Page 8 of Darkness Tempt Me
“Please tell me you dumped his ass,” I say when he finally stops crying.
“It wasn’t like that. Connor… he didn’t mean to.”
An icy chill runs down my spine. “This wasn’t an accident, Ty. I know what this is. I’ve been there, remember? Mom—”
Tyler stiffens before shoving me away. He jumps out of the bed, and my eyes scan his body quickly for more bruises. His knees and arms are scraped, but other than that, it’s just hisface. He looks okay. His eyes narrow, and he rushes out of my bedroom.
He’s in the living room, shoving on his shoes when I catch up to him.
“Please don’t go,” I beg, wanting to keep him safe. He shakes his head wildly, and I know I’ve fucked up. I remember what it was like at this stage. No one could have convinced me my piece-of-shit ex was dangerous.
“I’m not you. And I’m not Mom, okay? I know better, and I know how to defend myself,” Tyler snaps. “Connor isn’t like that. It was an honest mistake.”
I wince, not sure if it’s because I’m hurt that my brother is saying these things to me, or if it’s because I get the feeling my little brother is wrong; that yes, Connor is just like that.
“I shouldn’t have come here. I need some space, Peyton. Don’t follow me.”
I frown. “Ty, please.”
“No. You don’t get to pity me. I said I’m not you!” he shouts before storming out of my apartment and slamming the front door behind him.
Anger and hurt cause my temples to throb. Making my way to my spare room, I shove my headphones into my ears and turn up my music. The beat of heavy metal blasts into my ears, distracting me from all the memories that threaten to drown me. I pull a chunk of wood out of my desk and start carving.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this powerless. I just hope that what I’m feeling is wrong.
Chapter five
Mavik
Drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, I peer out at the quaint neighborhood. Like most busy cities, New Vernon has several hidden pockets, some for the rich and others for the poor. The first apartment complex Peyton lived in was in a rundown area that was sketchy at best. Why someone with Peyton’s salary lived in that neighborhood escaped me. Then, I realized he was supporting both himself and his little brother.
When Peyton completed his initial three months as my assistant, I gave him a new contract offering a raise and a company apartment, chosen by me and within walking distance of the office. He immediately asked if it was okay to have his brother live there with him. It’s why I chose a three-bedroom apartment. I told him he was allowed one roommate and that the proper paperwork needed to be filled out in order for someone to live there. If they passed the background check, then they would be allowed to live there with him.
I didn’t explain to Peyton that his brother would be the only person passing that background check. Like hell would anyone else be living withmyassistant.
I slide out of the driver’s seat of my car and lock it before making my way down the street. The setting sun has already been replaced by a full moon, casting a sharp contrast of shadow and light across the neighborhood. The rich aroma of a nearby barbecue fills my nostrils, reminding me it’s still early enough that anyone can see me if I’m not careful. Good thing I’m always careful. Always aware of my surroundings and people nearby. I glance at the time on my phone screen: 8:23 PM. Peyton should be relaxing on his sofa, either reading one of his dark romances or watching TV.
The tan ground-floor apartment comes into view. Avoiding the security cameras I placed there when I bought this building, I slink around back and slide my mask over my head. Because of his bright apartment lights inside, Peyton cannot see me in the darkness. But it’s better safe than sorry. I don’t need someone spotting me and calling the cops.
A zing of pleasure travels down my spine, reminiscent of the zap I get during a kill. I have no idea when I became so obsessed with my pretty little assistant, but there’s always been something about Peyton with his platinum-blond curls and baby-blue eyes. From the first moment I saw him three years ago, I knew I’d have to fight my urge to claim him as mine. Three years later, and I’m still trying to deny the inevitable.
Through the sliding glass door that leads to his patio, I don’t see anyone in the living room or kitchen. There’s a small pathway between his patio railing and the line of privacy bushes behind his apartment. The bushes and weeds have grown since I was last here, so I don’t notice the sharp brambles until they slice my arm, causing me to hiss in surprise.Rookie mistake.
My heart races. I rarely make a mistake.
Blood drips onto a pretty white flower. Odd. This flower shouldn’t be blooming here during this time of the year. Pulling out my knife, I cut the beautiful plant at the stem, finding it oddly sentimental.
I press myself against the wall of the building and peer through each window until I find Peyton carving away at a piece of wood in his spare room, his brother nowhere in sight. I love how Peyton turned this bedroom into his own personal studio. His headphones are on. I’ve heard the heavy metal my little angel likes to play on full blast. It would be so damn easy to sneak into his apartment unnoticed.
I’m half tempted to do just that when Peyton slams the carving tool and the chunk of wood down onto his desk in frustration. Tears stream down his face before he angrily wipes them away. Rage roils through me at the sight. There’s the sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms. Who hurt Peyton enough to make him cry like this?
He storms out of the room. Through his other window, I see him bypass his bedroom. Keeping as low as possible, I sneak back toward his patio and climb over the railing. His patio is small, with an outdoor dining table and matching chairs. On a shelf, Peyton has a collection of plants and a life-size owl figurine to deter rodents.
Peyton pulls out a frozen meal before reading the instructions and popping it into the microwave. He stands there with a blank look on his face, lips slightly parted as he spaces out, deep in thought. I press myself closer to the glass door. Peyton swipes at his face again, and I’ve had about enough. I will fucking kill whoever made my sweet boy cry.
Pulling out my phone, I send a text to Peyton.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
