Page 66 of They Are Mine

No. No, no, no.

That will not do.

Because Orion is strong. A man like him shouldn’t have to deal with some desperate, manipulative ex playing keep-away with something sacred.

That’s so wrong.

So fixable.

And I fix things for the people I care about.

Her place is a shitty little apartment, the kind with thin walls and neighbors who don’t give a fuck about what happens next door.

It’s the kind of place you can break into if you know what you’re doing.

And I do.

So I do.

Tammy’s lock is a joke. One cheap piece of metal standing between me and what belongs to Orion.

I let myself in, quiet as a whisper, careful with my steps.

The air inside smells like cheap perfume and even cheaper vodka.

There are clothes on the floor. Dishes in the sink. A mess of shoes and makeup and general disarray.

God.

She’s exactly what I expected. Sloppy. Thoughtless.

Not like me.

I respect the things I own.

And Orion?

He’s mine.

I make my way through the apartment, my fingers skimming surfaces, my mind sharp and focused.

His tags. That’s all I need.

It doesn’t take long.

Tammy isn’t exactly a criminal mastermind.

They’re in the top drawer of her nightstand, tangled in a mess of old receipts and half-melted chapstick.

Pathetic.

I pluck them free, running my fingers over the worn metal, the smooth weight of them in my palm.

These don’t belong here.

I imagine Orion’s throat, the way they should be resting against his skin, the way they should be hanging where they belong.

I fix things.

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