Obsessed

by Tess Oliver

  I relax against Oscar's chest. The release of tension feels good, but I'm now totally aware of every pain, ache and tingling sensation as I withdraw further from the nectar. I know Oscar probably won't talk to me but it doesn't stop me.

  "I guess I'm in a lot of trouble with the boss," I say.

  His deep voice startles me. "We all are, kiddo."

  Blake. I lift my head and look around. "Where's Blake?" my voice wavers. "Where is he?"

  Oscar doesn't answer this time.

  13

  Kane

  I push the ice pack off my hand. The plane is just hours from landing. I'll be glad to get back to the complex. One step out of it and the whole fucking thing unravels.

  A tiny sound comes from the couch across the way. By the time we got back to the yacht, she was writhing in agony from withdrawals. The nectar laced with a little something extra brought her instant relief along with sound sleep.

  She stretches in her sleep before curling up under the blanket. The bruise on her cheek makes me tighten my fists, but I'm quickly reminded that my knuckles are the size of golf balls. Besides, he got his, the fucking asshole got his.

  Another kitteny sound, a sound I wish I could bottle for a time when my head is not filled with dark thoughts. Her long lashes flutter with a dream and her freckled nose twitches back and forth. She looks young, like a little girl.

  Icy cold knots form in my chest. She tried to run. She wanted to be free of me. I was still grappling with that reality. I'd arrived at the dock in time to see my two most trusted bodyguards running like roosters with their asses on fire for the marina parking lot. When they broke the news it felt as if someone had shot a torpedo into my gut. Anger and worry somersaulted with betrayal as we hurtled along the road to find her. I was ready to punish her, to send her on her way. Ambitious thoughts for an obsessed man. I was reminded just how far my fixation went when I saw the slimey fuckface leaning over her. Fury sent me charging at him and killing him was the only thought in my head. Kill the fucker for hurting her. Kill the fucker for daring to touch her, for daring to look at her, for daring to breathe the same damn air as her. And now she's seen me. All of me.

  I get up from the chair and walk over to the couch. The plane shimmies side to side with some turbulence and her arm falls free from the blanket. I push it back under.

  I lift her head and she allows it. I sit down on the couch. She settles her head in my lap. I draw my thumb along the side of her face, along the bruise. Her lashes flutter but she doesn't wake up.

  She tried to run. She wanted to be free of me. The words circle my head for the millionth time. The pain doesn't get any lighter with each pass.

  If anything, it gets more pronounced.

  14

  Angie

  A knock sounds on the door. My eyes open. I shut them again quickly. I reach around with my hands. The familiar feel of the quilts assures me I'm back in the bedroom. I can feel the leather cuffs circling my wrists and ankles. I open my eyes and sit up. Another knock.

  The door opens. I don't even turn to look at Blake. "One minute I'm on a yacht in the Caribbean and the next I'm tucked in this bed."

  The smell of bacon and eggs makes my stomach churn but not in a good way. I swing my feet out of bed and am surprised to see a woman dressed in a chef's coat carrying a plate of food to the table in the room. She places the food on the table and pulls some packets of salt and pepper out of her pocket.

  "Where's Blake?" I ask as I rub the ache from my temples.

  "I don't know anything about Blake," she answers quickly before scurrying out the door.

  I get up and shuffle to the bathroom. My robe is still hanging on the door hook. Blake usually moves it to the chrome rack near the shower. My head feels heavy, but the terrible pain has subsided and the inner warmth that the nectar provides helps ease my mood. The fresh pin mark on my arm assures me my faithful assistant dosed me up while I slept. It seems I was sleeping like a bear in winter. I moved across oceans and continents and was swept back into the underground complex without raising a lid.

  I walk to the mirror and gasp at my reflection. A massive bruise covers one cheek. There are cuts on my chin that have dried to light scabs. I rinse my face with cold water to come out of the dozy trance that still grips me. As I reach for the towel, trickles of memories come back, first in slow motion then at warp speed. The guys in the truck, the abandoned building, the near rape. And Kane. He was there too. My throat tightens as every bit comes back to me in full color. He was filled with a monstrous rage, a rage that I'm sure was not satisfied until he choked the life out of my assailant. The last thing I remember was Oscar holding me as Kane shot nectar into my veins.

  My bedroom door opens. "Thank goodness," I sigh and rush out to meet Blake.

  "I worried that—" my words jam in my throat.

  Kane is checking out the plate of food. "You need to eat. Get your strength back."

  My gaze drops to the hand he keeps glued to his side. The knuckles are grotesquely swollen and crisscrossed with deep cuts.

  "Where's Blake?" My throat is suddenly parched.

  "He won't be your assistant anymore. I think you'll be all right on your own. I'll be in charge of your injections."

  I'm numb and frozen to the spot. It's my fault. I've done this to Blake. "You didn't send him away, did you?" My eyes ache.

  He doesn't answer.

  My stomach tightens. "Please. Tell me. It was all my fault. Just send me away and keep Blake. I'll walk away from here and never look back."

  His lip turns up. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? A free pass away from me? Blake is fine. And yes, it is all your fault." His cruelty sometimes seems to surprise even him, as if he doesn't realize it's there until it comes shooting out.

  The tight set of his jaw loosens, and he crosses the room to me.

  "I hate you," I say with a waver. "I fucking hate you." As I say it, I feel myself melting at the need to be in his arms.

  He pulls me against his chest.

  "I hate you," I say again. His mouth covers mine. The pajamas someone has dressed me in, someone other than Blake, fall away. And just like that I submit to him. I push the hatred, the shame and the guilt away and drop naked and willing into his grasp.

  His body is rigid with anger or hurt or betrayal, possibly a mix of everything. He carries me not to the bed but to the recess in the wall where he deftly binds me to the hooks. My arms are stretched up high above my head and my legs are spread wide. It's a position that generally sends a thrill of anticipation through me, but the dramatic shift in his mood sends a thread of fear instead. He knows I ran. I could have brought down his whole damn world and he knows it.

  I can feel the heat of him behind me. He paces back and forth like a furious animal. He steps behind me and pulls at my hair, bringing back a horrid flashback of the terrifying moments in the abandoned building. Kane has pulled my hair numerous times but this time is different.

  I hold my breath fearful that he is going to hurt me or kill me. His mouth comes next to my ear. "You betrayed me, Sweet Sin. All I've ever wanted is to please you."

  He releases my hair. Then in contrast to the wave of anger rolling off of him, he gently strokes my back. He growls and pulls his hand away. He paces again and stops in front of the wall. His arm pulls back and makes a fist of the battered, bruised hand. I sob as he plows it into the wall. His agonized groan fills the room as he holds the hand against him.

  I'm crying uncontrollably as I make a futile attempt to get free of my bindings. He catches his breath and returns to me. Gooseflesh covers my naked skin as his warm breath drifts over my shoulder.

  "I could have sent you off that first night," he says under his breath. He releases my feet and hands. I rub my wrists as I turn to face him. He is a masterpiece even in anger. His blue eyes look like glass as he stares unflinchingly at me.

  I can hardly think over the pounding of my own heart.

  He steps toward me and tangles his free
hand in my hair to bring my face to his. His mouth slams over mine and he kisses me as if this is the last moment on earth for both of us. Then, as abruptly as he grabs me, he releases me. He turns on his heels and walks out the door, slamming it shut sharply behind him.

  Standing in the small recess in the bedroom wall, I lick the salt of my tears off my lips.

  15

  Maddox

  The tennis ball bounces off the clean white wall. I catch it on the return. Being rich is a bore when the bank account is a fake. Especially when you're sitting around waiting. Waiting and not fucking knowing if any of your efforts are going to pay off. Rick Haverton's penthouse apartment overlooks the city, but gray clouds have muted the view. The gloomy weather goes right along with my mood.

  A knock on the door is followed by three quick knocks signaling it's Captain Clark. I open the door. He's dressed in a delivery man uniform and has a dolly filled with crates of wine. "I've got a delivery for Rick Haverton," he says with a wry smile.

  "Yep, about damn time too." I step out of the way and he rolls the dolly through. I shut the door, cutting off any view from the hallway security cameras. "And I hope it's the good stuff because I'm going out of my fucking mind."

  Clark stops the dolly in the center of the room. There are only a few pieces of borrowed furniture in the place. "It's wine bottles filled with water. You don't think I'd actually leave you up here with expensive wine." He points to my hand. "I'm already paying you a detective's salary to toss around a tennis ball." He walks over and sits on the leather couch. He rubs his hand on it. "Nice. You rich assholes know how to live. Anyhow, any word yet because I'm sure I don't need to remind you that we're living on borrowed time—and borrowed everything, for that matter."

  "Yeah, you keep reminding me." I pitch the ball like a bullet across the room. It ricochets off the walls and clinks off the glass chandelier in the dining area.

  "Easy there, slugger, damages are coming out of your paycheck. I've got some news for you but give me an update first. How did the club interview go?"

  "Weirder than I expected. Like getting into the mob or something." I pull a stool from the kitchen island out and sit on it. "I went to the parking lot in the mall and parked right where they told me. So I'm standing there next to the Porsche, waiting, and this limo with tinted windows pulls up. No plates or they were covered. I'm expecting the driver to get out and open the passenger door. We rich guys expect shit like that, you know?"

  Clark shakes his head.

  "Anyhow, the door opens automatically so I climb inside. My interview panel is sitting right inside."

  Clark sits forward. "No shit? Freestone?"

  "Nope. But I think he was watching the interview remotely. I noticed two cameras. They were easy to spot. No attempt to hide them. The interviewers were three club members. One was wearing a big nose and glasses disguise, but I think it's that guy who owns the chain of burger restaurants. Robson or something, he does his own commercials so I recognized his voice."

  "Yeah, Bart Robson," Clark concurs. "How fucking cheap or balloon headed do you have to be to appear in your own restaurant chain commercials. Figures he belongs to the club. He always looks so smarmy in the commercials."

  "They asked me a bunch of questions. Since I've only been rich for a few weeks, I fumbled through some of the answers. I can see why this club stays so under wraps. These guys take it very seriously. They don't want the word to get out and risk losing their dirty little party club."

  "More like they don't want their distinguished names to be blasted across the news headlines when Freestone's sordid world is revealed."

  "Yeah, I got the feeling it's not just Freestone you need to avoid if you reveal the secrets. In not so many words, the men in the car mentioned that financial sabotage and loss of any important connections might be the consequence if I so much as even mentioned the interview. About all I can say about that part of it is that those guys wear a lot of fucking cologne, and they are all eating just a few too many lobster tails and caviar parfaits."

  I pull out Rick Haverton's phone and check to see if there's a message. "Nothing about getting in yet. It's been three days. They said they'll get back to me only if I'm accepted. So I'm plotting out my next move, if they say no."

  Clark puts up his hand. "No, Maddox, no plotting. We've put a lot of money into this. Let's just see what happens first before you go tunneling underground into the secret compound. Which reminds me, the crew staking out those coordinates haven't seen anything unusual. Just a lot of desert landscape. No cars rising up from underground garages or helicopters lifting out from behind hills. I think the coordinates are wrong."

  "Fuck. That makes plan B that much harder."

  "Did you fuck up too many answers?"

  I shrug. "Not sure. They were mostly wondering why a guy like me needed to join a club to, as they so eloquently put it, enhance my social life."

  "A guy like you? You mean a big mouthed rooster?"

  "Yeah that, and as people like to point out a lot. I'm pretty."

  "Uh huh, I believe Hannah refers to you as that smokin' hot detective guy with the green eyes. What did you tell them?"

  "Told them I wanted the sex without the commitment, and I wanted to avoid women who were always trying to corner me for my money. That answer went over well. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

  "Uh huh." Clark rests his arms up along the soft leather couch. "Well, waiting and seeing is costing the department a small fortune, so if you don't hear from them in two days, this assignment is over." Before I can protest he puts his hand up. "That's what I came here to tell you. I think the feds will be moving in on this soon. The death of the undercover private investigator has moved this up the chain of command. The pharmaceutical company had to turn over documents with the data they had on Freestone's special drug. It's some powerful narcotic based shit."

  "Fuck. That's not good news. What if Ten—"

  "Don't start with the what ifs, Maddox. It doesn't help move us forward to speculate. It only adds to our worry." Clark drops his arms. His lumpy, big face droops like a bloodhound's. I know what's coming next because I've seen the same face every day since Ten disappeared.

  With it looking less likely that I'll get into the club and the coordinates not panning out, the last thing I need is his downer moment. "I'm not giving up until I find her, so wipe the frown off, Clark. I will find her."

  16

  Kane

  "Mr. Freestone." I turn back to Oscar in the hallway.

  "Yes?"

  "I've got Robson on the phone. He wants to know if you watched the interview tapes for the two prospective members."

  "No on the first one. He's far too old and out of shape. I don't need a heart attack victim on my hands. The second one was the opposite. Makes me wonder why the hell he wants in at all. But tell him yes. We need some new members. The women look bored during club activities. He looks like an asshole, but something tells me he'll spark a little competition between the women. They are all getting a little complacent and lazy."

  "All right. I'll let Robson know."

  I continue down the hallway. After her runaway stunt, I decided to let her have five days of solitude. I've visited only to give her injections and left each time with her flushed with arousal and looking as sad as a lost kitten when I walked out.

  It's been pure fucking torture for me. It takes all my will power to walk out of the room each time without touching her. But my nerves of steel have melted into hot molten metal. I need her. The punishment phase is over and the punishment phase begins tonight. After nearly a week without her, I'm ready to tear the whole fucking compound down around our heads.

  I flash my key card and walk in. The fragrance of bubbles along with a sudden, almost rushed splashing sound drifts past the ajar bathroom door.

  Her plate of food is untouched, and her wine glass is full.

  I push the door open. She sits up and peers over the bubbles. "Oh, I didn't hear you c
ome in," she says with big, innocent eyes.

  "Yes you did. That's why you jumped into the bath." I sit on the bench at the edge of the tub. "Apparently you thought a bath would be the perfect excuse for me to cut my visit short."

  She shrugged her thin shoulders. "No, you're perfectly welcome to sit and watch me bathe. I'm just getting started." The last dose of nectar is wearing off, revealing that other, more defiant side of her. I've come to enjoy it almost as much as the sweet, submissive angel who purrs so eagerly when she's naked beneath me.

  I lean back on my hands to watch. She lifts up her arm and takes a comically long time to run the washcloth over it. I don't know if she's trying to seduce me or bore me.

  "Is it clean enough yet?" I say after a few more strokes. "I can't imagine you need too much scrubbing, sitting here in this room all day."

  "Yes, about that." She lifts the second arm and gives it the same surgical nurse style attention. "I'm going stir crazy, which I know is your plan. So that is working. I should be ready for the asylum by the time you send me on my way."

  "Is that what you want?" A tuft of bubbles floats up and coasts down to the floor. I stomp it with my shoe. "To be sent on your way? I suppose you've already answered that. And bravo on your ability to survive out in the world on your own. Maybe next time you could find a band of four freshly released ex-cons in a van to give you a ride."

  "I wouldn't have climbed into the truck if your giant goons weren't chasing me down like a hunted rabbit. And just in case you thought you were leaving me in this room every afternoon aching with lust and dying for a satisfaction only you can bring—" Her luscious lips tilt up as she raises one bubble covered hand out of the water. She wiggles her fingers. "I've been doing just fine satisfying myself. In fact, I think I'm enjoying it better."