I should head back home, but I can't resist the urge to drop by Dove's house one more time.
Her window is open and the sound of calming, sad music pours out into the street. I check to make sure there's no one around and slide into the shadows of her house. I look through her window. The place looks good, tidy and organized. I can hear the sound of her shower running. The door of her bathroom is open. I could walk right in there and take her. Right now. No regrets.
Fighting the urge seems like an impossible fucking task. All I want is to wrap my fingers around Dove's sweet little throat, squeeze until she has trouble breathing. But I can't. Not yet.
Patience was never a virtue of mine, so it takes everything in my beat-up body to pull away from the window. As I start my walk back to the nearby motel where I'm renting a shitty room, I think about Dove. How she did this to herself, because she's the only person in my sad fucking life that ever loved me.
I remember her as a teenager, barely legal, so fucking stunning. I couldn't see it back then, too crazed by my obsession for June. But I see it now. I see her beautiful, tortured soul beneath the dark exterior she's built up for herself. I know she still loves me. That kind of obsession never goes away. I should fucking know.
Smiling to myself, I find myself wondering how soon I can twist her mind, how soon I can hold her throat in my clenched fingers again.
It's a funny thing, love. And there's such a thin line between love and obsession. A line I love skirting over, dancing on the edge, pushing myself and the object of my affection, holding her over the precipice of madness.
Falling in love means allowing your mind, your body and your soul to be consumed by the other person.
Unfortunately for Dove Canterbury, falling in love with me also meant signing her own death sentence.
Chapter 1
Dove
I will never be as beautiful as I was before my face was ruined by a madman.
It's a hard truth, a bitter pill to swallow, but one that I've come to accept. My fingertips glide over the puckered scar. My reflection stares back, judging my appearance. I was pretty once. Years ago, before he cut me. I was pretty, careless, young, and stupid. I'm none of those things now.
"Dove, are you coming?"
"One second," I call out, untucking the dark strands of hair and allowing them to fall over my cheek, covering the scar. Like this, I look almost like I used to. I'm not the innocent nineteen-year-old I used to be. I'm twenty-seven now. I'm on a new path. I have a new life. A different kind of life. Sometimes I wonder if I would've been happier without the scar. But it's a dangerous path to go down. Better to focus on what I have than what could never be.
"Dove!"
"Coming!" I peel myself away from the mirror, sighing as I tuck my hair behind my ear again. There's no point in hiding the scar. They all know it's there. It's the reason I got this job, after all.
I leave the bathroom, my nude form wrapped in a black silk robe, exiting into the studio where the bright lights blind me. I groan inwardly. Why the hell did I agree to do this again? Because of Robin, I remind myself. Because I'd do anything for my brother. He's all I have.
"Where do you want me?" I ask, standing awkwardly in the middle of the brightly lit space.
Raphael glances up from his camera, shooing his assistant. His brows knit together when he sees me. "You messed with your hair."
"I'm sorry," I mutter, fighting the urge to play with it again. "It was too perfect."
He approaches me, critically examining my features as he toys with the strands of hair framing my face. He doesn't touch or mention the scar, and I'm grateful for it. I know how hard it is to ignore.
"It looks better this way, actually," he finally says, more to himself than me. "You'll have to take the robe off, though."
"Sure," I nod. "What am I wearing?"
Raphael returns to his setup, making sure his camera is connected to the computer screen. He doesn't look at me, fiddling with the cables as he says, "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Panic seizes my body in a deathly grip, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest at the thought. I do my best not to show it. I don't want to spoil this for myself. "What do you mean?"
Finally, Raphael glances up from the screen. "This is a nude shoot. Didn't I mention that?"
Wordlessly, I shake my head. The lump in my throat is getting bigger and bigger. What the hell did I get myself into? Damn Robin. He never mentioned this little detail. I wonder if he knew. My hands shake as I tug on the tie holding the black silk robe in place. I don't want to take it off, but what choice do I have? Raphael Santino is a world-renowned photographer. Booking this shoot was an honor. I can't let him down now.