Cruel Obsession Read online

  “Fuck no,” I sneer. “Just because I don’t take up your offer doesn’t mean I don’t like pussy.” I’m pissed that he would even say such a stupid fucking thing.

  “What’s the problem then? You don’t like my girls? Or do you have a woman waiting for you at home?” There’s a dark glint in his eyes that makes me want to smash his face into a pile of mush, but I tamp down my rage. I wouldn’t ever consider telling him about Dove, not in a million years, and acting on my anger, however tempting, wouldn’t be worth it.

  There’s always someone else to think about before I make my next move.

  “Why would I have a woman in my life? They’re only trouble.” I say, staring at him blankly, not giving away a single thing. He thinks simply because I work for him that I’ll kiss his ass and take any job he tosses my way, but what he doesn’t know is I’m the real boss.

  He grins. “Good, then you’ll take my offer tonight. I’ve got a girl in one of the VIP rooms willing and waiting for you. Go blow off some steam and consider it a thank you gift for all the work you’re going to be doing soon.”

  I consider declining, so I can go check on Dove before returning to my empty apartment, but I don’t want to deal with Christian questioning me anymore. Keeping Dove a secret is essential to keeping her safe. Every single thing I do is for her, well, minus the killing; that’s just to keep my impulses in check.

  “Fine, you know where to find me if you need me.” Pushing out of the chair, I leave his office and head in the direction of the VIP rooms.

  When I enter the room, it’s bathed in darkness except for a red light that’s placed above a leather couch. On that couch is a naked brunette waiting for me. She smiles and climbs off the couch to walk over to me as soon as I enter the room, but I lift a hand and shake my head.

  I don’t plan to let the girl anywhere near me, but no one needs to know that. I’ll give the woman a fat tip, and she’ll keep her mouth shut, and if she doesn’t… well, I’ll get rid of her.

  “Here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to give you a couple hundred dollars, and you’re going to tell your boss that we fucked, and it was great. If I find out that you tell him anything else, I’ll slit your throat and watch you bleed out. Do you understand?” Her big eyes grow even bigger, and she takes a step back as if she knows being too close to me is bad.

  “I swear, I won’t say anything else.” Her voice is as shaky as her legs.

  “Sit on the couch.”

  “I… I won’t tell anyone anything… please, please don’t hurt me.” She starts to cry, and I damn near lose it.

  Breathing through my nose, I exhale, trying to calm myself. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you don’t follow my directions.”

  The girl doesn’t say anything else and wraps her arms around her middle while watching me closely. Soft cries fill the air, but they annoy me more than anything. I’ve seen so many men and women cry, begging, and pleading for their lives that I’m all but immune to it.

  After subjecting myself to her cries for twenty minutes, I pull out my wallet and toss two crisp hundred-dollar bills at her.

  “Remember what I said…” I give her one last look before leaving the room. On my way out of the strip club, Diego hands me the folder with my next hits information. I wait until I’m in the confines of my car before I open the envelope.

  The picture of the target slips from my fingers and falls to my feet. I’m about to reach for it, but then I catch the name printed in black ink before me. My heart stops, and air stills in my petrified lungs. My chest is so tight, I fear it will explode as I read the name over and over again.

  No! It can’t be.

  5

  Shawn doesn’t come to work the next day, nor does he answer any of my text messages. I tell myself that it probably has nothing to do with me, but that’s hard to believe when everything was fine before we agreed to go on a date.

  Leaving work in a flurry, I drive across down to my therapist’s office. I’ve been thinking more and more about stopping my appointments but haven’t gotten the nerve to do it yet. They’ve helped a lot over the years and been a great outlet for me, but if I’m ever going to move on, I need to stop living in the past.

  As I walk into Sharon’s office, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a sickening feeling coats the inside of my belly. It’s like tar clinging to my organs. I should be used to having this kind of feeling by now. The truth is, it never gets easier, only worse.

  I wait in the waiting room, which is mostly empty, minus a man reading the paper in the corner of the room. I’m not sure why, but my attention is drawn to him, and I stare for a long time. There is something about him, but I can’t pinpoint it.

  He doesn’t pay me any attention since he’s far too focused on his paper. Unable to shake the sense of familiarity, I almost wish he would look over at me, so I can see his eyes full on. There’s a pounding in my head, and my body warms all over. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  “Dove,” Sharon calls my name, breaking the connection, and gives me a warm smile.

  I stand up quickly, feeling flustered for some reason. Like I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

  “Hi,” I say and walk into her office. Taking my usual seat across from her, I shake whatever that just was off and focus on my session.

  Sharon is middle-aged, divorced, and has three kids. She’s been my therapist since Donna adopted me when I was a teenager, and she knows everything there is to know about me.

  She stares at me, her soft eyes bleeding into mine. “How have things been?”

  “Fine.” I lick my lips. “I, uhh... got asked on a date.”

  Sharon’s face lights up. “That’s great. Tell me about it. How did it go?”

  Defeat sits heavily on my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have started our session with this. Nonetheless, I tell her, anyway. “We never went because he never showed up. I texted him to see if he was still coming, but he never messaged back, and I haven’t heard from him at all.” My gaze falls to the floor. “This happens to me all the time. Someone shows interest, and then I somehow mess it up. I don’t even know what I do wrong. Whatever it is must be bad because I never hear from them again.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  I look up at Sharon and give her an are you serious look. “Like I’m not good enough, obviously. Or like something is wrong with me. Why would he not show up? Why would they never call?” I deflate against the couch with disappointment. “I would get it if they’d seen my scar or found out how messed up in my head I am, but they don’t even get that far.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Dove. You know that. You have a history of always being let down, it’s very normal for that to carry over into your adult life.”

  “No one has as much bad luck at dating as I do.”

  Sharon shakes her head. “How about a subject change. How is Donna doing?”

  I smile at the mention of Donna. She adopted me when I had lost all hope; when I was sure I would never find someone to love me. I knew she would never be my real mom, but she was the closest thing I had to one. I love her, truly love her.

  “Good, she’s good. I try and talk to her once a week. The nursing home she’s in keeps her busy.” Words can’t describe how glad I am that I got her into that nursing home. It’s the nicest one in town, and I figured it would be too expensive, but as it turned out, Donna had some kind of insurance no one knew about that ended up paying for everything.

  “Are you still having nightmares?”

  A cold chill runs down my spine. I haven’t had a nightmare in months, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone. Sometimes I go through spurts of being normal, and other times I’m so close to shattering that I’m in a constant state of fear, day and night. There is no glue to fix the broken pieces of a person’s past. You can go to all the therapy sessions in the world, take all the anxiety pills there are, but sometimes nothi
ng helps indefinitely. There are parts of me that will always be broken.

  “No, the nightmares have been dormant.” I fiddle with a loose string on my pants. “I went to a club the other night with Sasha. I’ve been trying to go out more, be a normal person, you know?” I say, sighing.

  “That’s good. I’m proud of you.”

  “The night was going well, and I was having a good time until I went to the bathroom and got separated from Sasha. I couldn’t find her and…” My lip trembles at the memory of that night. How afraid I was, how fragile. It reminded me of my time in foster care. A time I’m so desperately trying to forget.

  “It’s okay, Dove, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.” Even though I’m not looking in her direction, I know she is smiling at me kindly. She always is.

  “No, I want to talk about it.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “The feeling of someone watching me is at an all-time high, and I think it’s because of what happened that night because I’m not talking about it.”

  “Okay, then continue.”

  Exhaling, I tell her everything from that night, how I felt when the guy touched me. How helpless I was as I rushed down the sidewalk and then how he randomly just disappeared.

  I don’t even realize that I’ve lifted my hand and been touching my scar through my shirt the whole time I’ve been talking. Quickly, I drop my arm and look at Sharon, who smiles at me knowingly.

  “Your worry over someone watching you is very normal, especially with your history and everything that happened with that guy. If you see him again, I want you to call the police. I also want you to work on your breathing techniques. I know it’s going to be hard, but try not to give in to those impulses of checking over your shoulder a million times.”

  I almost roll my eyes. As if it’s that easy.

  “I’ll try to control my impulses, but as you can see, I’m not good at it.”

  “You still like to run your fingers over your scar?”

  “Yes. It’s just a nervous habit. I’ve been doing it more frequently the last few days,” I admit. “I don’t know why, but it calms me when I do it.”

  “Do you still not remember anything from that time? How you got that scar?”

  “No. I don’t remember anything that happened in that place.” I’ve lied about it for so many years that the words pour out on their own. It’s the only thing I’ve ever lied about in therapy. The only thing I never want to talk about. So, I’ve been sticking to my lie. I don’t remember anything. The truth is, I could never forget.

  The smell of alcohol and mold fills every room in this house. I’ve only been here for a few days, but it feels like much longer, every second in this place feels like an eternity. This is supposed to be a home for children, a safe place for me, and the other foster children to stay. There is nothing safe about this place.

  My stomach growls so loud it hurts. I haven’t eaten anything today, which is nothing out of the ordinary. I scour the kitchen for food, hoping that no one finds me. When I see the old granola bar wedged between empty cartons in the bottom of the pantry, I almost cry out in joy.

  Grabbing the bar as fast as I can, I tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. However hungry I am, I know there is someone else here who needs food more than I do.

  On tiptoes, I sneak up the stairs, avoiding the steps that I know creak. I go to the room at the end of the hallway, our room. Opening the door quietly, I hope not to wake him, but he still opens his eyes as much as he can to look at me as I enter the room. They’re only open a sliver, both eyes too swollen from the beating he took before I got here.

  “Hey, William,” I whisper. Careful not to move the mattress too much, I crawl back into the spot beside him. “Found you some food. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  I hand him the granola bar, and he just stares at it for a long time. He’s barely talked to me since I arrived, and I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to or simply because he is in so much pain. He looks like he would be in a terrible amount of pain. His whole face is black and blue, swollen and scratched all over.

  “You need to eat too,” he finally says, handing me back the bar.

  “How about we share?” I ask while opening the plastic wrapper. He sighs as if he doesn’t want me to fight him on this, but then he still nods.

  Taking out the bar, I break a piece off and hand it to him. Then I break an even tinier piece off for me and start nibbling on it. Most people would probably take less than thirty seconds to eat this, but we take our time. Enjoying every morsel, chewing until there is nothing left. Swallowing until each bit heavily lands in our empty stomachs.

  When we’re done, I hide the wrapper underneath the mattress and lie down next to him. The house is eerily quiet, which is not a good thing, maybe the calm before the storm. I close my eyes and feel around between our bodies until I find his hand. I grab it and revel in the feeling of his fingers intertwined with mine. Then I say a silent prayer, hoping that no one will come into our room tonight.

  6

  No matter what I do, I can’t stop staring at the picture from the envelope. I don’t understand why Christian would want Dove dead… how did she possibly end up on his list? Is he on to me? Watching me? Watching Dove?

  I’ve grown more and more agitated over the last twenty-four hours. It has to be because of me. I just don’t see why else she could be a target, but if it is because of me, why give me the job? Is it a test? Is he making me choose between him and her? Because no matter what, I’m always going to choose Dove.

  Grinding my teeth together so hard it hurts, I look at the screen of my phone that shows me her apartment. She’s sitting on the couch, curled up with a book. Not the slightest idea of the danger she is in and how drastically her life is about to change.

  My head hurts from thinking about all of this. No matter how much I dig through my mind, I can’t seem to find a single clear-cut answer. I better get my shit together fast because I only have three days to figure everything out.

  It’d taken everything in me not to kidnap her last night and take her to the safe house I’ve prepared for a situation like this. I always feared that it would come to this, I just never thought it would happen this way.

  I’m still ready to go, but disappearing now would put my name on top of the hitlist. No one walks away from Christian Sergio. I’m not sure what the fuck I should do next.

  I need a plan. I can’t go to Christian and question why Dove is on the list, not without giving myself away.

  I’ve never questioned the people on the lists he gives me because, honestly, I’ve never given a fuck about any of those people. But I don’t just give a fuck about Dove, she is my entire fucking world. I exist because of her. If anything were to happen to her… every muscle in my body tightens, and for one brief moment, darkness overtakes me. No. I won’t let anything happen to her. I’ll kill them all, every single one of them.

  Exiting the app, I move to my contacts and scroll through them. The way I see it, I’m going to have to grab one of Christian’s men and torture them until they tell me everything they know.

  I’m already going to be number one on his shitlist when he finds out in three days that Dove isn’t dead. Killing one of his men isn’t going to hurt me anymore than not doing the job, so I might as well fucking do it.

  Hitting the green call key, I bring the phone to my ear. The phone rings three times before Billy’s deep voice fills the line.

  “Hey, fucker!” Fucker? Who does he think he is talking to?

  Swallowing my dislike for the guy, I ask, “Hey, Bill, want to grab a drink?”

  “You know I can never pass on a chance to have some whiskey or beer.”

  I’ve never heard a truer statement in my life. Billy is half-drunk all the time, and when he isn’t drinking, he’s beating his wife.

  “Let’s meet at Oscars in about thirty?”

  “I’ll be there, Zane.”

  I hang up the
phone without a goodbye. Billy is an easy target since he is nothing but a tech guy. That’s what he does for the mob. Finds out information through hacking computers and cellphones. If anyone is going to know something, it’s going to be him.

  Clicking back into the app on my phone, I allow myself to check on Dove one last time. She’s still sitting on the couch, immersed in her book. Without thought, I find myself stroking the screen, wishing I could touch her, taste her, feel her body against mine. I want her so badly it almost kills me. Not yet. I tell myself.

  Closing the app once more, I shove my phone into my pocket and drive in the direction of Oscars. Since the hit was placed, I’ve been more cautious, looking over my shoulder, carrying an extra gun. I can’t risk something happening to me and then Dove being put at risk because of it. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. Worked my ass off to make sure Dove had the life she deserved, and now it’s all crumbling around me.

  Part of me hates myself for what I’m going to have to do while the other part of me wouldn’t have it any other way. Dove is the one and only person I’m ever conflicted over. I refuse to hurt her, but my obsession with her can’t be sated. I want her beside me. I want to be inside her whenever and wherever I want. For the first time ever, I want to be able to let go completely, but with only her.

  Pulling into the shitty bar’s parking lot, I suppress the thoughts of Dove and me sharing a future together. That can’t happen if I don’t get the answers I need. Which means… I need to let go. As easy as flipping a light switch off and on, I let my emotions go. Getting out of the SUV, I walk across the parking lot, the rocks crunching beneath my boots.

  Walking inside the bar, the sound of loud music, laughter, and glass breaking greet me. I spot Billy in the corner of the room, looking like he’s already had a few too many. Perfect, it should make it easier to get him to talk. I don’t want to waste all my time on him.