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She'd thought Dallas would be hers by now

She'd thought he would understand that it was inevitable

Was it her fault that she had to hurry hi? That she had to make him see?

Where love was concerned, a girl had to do what she had to do, and Dallas Sykes was a man with a flair for the dramatic He liked a show He liked to make a statement

He ry at first; she understood that Because her plan to clear the path to hierous?

No Imperative She had no choice, really He was, quite simply, hers The world just didn't realize that yet

More importantly, Dallas didn't realize that yet

She didn't understand how he could not know Between them it had been special It had been pure Not like those sluts he'd drawn into his bed Not like this ridiculous affair with his sister, all the more vile because it was splashed all over socialstomachs

She'd never considered him dim-witted, but maybe he was Because he should know He should understand And yet he didn't

But that was okay He would soon enough

And then

Well, and then he'd truly be hers

Again

"She's not here Goddammit, she's not here"

Dallas Sykes's blood burned with dread and fear curled in his gut like acid as he stalked down the dark, residential block of Eighty-Second Street, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny, searching for a woman he kneasn't there

This late, the street was deserted, the residents tucked safe in their beds behind the darkened s of the Upper West Side townhouses that rose like the wall of an inescapable maze on either side of Dallas

Where? Where the fuck was she?

The area was too dahts far too diht on his phone to cut through the night as he scoured every daernail A shoe