A Lovely Obsession: The Complete Debt of Passion Duet

by Coralee June

  “Deal,” I replied hesitantly. “I’m going to shower,” I then called over to the group.

  “Thank God,” Joel teased.

  Nicole gave me a halfhearted smile, despite her reservations about the pipe dream obsession of mine. She wanted me to let Hunter go.

  A moment of indecision crossed her features before she fist-pumped the air. “Let’s do shots!” she screamed, and Joel cheered with her.

  I slipped down the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom with the sound of Mack reluctantly agreeing to have a shot ringing in my ears.

  Within two hours, Nicole was handing me Mack’s cell phone. She even managed to figure out his passcode from watching him unlock it throughout the night. I was impressed. My girl was a damn hustler. “With great power comes great responsibility,” she slurred while sashaying over to the couch and sitting on Joel’s lap. She had matched Mack drink for drink and was about two seconds from passing out. Edibles and whiskey were a bad combination, and she was cross faded as fuck.

  It seemed almost too easy. My mother’s age-old warnings about things being too good to be true made my stomach twist. If I thought too long, I’d convince myself that Mack wanted me to find Hunter. That this was some predestined link to draw us back together. My brain liked to imagine perfect scenarios where this was all just a giant misunderstanding. I liked to pretend that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

  I stared at the phone as I padded down the hallway and made my way over to my bedroom. Even though Nicole was concerned with my obsession, it didn’t even scratch the surface of all I wanted to do. I should have tried harder over the years. Hunter disappeared without a trace, but Mack still tethered us in a way.

  Then again, part of me wanted to see if I could move on. Part of me wanted to get over him. But it’d been five years and still I woke up thinking about what he was doing. Where he was.

  Who he was with.

  I clicked on the message icon and started scrolling, noticing that most of his messages were weird collections of words from contacts named Cousin Joe, Mom, and Dad. It seemed like some weird code for gang activity, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I kept scrolling until I found a message from earlier today. The contact was listed under the letter H, and my gut told me that it was Hunter.

  I wanted to be greedy and scroll through previous messages, but this was the only one. I wasn’t sure if Mack deleted them as he got them or if Hunter only checked in once.

  H: How is Roe doing?

  Mack: Fine.

  I wasn’t sure if Mack kept things short out of loyalty to me or because he didn’t want any details on his phone. Either way, I felt proud of Mack for not divulging any updates about my life in the text. If Hunter wanted to know how I was doing, he was more than capable of reaching out to me.

  I debated on texting him. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment. I was so fucking close. I’d built him up so much in my mind that I didn’t know if the reality of talking to Hunter again would meet my drawn-out expectations. I once read that when we deny our emotions, they owned us. Maybe that’s why I felt completely and totally owned by Hunter Hammond. The world wanted me to move on and forget he ever existed. I tried pushing down my obsession and ignoring the ache in my chest, but I only felt better when I gave in to the compulsion to chase him.

  I started typing.

  Hello.

  How are you?

  Why the fuck did you leave?

  When are you coming back?

  None of my questions or texts felt right. There was an emptiness about them that wasn’t enough.

  And then, as a last-minute impulse, I decided to call him instead.

  As the phone rang, my breathing became labored. The sense of panic ricocheted behind my rib cage. What if he answered? What would I say? Why did I do this? I should hang up. As the shrill tone of the phone rang against my skull, I felt all the shadows of our past creep up my spine and burrow deep inside of my skin.

  “Hello?” his honey voice answered casually as if this were just another call. As if my happiness weren’t hanging by his greeting. I felt starved and full at the same time. My legs became weak, and I sat down on my bed while clutching the phone like it was a lifeline. His voice. I’d heard his actual voice.

  “Mack? How was the deal at The Velvet Lounge? Gavriel give you a hard time?” he asked with a chuckle over a crowd. Wherever Hunter was, it was loud. I could hear a woman’s voice in the background. My heart shattered at her sweet tone. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he told her to hold on just a second, and my breath stalled. “Sorry, it’s loud here.”

  I forced my lips to move, but no sound came out. I felt so ridiculous, listening to him on the other end of the line. I had him, but I couldn’t even say all the things I wanted to.

  “Mack? Are you there?” he said again. This time, his tone had turned serious. Pretty soon he’d know who he was speaking to. Hunter had a sixth sense about me—or at least he used to.

  Nothing. I said nothing. I just wanted to hear him talk.

  Eventually, the background noise faded, and I listened to him take steps somewhere. Neither of us spoke as another minute ticked by.

  “Roe?” he whispered.

  I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled before responding. “Hey, Stalker,” I replied. I wanted my voice to sound cool and confident, but I choked on practically every syllable.

  “Roe,” he sighed. God, I wanted to hear him say my name again. I wanted him to whisper it over my heated skin. I wanted him to scream it until his throat was raw.

  “Where are you?” I blurted out, not sure what else to say. “Actually, forget I asked that. I know you’re not going to answer. I don’t even know why I called you. I guess I like to suffer on my birthday.”

  “You shouldn’t have called,” he replied. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. I tried not to imagine the longing in his tone, but there was a soft and tender quality to it that made me wonder.

  “Mack is here,” I offered conversationally. “I stole his phone.”

  “Of course you did. Roe, why are you calling?”

  I swallowed and debated on my answer. The truth felt too crazy. I’d become the stalker in our dynamic. It was a hard pill to swallow. “I miss you. Do you miss me?” I asked, praying I didn’t sound as insane as I felt.

  He didn’t answer. We both let the clock tick by. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes stretched, and we just breathed together. We opened our lungs and let the damage of our past bleed out. “I hope you’re okay, wherever you are,” I finally whispered. “I’m going to find you, Hunter,” I promised. Hearing his voice had ignited a fierce need within me. I felt so fucking close and so far all at once. I craved more. “I’m going to find you,” I said again, this time my voice was sterner. I clenched my fist and punched the top of my thigh, smiling at the spike of pain produced there by my hit.

  “For both our sakes, I hope you don’t,” Hunter replied. “Don’t call me again.”

  Hunter hung up the phone, and I stared at the screen in disbelief.

  I dialed his number again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Each time, it went directly to voicemail.

  I dropped Mack’s phone on the floor and stood up. I walked over to my mirror and stared at my reflection, willing the tears building in my eyes to stay away. I wouldn’t cry over Hunter Hammond. Not anymore. I was a woman of action now.

  I hope you don’t…

  It sounded like a challenge and regret all rolled into one punch of a statement.

  Or maybe he said, I hope you do…

  I replayed the conversation in my head, feeling giddy and on edge. He’d said my name. He thought I was Mack.

  What had he said? The Velvet Lounge.

  I quickly looked up The Velvet Lounge in New York on my phone, my fingers flying across the keyboard as my eyes scanned the search results. Nothing came up. I gritted my teeth and tried not to get disco
uraged. I refused to lose a lead. A forum on Redditt caught my eye, and I found a thread discussing a voyeur club called The Velvet Lounge recently purchased by someone called Blaise Bennett. It took some digging, but after three subthreads and a quick chat with a sex addict, I had an address.

  I had an address.

  It took me fourteen minutes to find a flight. Though I vowed never to use the money Hunter left me, I figured a red-eye to New York was reasonable. I scribbled a note to Nicole, Mack, and Joel. They’d be worried about me, and I’d have hell to pay when I got back, but I was acting purely on impulse. Speaking to Hunter had turned me into the reckless teen he’d abandoned.

  I didn’t know how to explain what I was doing. I knew it was crazy, but nothing about Hunter and me was ever normal. So I kept it simple.

  I’ll be back in a few days. Thanks for the housewarming,

  Roe.

  ROE

  The gun in my backpack felt heavy and unfamiliar. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My mind was focused on the deadly weapon I was carrying. I was wholly consumed with the danger of it. I also ached to know how Hunter felt about holding the difference between life and death by the threat of a trigger. I wasn’t prepared to hold the cool metal in my palm and aim it at someone. I’d been conditioned to have a sense of reverence for life, and you didn’t buy a revolver from a pawnshop if you didn’t intend to use it.

  My impulsive recklessness probably should have terrified me, but I just didn’t care anymore. With this gun, I was one step closer to becoming what I feared most about Hunter.

  The street was almost empty. I walked along the damp concrete, dragging my high-heeled boots as dread and anticipation fought for dominance in my gut. What I was doing went against every cell in my body. Self-preservation was a thing of the past, I’d completely given myself over to reckless hope.

  Obsessions had a funny way of twisting your thoughts and making you feel sane. You gave yourself little allowances.

  I’ll only search his name once.

  I’ll only go to the cabin one more time.

  I’ll cross the country to track down the gang he worked for once.

  Once. Once. Once.

  I’d been lying to myself since he left. I was stuck in a repetitive cycle of seeking him out.

  All those little moments of weakness added up fast, and before you knew it, you were walking down the streets of New York with a gun in your backpack.

  The streetlamps above me were flickering. It didn’t take a lifetime of being aware of my surroundings for me to surmise that I wasn’t in a safe neighborhood. Everything looked run down. Bars covered the windows. Rats scurried by, and trash littered the sidewalk. Sex workers pushing needles into their arms eyed me with resentment as if daring me to judge them. I didn’t. Life had a habit of testing how far you’d go to survive, and my addiction was far less accessible.

  They wanted drugs; I craved a man. A ghost.

  I was willing to compromise my sanity and morals to get him, too.

  I turned a corner and grimaced when I saw shadows dancing along the grimy red brick towering on either side of me. My heart raced, my mind was reminding me how ridiculous this was, but I felt like there was no other way.

  All this freedom Hunter Hammond was determined to give me with his distance felt a lot like suffocation. I’d vowed to find the man that stole a part of me, then disappeared. Maybe the loss made me crazy.

  I left my phone at the motel. Nicole, Mack, and Joel had been calling me nonstop since I landed. I knew it wouldn’t take them long to find me. Mack probably saw who I called and guessed that I was spiraling. Mack would easily track down my credit cards and be at my doorstep within twenty-four hours at the most, which was why I needed to work fast and keep moving.

  I traveled down the walkway, clutching the straps of my backpack as I traveled. My eyes slid side to side as I watched my surroundings. I knew there were eyes on my back; I could feel them burning into my skull. To someone that didn’t know where they were, it looked like any normal creepy alleyway. But I saw the shadowed cameras perched overhead and the large man staring at me from a window on my left.

  Beneath my trench coat, I’d dressed the part. I wore a lingerie corset and fishnet stockings. My hair was curled down my back, and my thigh high boots clicked on the pavement. Every forum I could find said that The Velvet Lounge was a sex club, specifically for voyeurs. I wasn’t sure what I would find on the inside, but I hoped for answers.

  At the end of the street, there was a large door with chipped, forest green paint. Based on what my research had told me, I’d have to knock and give a passcode. I’d been rolling the odd phrase over my tongue since learning it, wondering if my contact was fucking with me.

  Sunshine Fever.

  I lifted my fist to knock but froze. Staring at my trembling hand, I willed my body to move.

  “You looking for someone?” a playful voice said at my back. My shoulders tensed, and I dropped my hand before whirling around. I curled both my hands into fists and raised them up to block my face. I then dipped into a ready stance, flexing my muscles and tossing my intruder a stern look. I moved purely on instinct. I guess I didn’t need the gun. The last five years had transformed me into my own weapon.

  The man standing there surprised me. Despite the dark sky, he was wearing aviators and a smile. His reddish-brown hair glowed under a flickering street light. He wore jeans and boots paired with a tight band shirt. Although he was blatantly smirking at me, there was an obvious mischievousness I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t look threatening, but he didn’t look nice, either.

  “I’m here to speak with the Bullet boss, Gavriel Moretti,” I said, surprising myself when my voice remained steady. My heart was pounding so hard that I had to force myself not to grab my chest. “I heard he frequented this club.”

  The strange man laughed. “You won’t find him here.” He nodded up at the building for emphasis. “Gavriel doesn’t really like a show. He prefers to control.”

  I didn’t know much about Gavriel, but the strange man snorted at his own joke before taking his sunglasses off and looking me up and down. It was a curious perusal that lacked any heat, so I allowed myself to drop by fists—but not my guard.

  “So he’s not here?” I asked.

  “Nope. He just funds the place as a gift to my wife and me,” he explained. “I’m Blaise Bennett.” My mouth dropped open in shock. This guy with his ripped jeans and cotton shirt owned this club? My guard instantly went up even higher. What kind of man owned a sex club? Was he dangerous? Should I be worried?

  I slumped in defeat. This was my only lead. When I found out Gavriel ran the Bullets, I knew in my gut that he could lead me to Hunter. But if I couldn’t speak to him, I had no hope. It wasn’t like crime bosses had secretaries to leave a message with.

  “Why do you want to speak with Gavriel?” he asked. I noted the familiarity in his tone. Gavriel Moretti was the sort of man worthy of announcing his first and last name. He was the kind of entity people feared. “And don’t tell me some bullshit like you’re pregnant and he’s the father. I know for a fact that’s not true, so you won’t be getting no damn check.”

  Was that something that happened often with these people? I shook my head. “I’m not pregnant. I don’t even know him. I need his help,” I replied.

  The man furrowed his brow. “What’s your name?”

  “Roe Palmer.”

  “What do you need Gavriel’s help for, Roe Palmer?” he asked while taking another step closer. I gripped my backpack, and his eyes flickered to my stronghold on the black straps. I noted how his posture turned stiff. This was the sort of man trained to read a room. He was probably already thinking of ways to disarm me.

  “I need his help in finding someone. An old...friend,” I explained. Friend wasn’t an accurate term for what Hunter and I were, but I didn’t know how else to explain us. Fuck buddy? Enemies? “Hunter Hammond, do you know him?”

  Blaise’s eyebrows l
ifted in surprise. “You’re friends with Hunter? The Assassin? I didn’t think he did friendships. He just kind of kills, then disappears for a while. The man is creepy as fuck,” Blaise replied.

  “I guess who doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I replied with a tight smile. It also gave you a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms and an extremely dark sense of humor. “Do you know where he is?

  “That’s classified. Only Gavriel knows his location.”

  “Of course,” I replied with an eye roll. This Gavriel person seemed to control everything. He kept his cards close to his chest, likely for good reason.

  Blaise pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, making it bow out as he thought about my words. “I happen to know Gavriel Moretti. Hell, I’ve known him my whole life practically. If you want to chat with him, I can take you there. But I have to know something first,” he said.

  Though his words and demeanor felt casual, there was an underlying sense of loyalty in his tone. I wasn’t sure if I could trust this man, but I was desperate. Every year that passed put more and more distance between Hunter and me. I just needed to see him one more time. I needed closure. Our conversation had changed me. I craved more.

  “Go on and ask,” I barked.

  “Why do you need to find Hunter? Don’t spit some bullshit that you’re just friends, ‘cause I can see the lovesick in your eyes. Admit you love him, and I’ll take you there.”

  “I love him,” I snapped. I blurted those words quickly and easily. “I’ll do anything to find him.” I probably shouldn’t have told him that, but my words didn’t really matter. This man could probably feel the desperation rolling off of me. I reeked of it.

  Blaise nodded, mulling over my declaration for a long moment as I stood there in the alleyway. I wrapped my jacket tighter around my small body. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. The moment my flight landed, I found a motel and made my manic plans. I bought a gun and my costume, and lost myself in the determination of it all.