone, guilt crossed her features and she gnawed on her lip.

  “Aria?” I guessed.

  “Yeah. Crap, a bunch of missed calls and te…” Her word trailed off and her eyes got huge. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Though I was pretty sure I knew.

  “Aria says we were on TMZ’s website a couple days ago. That can’t be right.” Her thumbs flew across the screen as she typed rapidly. “Oh my God, we are.” She turned her screen quickly, giving me a brief glimpse of a picture of us. “Listen. ‘Alexander Thornton, the notoriously private millionaire mogul and owner of Thorn Tech, stepped into the spotlight to celebrate the launch of Local Hops. Sources say he was essential to the development of the app that matches local restaurants to craft breweries. He was accompanied by a mystery woman who made plaid look high fashion. Little is known about this beauty, but partygoers say the PDA was at a PD-HIGH. We get the feeling the app wasn’t the only thing that launched.’”

  I watched as she scrolled, likely to reread it again. “How did they know who you are? I couldn’t even find a lousy tagged photo of you.”

  “Someone tipped them off.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  When she finally spoke, it wasn’t to freak out or yell about kicking shins—her go-to threat. “Why?”

  “So you can be positive I’m done. It’d be impossible to get away with anything now that my face is out there.”

  “I already knew that.”

  “Logically, yeah. But now your brain can’t use any hint of doubt to tie you in knots.”

  Her shoulders slumped and her expression softened. “You always know what to say.”

  “It’s why I’m your favorite.” When she stared back down at the screen, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  It took her a moment before she answered. “I like this picture. You look hot, and I’m smiling.” With the sun setting behind her, Briar looked like an angel. But when she lifted her face my way, there was nothing saintly about her wicked smirk or her filthy words. “I was smiling because I was lucky enough to be next to you all night, and then we were going home so I could be under you, too.”

  If she kept it up, I was going to fuck her on every piece of patio furniture. I didn’t give a damn if the chickens could see.

  “I know you’re mega rich, but are you actually a millionaire?”

  “No.”

  She gave a little sigh.

  “I’m a billionaire.”

  “Oh. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

  “Briar—”

  She shrugged and forced nonchalance. “I can offer you twenty percent off from the home décor store, so that’s basically the same.”

  “Good, you can use it to pick out stuff for the house since you’re moving in.”

  Thankfully, she wasn’t the one holding the tea she drank one degree below molten because she would’ve spilled it and burned herself. Or thrown it in my fac
e and burned me. I wasn’t sure which because her expression was blank.

  “Say something, flower.”

  “I’m moving in?”

  I gestured to the coop. “The chicks need their mother close.”

  “You want me to move in?”

  “More than anything.”

  Almost anything. Not more than I wanted her to have my last name and have my baby growing in her. But her moving in was the first step.

  I set down her cup and was about to close the distance between us so I could make her talk to me.

  Before I could take a step, she turned her phone to face me again. “Can we have this picture printed to hang above our fireplace?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Never

  Briar

  For good movies

  DING.

  Ding, ding, ding.

  “You’re going to have to talk to her eventually, flower.”

  Sitting on my ratty couch, I looked up at him. “I know.”

  Aria had been calling and texting. A lot.

  Like, nearly Alexander levels of stalker.

  I’d told her I was fine and that we’d get together soon. Truth was, I was worried. My sister could always read me. She’d notice the difference, which would lead to her going all shrink-mode.

  Falling in love and moving in with a guy so quickly was about as big of a red flag as someone could wave. I knew she’d come around eventually, but I wasn’t ready to deal with the initial hoopla when she found out. Not yet. I wanted to savor the excitement a little longer before anyone tried to weigh me down with sensibleness and reality.

  “Almost done?” Alexander asked.

  Since he’d had a work thing, I’d gone to my apartment after the rescue. I was finishing my cereal before we went to his place.

  “I’m going to have to get a car,” I muttered.

  The bus had stops close enough to the apartment, shelter, and clinic, so I’d always been able to make it work without it being an inconvenience.

  I was betting it’d be a long walk from the closest bus stop to Alexander’s house. Soon to be our house.

  “Do you have your license?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I just get panicky driving. Too much unknown. Too much risk. And way too much responsibility.”

  “It’s no big deal, I prefer driving you,” he said, making me feel better and enabling me at the same time.