Chapter 5 Dahlia
DAHLIA
My first attempt at seduction failed. Epically.
His rejection put a dent in my confidence.
But this is Mika. Persuading him is not supposed to be easy.
It won’t deter me from my plan, or I might as well raise the white flag and continue just as in past years—tethering to what could be, suspended above the possibility of more.
I refuse. My heart has always been his. He might as well shatter it.
Even that would be better than this permanent longing.
He will give me what I covet. Period. I won’t stop. I can’t. And then I will leave.
Maybe I acted childishly, provoking him by wearing that skimpy bathing suit.
But I craved his reaction, not caring about the repercussions.
That my brother might find out about my behavior.
Worse would have been knowing the blood of innocent bystanders clings to me.
Mika’s threat rings in my ears, sending a chill down my spine that is as scary as it is electrifying.
He would have killed whoever saw me without a qualm.
His possessiveness alone revives every battered piece of my heart.
It’s his fault. Loving him never felt like a choice, but rather destiny. I opened my eyes, and they set on him—irrevocably, irredeemably, forever.
Maybe I was too direct, and asking him point-blank to give me that dream of us for a few days was too risky. What if I lost my only shot? No, I know him better than that.
Sipping my wine, my left hand hovers over the black and white keys absentmindedly, the notes creating a jumbled mess that reflects how I feel.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s past 1 a.m., pulling me in two directions.
Continue playing or go upstairs and riffle through every camera in the city to search for him, needing to know he’s safe.
The other side, the hurt one, thrives in pettiness.
What do I care? He would have been here if he wanted.
Instead, he ran away as if I were Pandora’s box, aware of what opening it could bring—the end of our world as we know it.
I even started a new job–watching the cameras in Reno at night–not only to keep me busy but to protect Mika and my brother.
Nothing is more detrimental to a man than feeling guilty.
They would give you whatever you wished just to make it stop.
My brother is no exception. So, when I asked for access to the city’s cameras to search for potential threats when I can’t sleep, he agreed.
Not that I haven’t suffered from bouts of insomnia.
I swing from one extreme to the other, like a pendulum—I either fall asleep exhausted, body, mind, and heart, or I stay awake until my brain shuts off, forcing my body to recharge.
Since Mika brought me back after being a captive for three days, monitoring Reno’s cameras was the only way to feel close to him, to watch how he was doing. In my way, I have protected the two men in my life by making sure no one gets too close.
I hit another note, switching from my ring to my index finger in rapid succession, creating a dramatic melody. I press so hard on the key with my little finger that the jarring sound yanks me out of my trance.
My eyes close not at the disrespect to classical music but because I sense he’s here.
For someone so imposing, he is like a panther—silent, elegantly deadly as he stalks his prey until he’s ready to chase it to its perdition.
You never see him coming, but I feel him in the furious beat of my heart, every sense electrified by his nearness.
“One of those nights?” he asks, tone soft but vibrating with anguish.
Right, let’s go back to pretending as if I didn’t lay myself bare to him just a few hours ago, only for him to dismiss me so easily.
I am so used to the ongoing agony, even the twist of my heart is common—a reminder of a past shrouded in pain and regrets. I knew I’d lost him before we could ever begin.
I sigh, wanting him to stop worrying, to stop treating me as if I am fragile, breakable—not the woman he wants by his side.
I stare at the keyboard as if it holds the answers to how to expunge him from my heart, extinguish this forbidden love.
“Ignoring me, I see,” he sighs, the sound ringing with desolation.
I never could, and never will.
He strides toward me. The action kicks my heartbeat out of cadence, causing my breath to hitch.
He’s proficient at snatching my attention.
From the corner of my eye, I see he has his hands shoved in his pockets.
To the untrained eye, it appears he’s casual.
But I know him better than I know myself.
Beneath his clothes, he ripples with anger. At least I get a reaction out of him.
For someone who oozes violence, even thrives in it, I feel the safest with him. My dark knight would destroy the world, himself included, if it comes for me.
Guilt chews my insides, leaving behind decaying bones. He loves me. That has never been the problem. Our problem has been that I am in love with him, and he is not.
“I could never ignore you,” I whisper, emotions overcoming me.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I turn my face away, wanting to hide what he already knows—I am weak, too soft.
He tips my head back, and emotions flicker in his eyes, creating a war zone.
I shrug, wanting to make it easier for him. “It’s nothing.”
“Your tears are because of me. And I’d fucking stab myself to death if I knew that would stop them…”
“You could change that,” I murmur.
His jaw clenches, hard enough his molars might break from the raw pressure. “I can’t.”
Stubborn.
As he rubs his thumb along my chin, everything else vanishes, lulling me into this cocoon of safety where cotton dreams and velvety desires unfold. But then my gaze lowers, and I catch his split knuckles. The sight seizes my heart in an unyielding grip, deflating me.
Holding his hand, I place soft kisses along his battered knuckles to soothe him. “Mika…”
“Needed to calm down.”
I gulp. “And did you?”
He gives me an intense look. I know he didn’t. Maybe we’re cursed to live this life the way we do—never finding peace.
“I’m okay, baby girl.” His deep voice ending on a rasp like liquid chocolate, sensual, decadent.
“No, you’re not,” I whisper.
Neither of us is.
“Let me take care of you, please.”
It’s the “please” that does it. He nods, incapable of refusing me.
I smile under my breath, trying to hide it, but of course he notices it.
“Mighty proud of yourself for being my weakness.”
The corners of my mouth tilt up, grinning wide. “That’s all I’ll ever be. Might as well take advantage from time to time.”
He arches a brow, and I giggle. “Fine. All the time.”
I stand up, and he follows like a shadow attached to my side—silent but constant. Craning my neck, our eyes meet, and for a few precious moments, I could imagine that he’s mine, and he’s bringing me to our bed.
I clear my throat before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
I am about to turn when he grips my hand and strokes up and down my palm. His touch fires cannons of butterflies, assaulting my insides.
“How bad do you intend to make me suffer?” he groans, yet keeps caressing me. This man is such a conundrum.
“Where would the fun be in behaving?” I sass.
“My death amuses you, baby girl? That is where we’re heading if you don’t stop,” he says low, sounding final.
The butterflies drop from my chest, crashing at the bottom of my stomach. I remain rooted in the middle of the foyer until he shoulders my side, lacking any force. “I thought you wanted to make sure I don’t die from split knuckles.” He even rolls his eyes, trying for levity.
I’ve learned to smile with a broken heart since I knew that the age difference would make it impossible for Mika to wait for me, to see me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister.
If it weren’t for my kidnapping, forcing him into taking me, he would have never spared me a second glance as a woman.
I will never be his woman, but I will always be his friend.
I nod, conveying as much strength as I can.
The house is silent as we take the curved staircase. I bypass his room and open mine.
I changed the furniture after he stopped coming. He was there in the beginning, sleeping by my side while my brother sat in the armchair. Night after night. He was the only one I truly needed. Trauma binds people. I thought maybe together we’d overcome it.
But once he withdrew, I realized I had been na?ve.
He takes my bedroom in, his eyes touching everything in reverence. It’s less princessy and more neutral and minimalist—white furniture and soft gray walls—whereas in the past it was all pink and girly.
A piano rests by the window. On the other side of the room, my desk with the laptop sits, delineating the pianist from the watcher.
He drops into the plush armchair, and I go to the en suite bathroom, grabbing everything I need from the cabinet. Placing the disinfectant pads and soothing cream by his thigh, I step between his legs.
Holding his gaze, I lower to my knees, and his reaction is instant. His pupils dilate, the black enveloping the silver. The darkness thrills me, a current zapping through me. Lightheaded, I clench my thighs, wanting to prolong the exquisite sensation.
His throat rumbles with a groan. “Don’t get on your knees for me.”
“I love getting on my knees for you,” I breathe out.
“Careful, baby girl, playing these kinds of games is dangerous.”
I wet my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, making me thirsty. “Should I play them with someone else?”
In one instant, he bends over, gripping my chin.
I love it when he loses his composure, feeding me crumbs I greedily swallow not to die of starvation.
“Get on your knees for another man and his head will roll at your feet,” his voice low, leaving no room for doubt.
A tremor rocks my body. He would. There must be something wrong with me if I love his unhinged ass so utterly and irrevocably.