A Lovely Obsession: The Complete Debt of Passion Duet

by Coralee June

  Mrs. Sellars unbuckled and turned to Hunter, tapping him on the shoulder until he rotated in his seat to stare at her. “It was nice to meet you, Friend of Roe’s Uncle. It was nice of you to drive her to school. Please tell Mack to call me. We want to set Roe up for the best life possible, and we can’t do that if she’s stuck here.”

  Hunter clenched his jaw before responding. “I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”

  Mrs. Sellars gave him a half-smile before exiting the car with one last farewell. “See you in class, Roe. Please do be careful. Last time you made out with a boy in the school parking lot, you got detention for a week.”

  I jumped when she slammed the door and then sat there silently, waiting for Hunter’s response to my eccentric teacher—waiting, waiting, waiting. I was starting to learn that Hunter rarely spoke without dissecting his thoughts first. I added it to my list of things I knew about him.

  “Do you want to go to college, Roe?”

  I wasn’t expecting that question but welcomed it all the same. “I’d like to get out of Colorado. I’d like a chance to figure out my passion. I like writing a lot. The more I learn, the more fun it is for me. But I don’t know, I never really thought about the future until now. I kind of just figured I had time. And my mom...”

  Hunter reached out and grabbed my good hand, squeezing it lightly. “What?” he asked. “Your mom what?”

  “I don’t know. She kind of conditioned me not to want things like that. I keep thinking I’ve let go of her influence over my life, and then shit like this comes up. I haven’t once considered going to college. It just makes me wonder what else I’m giving up on without even realizing it. It scares me. I loved my mother deeply, but I don’t want to end up like her.”

  Hunter nodded, absorbing my words. “People sometimes confuse pity with love, Roe.”

  “No,” I snapped, a little too harshly. As much as I hated to admit it, I did pity my mother. I pitied her so much that it felt wrong to be angry at her for leaving me. I pitied her so much that I used her anxiety as a wall around me.

  Hunter leaned back in his seat, scratching behind his neck. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re less like her than you think.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “You were in bed with a killer, after all. I’m the deadliest thing in this town, and I don’t say that pretentiously.”

  I swallowed his words. He was right. “You sound so full of yourself right now,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  We stared at one another; my gaze zeroed in on his lips. I licked mine. “You better get going. Wouldn’t want you to get detention,” Hunter said with a grin.

  I leaned over the center console of the car and kissed him on the cheek just to see if he’d let me. His eyes closed in poetic reverence the moment my chapstick lips touched his stubbled cheek. “Mack will pick you up tonight. I’ve got work.”

  “Work? What kind of work?”

  “The kind you don’t want to know about,” Hunter said in a low growl.

  “Okay,” I whispered before pulling back and getting out of his Jeep.

  I watched him slowly pull away while thinking about all the things I didn’t know about him. I didn’t know what work meant to him or where he came from. I didn’t know his last name or why I felt so close to someone I should fear. This thing between us was a dangerous game. There was a shift in the air, so subtle you’d have to be paying attention to notice it, but it was there all the same.

  My stalker stopped hating me.

  I stopped wanting to run away and started wanting to understand.

  HUNTER

  I didn’t want to be sitting outside a shitty motel that looked like it was coated in a layer of cum and smelled like every STD in the books. I wanted to be with Roe. I wanted to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me where she was concerned. I’d watched her for the better part of almost two decades. Shit had changed, and I wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not.

  But no, here I was, watching a seedy motel the Asphalt Devils frequent. And watching out for my target—Rodger Stump. It took a few days for me to find the asshole. Gavriel gave me a local hit while I dealt with Roe, but that didn’t mean he made it easy on me. If Gavriel had his way, he’d have every single member of the Asphalt Devils six feet under.

  The problem with gangs was there was always someone waiting to rise up in the ranks. Rosemary Jones was losing her grip. It was only a matter of time before she was killed by someone in her own organization. Gavriel said she wasn’t worth worrying about anymore, but he wanted to prepare for the next asshole who would rise up in the ranks. Her vendetta with the Bullets had gotten too many of her members killed, which meant Rodger Stump would quickly take her place as leader. This was more of a preemptive strike. No one else was good enough or organized enough or ruthless enough to do a good job.

  You had to attack the competition from two angles. First, kill the smartest leader in the bunch. Then, cut the gang off at the root, starve them of money so they have nowhere to grow.

  Gavriel was taking care of the money issue. He could navigate deals better than anyone I knew. My job was to clip the excess stems growing. You could never let one grow too wild; it could throw the entire operation off and save the plant.

  Rodger Stump was one of those pesky, ambitious stems. He was eager and trigger-happy. Gavriel heard whispers that he was working to revive some deals with a supplier, and that wasn’t going to work for our long-term goals. In other companies, you could monopolize the market, negotiate competitive prices, or buy them out. In our line of work, you had to kill or be killed. There were no laws here.

  I could have stormed into their motel room. I could have easily shot Rodger and his fuck buddy point-blank and been done with it. But that didn’t sit right with me. For starters, I didn’t like to kill hookers. They were just doing their job, just like I was doing mine. And if I were being honest, looking at Rodger made me think I had the better one. I doubt the bastard had showered in the last week. Nasty fucker.

  But two, I wouldn’t be storming in, because rumor had it my second target for this bullshit gang also liked to stick his dick inside this same hooker—directly after Rodger. Willie Goffet wasn’t as smart or dedicated as Rodger, but I had a feeling he’d be third in line for the Asphalt Devils’ throne based purely on the fact that he was a scary looking motherfucker. Gavriel didn’t put him on the list, but I figured a nice buy one get them free deal would put me in his good graces again. I was a good businessman, after all.

  I spent four days watching this motel. Learning their habits, researching their routines. I knew which room they’d get, based on what was available. I talked to housekeeping and learned how often they frequented here. I checked the weather for visibility and packed weapons with silencers on them so I’d have time to escape. The motel was busy most nights, and I didn’t want any heroes stopping me or interfering.

  My blank car with fake plates smelled like cigarettes. I was pissed the fuck off that I had to be here. This gang was really starting to be a pain in the ass. When we first moved to Colorado, it was because Gavriel wanted to expand his business. Soon, other gangs flocked to it like flies on shit. You can tell a lot about the integrity and success of a person by the way they make business plans. If they copy someone else, then they have no grit or determination of their own. They like to go where the opportunity is. People like that rarely survived in this business.

  My phone pinged, a notification from Gavriel.

  Boss: Is it done yet?

  So fucking impatient. I quickly typed out my response and put my phone in the glove box.

  Hunter: Almost.

  The roar of a motorcycle filled my car, and I watched the road as a large man whose gut was pouring over his Harley Davidson pulled up to the motel. I observed him as he got off his bike, slicked back his greasy gray hair and removed his wedding ring.

  Bastard. I was probably doing his wife a favor. Willie was a sorry fucker of a
human being and wanted Asphalt Devils to start dealing women. I watched him walk up to the motel room and knock with a sinister grin. My time to shine.

  Getting out of the car, I follow after him, keeping to the shadows, with my ears peeled for any sounds of approaching footsteps. Willie went inside and was greeted with a man’s laughter and a woman’s squeals of mock delight. I cringed as his belly shook and the door slammed behind him. Disgusting.

  Easing my body against the brick, I pulled my suppressed Glock from my holster and made sure there was a bullet in the chamber. I didn’t think I’d need more than one magazine, but I kept a few holstered to my chest in case anyone else showed up.

  I pulled the mask over my head and checked my gloves. I’d leave no trace. Make no sound. Do nothing. I was a ghost.

  Making my way over to the door, I listened to the sounds of giggles and groans, preparing myself for the sight I was about to see.

  One. Exhale. Two. Inhale. Three. Exhale. I kicked open the motel door and let loose a rain of bullets. Two went directly in Rodger’s skull. My precision was almost boring. The ugly bastard was sitting in the corner on a chair, stroking his limp dick with his eyes rolled back in his head. I stared for a second as blood and brain poured from the head wound.

  Willie was faster, but not by much. His head was buried between the legs of his hooker, licking up the cum Rodger left behind like a fucking sicko. He scurried off the mattress like his pimpled ass was on fire. “Don’t shoot!” he screamed. I never understood why they always said that, like it would make a fucking difference.

  “This is for the Bullets,” I said ceremoniously before pulling the trigger. One shot. One single bullet was all it took. Right between the eyes.

  Willie fell forward, landing on his face with a thud. That was easy.

  I turned, brow raised at the hooker whose name I’d already forgotten. Of all my research and preparation, she was both the most and least important variable. She was the bait.

  Lying spread eagle on the ruffled bed, she stared at me in boredom with her slick pussy on display. She hadn’t moved or made a sound. She didn’t beg for her life or scurry to cover her nakedness. She just rolled her neck and watched. “Are you high or just indifferent?” I asked. I was certain she’d be screaming her head off by now, alerting everyone and the cops.

  “A little of both,” she replied with a cough. Makeup was poured into the deep crevices of her wrinkles. Her gray teeth looked rotted.

  “You should probably get dressed and get the fuck out of here,” I said with a sigh before putting my gun in the holster of my jeans.

  “You’re not going to kill me?” she asked while snapping her legs closed and sitting up lazily in bed. Her eyes had that empty look about them. The kind of look that made you pity them and wonder if the edge of the universe was lost in their brain. I knew that look too well. That look made me sick to my stomach.

  “You’re already dead inside if you were fucking these two idiots,” I replied with a dark chuckle. “Besides, I don’t kill women.”

  She stretched her arms out, then reached under the sheets, probably feeling for a needle to shoot up with.

  “Well, I probably should thank you.” She kept reaching for something. Suddenly, it felt off. “But you might want to rethink your killing women policy. We’re all dead inside.” As quickly as her high body could, she pulled out a revolver and aimed it at me. In the time it took me to reach for my Glock again, she had pulled the trigger. Her shaky aim sent the bullet toward my arm, grazing the muscle there with burning pain. I didn’t have time to crouch over and curse the blooming agony there. I aimed my own gun at her skull and sent a bullet straight through her nose. Blood splattered, and I watched it artfully scatter across the stained motel sheets like a Jackson Pollock painting.

  I hissed out in silent agony while bailing from the motel room. Fucking bitch. Hot blood spilled down my arm as I walked to the rental car and got inside. My vision blurred as I picked up my phone to send Gavriel a message.

  Hunter: It’s done. Willie, too.

  Gavriel: Good work.

  ROE

  “Fuck, Mack. You're killing me here, man.”

  I shot out of bed, listening to the angry sounds coming from the kitchen. I was sleeping in a tank top and cotton panties, and after slipping on my black robe, I padded out to the kitchen where I was surprised to find Hunter sitting on the countertop. Mack was blotting at the steady flow of blood trailing down his arm with a paper towel.

  “You try doing this with one arm,” Mack growled while tossing the bloody paper towel in the sink. “I can't stitch it up, but I think you'll be fine. It's just a graze. I'll clean it, wrap it tightly, then go find the antibiotics I took last time I got shot.”

  “And some pain killers,” Hunter gruffed.

  Hunter was shirtless, his body tanned and rippling with muscles. I should have been concerned about the shower of blood pulsing out of his arm. But I was fascinated by his calmness. Despite the wound, you couldn’t tell he was hurting. The only sign that anything was wrong showed in the way his bulky muscles were coiled with tension. I couldn’t help it. I stared for a long while, drinking in the sight of him without shame or worry. I was convinced that neither of them were aware that I’d joined in on their little party, but of course, nothing escaped Hunter's notice. “Come here and make yourself useful, Pretty Debt.” I snapped my eyes away from his corded abs and back to his face.

  “Hard day at work, Stalker?”

  “Nah, it was easy,” he replied with a pained smile. Hunter was pale, his lips nearly white.

  “Watch him,” Mack said to me before running off to his bedroom for more supplies.

  I stared at the rubbing alcohol on the counter and picked it up. “Want me to flush it out?” I asked.

  Hunter stared at me for a long, steady moment. His blue eyes bore into my skin, and I watched as he sucked on his lower lip. “Sure,” he finally said. “Get it over with.”

  I poured it on his upper arm while staring at the long gash there. As the blood cleared, I noticed that his skin almost looked burned, like charcoal with curled edges. He didn't hiss when the stinging pain punched him in the arm. He didn't flinch. Hunter remained rooted on the countertop and stared at my lips as I poured all of it on the wound. “You don't have to pretend like it doesn't hurt,” I said while pulling away, the bottle now nearly empty. The alcohol dripped over the counter and floor, seeping into his jeans and making the room smell sterile.

  His answer was steady and haunting. “I'm not pretending. I taught myself a long time ago to be indifferent to pain.”

  I nodded as if I understood—but I didn’t. My mother had hurt me, sure. But I was so sheltered my entire life. I hadn't conditioned myself to accept pain—physical or otherwise— because I ran before it could hit me. My mother taught me well.

  Uncle Mack reappeared with a bottle of pills and a wrap for Hunter's arm. “I'm going to check out the scene and see what we’re dealing with. It would be just our fucking luck that you left blood on the carpet. We've been using a lot of favors lately, and I don't want your fucking DNA on the scene,” Mack said. My ears perked up with interest. I was dying to ask my questions as visions of dead bodies and sin assaulted my mind's eye.

  “I was careful. I wore gloves and a mask.”

  “I'm still going to check. If the police are already there, then I'm going to have to call our contacts. Get some sleep.”

  Hunter chuckled while shaking his head. “I thought I was the boss,” he replied.

  “And I thought you were smarter than this. Leave no one. Trust no one. Kill all witnesses.”

  Dread pooled in my gut at Mack's words. He was crass and careless; life was nothing more than baby teeth—an inevitable loss.

  “I got it. Now get your grumpy ass out of here,” Hunter growled in response.

  Mack swiftly left, making me jump when the door slammed. I stared at Hunter, then at the gauze on the countertop. “I'm not sure if I like knowing a
ll the fucked up things you're involved in,” I whispered before reaching for the gauze.

  “It sure makes my job easier. It was nice just showing up and not having to worry if we woke you. One year I had a concussion, and Mack hid me in his bathtub.”

  Of course he did. I opened and closed my mouth, not sure how to process that information. Instead of commenting on it, I picked at the gauze with my good hand and fumbled with it. Hunter placed his hand over mine while staring at my cast with a hard look. “I've got it.”

  I made myself useful and started a pot of coffee as he wrapped his arm. Once again, he didn't flinch or wince. He simply tightly tied the gauze around the wound in methodical fashion, keeping his expression cool and free of pain. It was like staring at stone.

  I reached up to grab a coffee cup from the cupboard and set it on the counter, then lifted the coffee pot to pour him a cup, but my trembling hands slipped, sending a steaming hot splash of the coffee to land on my upper thigh. “Fuck!” I cursed while taking a step back and rubbing at the raw and red skin blooming there.

  “What did you do?” Hunter asked while jumping off the countertop and sinking to his knees to look. I looked down at him in shock, the intense expression on his face stealing all thoughts of pain. He reached up and slowly, slowly, slowly pulled at the tie keeping my robe closed, revealing me to him. I let out a barely audible gasp. He lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb around the area I'd burned. “It's nothing,” I said breathlessly.

  “You burned yourself,” Hunter replied softly.

  “You have a gunshot wound.” I rolled my eyes as he continued to move his hot hands along my thigh, leaving little swipes of his blood along my creamy skin.

  Hunter looked up at me through his thick lashes and leaned forward to kiss the pained spot. I closed my eyes when his rough lips touched my scorched skin. His hot breath feathered over my inner thigh, traveling up to my thudding sex.