Page 32 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

“You don’t remember?” My brow furrowed. “Let me help you with that.”

I stood, stripping off my black shirt. “When your dear father beat the shit out of me,” I pointed to the old scars. “When he burned me,” I held up my wrists. “When he carved his sick prayers into my chest and back—“ I turned, exposing the twisted words carved into my skin. “Ezekiel’s gift.”

I dropped down on her again. “And when I came here, broken and barely breathing. This attic. This place.” I glanced up at therafters, Nagi hissing softly from her perch above. “I told you how I felt.”

My hands slid to her thighs, then traced the curve of her hips. I moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans, pushing past denim and her thongs until I felt her warmth. She bit her lip, tears still clinging to her lashes.

She wanted this.

I wanted this.

“Remember now?” I whispered against her throat, sinking my teeth into her skin. My fingers moved down, dragging along her soft, trembling pussy. Her body twisted beneath mine, caught between fear and lust.

But she didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

I pulled my hand back, then pressed hard against her clit, drawing a sharp moan from her lips just before I pulled my hand out.

“I hope you remember,” I said coldly. “And I hope it fucking destroys you.”

I stepped back. She stood frozen on the stairs, legs slowly drawing together like she was trying to hold herself in. One hand hovered at her lips. Her head tilted just enough to avoid looking at the severed hand resting beside her.

She didn’t know fucker was still alive downstairs.

I just took from him what he never deserved in the first place—his sight, so he’d never lay eyes on her again. No one will. She’s mine. His hands, so he’d never touch her again. Never hit her again. She’s mine. Only mine. And she willknowit.

I turned my back to her. “You destroyed me when you left. Hope you survive my destruction.”

Then I walked away, her sobs trailing behind me, bleeding through the staircase.

I’m going to break her so beautifully, that she won’t even realize it’s happening. I’ll be the only thought she lets inside that pretty little head.

As I headed back downstairs, my fingers brushed the wall, peeling away strips of old wallpaper. Now that this rotted family is finally gone—now that I’ve torn down everything they built—I can let the ghosts out. Every last one of them. Even mine.

I closed my eyes and slipped back in time. The day after her birthday.

I’d kept my distance for so long, trying to stay away, because thinking about her twisted something in me. Turned me into a bad man.

I wanted to cut my stepfather’s throat. I wanted him to pay for every slap, every bruise he left on her. But every time he raised his hand, my brain short-circuited, flung back to when I was twelve—the voices, the static, the screams tearing through my skull.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

And I did. I froze. No control over my body. Like something else had taken hold of me. Possessed.

But when she looked at me, I felt human again. Like she was curing me. So if I had to take the pain—beatings, burnings, cuts, even death—I’d take it. All of it.

For her.

She was my Trouble. And trouble always had a way of finding me. But my Trouble? She had angel wings... until she didn’t. 99%of the time, she glowed like light, but that other 1%? God help anyone who woke the monster sleeping inside her.

People calledmeheartless. Wait till they meet my beautiful monster.

“Dorian!” my stepfather shouted. “Your mother and I need to talk to you.”

I was one step from her bedroom. One step from handing her the necklace I’d picked out for her with gold chain, and heart pendant. I wanted to tell her she held my heart.

But of course, they needed me. They always needed me at the wrong time.

I slipped the necklace into my back pocket and headed for the kitchen, where they were waiting.

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