Frayed Obsession, page 4
Why do you want to know so badly?
“You’re asking for a lot. Those things don’t come cheap.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in my bank account.
I know it.
She knows it.
But that’s not the point.
She wasn’t supposed to change the game, and I refuse to just roll over and play it her way, regardless if she’s already won this round.
There’s no way I was ever going to call the cops. I don’t need them sniffing around my business. But I thought if I pushed her, she’d break, tell us what we want to know.
And as soon as I saw her reaction, the fear seeping out of her every pore, I knew I had her.
But I never expected that.
I never imagined the tables would turn so quickly.
“You get me what I want, and I’ll tell you what I know. I promise,” she says, hope brimming in her stare.
I scrutinise her again, trying to find something, anything, to hint that she’s playing me.
I already know what I’m going to do.
If there’s even a possibility she’s telling the truth, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Chapter Seven
Sebastian
Grace’s stare is unwavering as she waits for an answer, but she still manages to keep her emotions guarded. Beyond a glimmer of concern and a flicker of hope, I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I hate it.
I need to get this over with.
Get out of this fucking apartment.
“Fine.”
Her eyes widen a fraction as if surprised I agreed, even though she knew she had me by the balls. “Now, tell me who killed my parents.”
“That’s not the deal.” She tries to move forward, but Easton doesn’t budge. “I won’t talk until you uphold your end.”
“The deal was, you tell me who murdered my parents,” I say, not able to stop the growl following my words this time. “I’ll get you your documents. Now talk.”
My patience is wearing thin.
“I can’t trust you. What if I tell you, and you still call the police or…” She doesn’t finish the thought, but her gaze flicks to Easton.
Jesus Christ.
This woman.
She is the one who stalked me for God knows how long.
She is the one with a plethora of photographs of me.
Of my business.
She claims to know who killed my parents. All I have to go on is her word, and she doesn’t trust me.
Of fucking course.
I stand there for a long moment, Easton waiting for a direction from me. Breathing out a sigh, I give him a small nod.
He lingers on me for a moment, then steps back, releasing his hold on Grace. His unease makes it clear he doesn’t like what’s happening one bit.
Hitching her pack higher on her shoulders, she takes a hesitant step forward. When neither of us moves, she takes another step and slowly makes her way towards the bed.
Is she limping?
“What’s wrong with your leg?” I ask her as she sits down on the end of the bed, putting her backpack on the floor beside it.
“It’s nothing,” she says, still eyeing her bag.
“It’s something.” I move towards the bed, stopping in front of her.
“Really, there’s no problem. I’m fine,” she says, finally looking up at me. Her breath catches when I crouch down in front of her, but it rushes out in a hiss when I grab her left foot.
“Right. No problem.” I push up the end of her tight jeans and start undoing her laces. I can already see the streak of black and blue creeping past the edge of her shoe.
“What are you doing?” Her breath hitches, but she remains unmoving.
I don’t respond.
I don’t have an answer for what the hell I’m doing.
Sliding her shoe off, I carefully grip her foot in my hand and peel off her sock. Her ankle is clearly swollen, strokes of colour appearing along the edge of her foot and up past her ankle. I tilt it slightly to the side and find the bruising starting to spread to the inside of her foot.
She flinches when I move my fingers over her flesh, gently pressing in. But when I look at her, I’m struck by what I see.
This close, I can see how young she is. Fuck, she couldn’t be older than twenty. Her lips are parted slightly, but her eyes. There’s something familiar about them—the darkest blue laced with a knowing she shouldn’t have.
Someone who’s seen too much in their young life.
I swear I’ve seen them before.
Maybe I’d seen her during the last few months and not realised. It doesn’t feel right, but I don’t have any other explanation as to why I can see them clear as day in my mind.
With a slight shake of my head, I break the connection and let go of her foot. Clearing my throat, I stand up. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you need to get it looked at.”
Grace doesn’t speak for a moment, still stuck in whatever daze had captured us both. She blinks and looks back down to her ankle, moving it up and down, though even with the slight movement, she hides a wince. After slipping on her sock, she reaches for her shoe, and I don’t miss her clenched jaw or the way her nostrils flare with a pained breath as she squeezes her swollen foot back into the grey shoe, making quick work of the laces. “I’m sure it will be fine,” she says, concealing her discomfort but not well enough.
I can feel the frown creasing my forehead. “I’ll call someone to have a look at it,” I say firmly.
I don’t know why I’m pushing the issue, but for some reason, seeing her in pain twists something inside me. Grace opens her mouth as though she’s going to argue but snaps it shut.
Easton watches from across the room, arms crossed over his chest, a permanent scowl on his face. Clearly, he’s still not happy about any of this, but I know he wants answers as much as I do. He respected my father, but my mother always treated him like her own. She was the mother he didn’t have, not after his mum dumped him on his prick of a father’s doorstep when he was four and never came back.
“You’re coming with us until we can sort this out,” I say, and Grace’s eyes snap to mine.
“No, I—”
“You can distrust me all you like, but I don’t trust you either. If you don’t come, there’s no deal.”
The indecision in her eyes has me second-guessing the ultimatum. Without her, I have nothing.
My expression remains hard, and I don’t let any of my doubt show through. Instead, I hold onto the presumption that my threat and her need for what I can give is enough to outweigh anything else.
Seconds tick by, feeling like minutes as I wait, and my patience hangs on by a thread. Grace searches my face, looking for what, I’m not sure.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
The coil around my stomach loosens enough I feel an internal sigh of relief.
Ready to get out of here for good, I reach for Grace’s backpack.
“No!” Her arm shoots out, stopping me before I make contact. “I can handle it.”
“Suit yourself.” I turn and walk towards the door, stopping beside Easton.
“Do you really think she knows anything?” Scepticism bleeds from his voice.
“I don’t know. But I have to find out one way or the other.”
He doesn’t respond but nods after a moment and looks over my shoulder as Grace comes up behind us.
“Don’t even think about running,” he threatens as we exit the apartment.
There’s no sign of the guys who were out front when we arrived. Luckily for them, Easton’s Mustang is still where he left it and in mint condition.
Opening the door for Grace, I slide in after her. There’s no way I’m taking my eyes off her until I get what I need, even if it means forcing myself into the too-small backseat.
The engine roars to life, and Easton puts the car in gear. “Take us to Obsidian.”
We’ll organise these damn documents, then I’m going to get some answers.
Chapter Eight
Emery
Resting the side of my head on the window, the cold fog coating the glass is the only thing cooling the heat coursing through my blood at being so close to Sebastian.
He barely fits in the back seat. His body is coiled tightly in the small space, his knee excruciatingly close to mine. If I moved an inch, we’d be touching, and I have to fight the urge to do just that. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Sebastian, taking in every detail of him I can. There was so much going on in the apartment that I didn’t get a chance to, but then he shifts, and I look away before I get caught.
I’m not sure where we are going, but I recognise some of the streets leading us back into the city. The drive is quiet, with only the rumble of the engine, but the tension is so thick I can barely breathe.
With a need to escape, I find myself burrowing deeper into the side of the car, trying to think about anything other than my proximity to the man I’ve only dreamed of being this close to. The gentle way he inspected my ankle was so unexpected, I hadn’t dared to move in fear of ruining the moment.
Even his slightest touch was all too much and not enough at the same time. I’ve imagined his touch. I’ve dreamt of it. And even though my fantasy felt as close to tangible as it could be, it’s nothing like the real thing.
It didn’t start out this way—as an overwhelming obsession. It was only meant to be an escape. A place I could go to get away from the darkness threatening to consume me, but over time, it became something more. A false reality where every dream and every journal entry pulled me closer to a blooming desire I didn’t know how to control. But I didn’t stop it. I let myself be dragged further into it because anything was better than the hell I was living.
We slow down in front of a flashy building, what looks to be—a nightclub? It’s too early for it to be open, though I’m not sure it would be during the week, but instead of stopping, we turn down a side street and pull up to what I assume is the back entrance.
Hope blossoms in my chest at the thought of finally being free of my past, or as free as I can be. But it sits alongside the ache at the thought of never seeing Sebastian again.
Could I really leave him?
I may get lost in my head, in the fantasy created by a time of desperation, but deep down, deep down in the dark recess of my heart, I know there could never be anything between us.
Too many lies.
Too many secrets.
Too many broken pieces.
Just seeing him in the flesh these past couple of months, whether he knew I was there or not, soothed a part of me. I didn’t feel the need to write in my journal. It was enough for me to live in this in-between state—not completely out of reality, but not completely in it either.
“Where are we?” I ask, studying the exterior of the building.
It’s nothing special from the back, just plain bricks and a single solid steel door.
“Let’s go.” Sebastian gets out of the car without another word.
“But—” I’m alone before I can finish my sentence, the echo of a car door the only thing remaining.
I jump out of the car and hurry, hobble, after them, making sure to sling my backpack on. There’s not a chance I’m leaving it out of my sight.
My heart had stopped when Sebastian reached for my bag. It was the only way I would be able to get my journal out of there without them seeing, and that was the only reason I went back to the apartment in the first place, ending up in this mess. I wasn’t going to leave without it. Not only that, it was also the only connection I had to Sebastian. At least a version of him. Although squished in this back seat together, with him, that might not be entirely true anymore.
Sebastian and Easton’s hushed conversation in the doorway to the apartment gave me just enough time to reach down and grab it before stuffing it in my bag.
A sense of relief still lingers, knowing I have it and it’s safe, but losing my camera leaves an ache I’m not sure will go away.
Photography has been a part of my life since I was a kid—one of the only things that brought me closer to the mother I lost before I could really know her, and with everything life’s thrown at me, it’s been the one constant. And now it’s gone.
It’s just a camera. I could eventually replace it.
But it wouldn’t be the same.
It wouldn’t mean the same.
Sebastian and Easton wait for me by the door, their eyes tracking my every move, ready to pounce if I run. Not only would I not get anywhere with my ankle, which continues to swell with every minute that passes, the pain a constant throb, but I need these documents and the flight.
Even if I managed to actually find someone to do them for me, it could be months before I might afford them on my own.
Sebastian turns to the door and looks up slightly. It’s then I notice a small blinking light above the door
A camera.
After a moment, there’s a clunk and the sound of metal sliding against metal before the door is pulled open.
A man in black pants and a fitted black tee fills the doorway, the material stretching tight over his chest and biceps. My neck tilts as I look up, and up.
Holy crap.
He’s taller than both Sebastian and Easton.
Peeking out from beneath the tight sleeve of his shirt, an intricate pattern of black ink swirls over his light brown skin.
“Mr. Reed, Mr. Hale is waiting for you in his office,” he says, his deep voice tinged with a slight accent.
Sebastian nods and enters the building.
Easton doesn’t move, so I take the hint and follow Sebastian inside. The hall is dim, and I jump when the door shuts behind us with a bang, the heavy locks sliding back in place.
We head deeper into the building, which is in no way as dull as the exterior we entered from. Though, the back entrance probably isn’t the best way to judge an establishment, and it’s certainly true in this case.
Dark floorboards line the corridor as Sebastian leads the way, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. A smoky black wallpaper runs the length of the left wall, its bronze pattern both elaborate and elegant.
Sebastian stops in front of a closed door with a man standing guard. He’s dressed much the same as the one who let us in, only with the addition of a black suit jacket, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s because there wasn’t one that fit the other guy.
He nods at Sebastian and opens the door for us.
The same dark timber flooring flows from the corridor into the office, and I hesitate in the doorway as Sebastian enters. But with him being the only one I know, or at least feel like I know, I follow after him with slow steps. My trust in him might be misguided, but it’s the only thing I have to go on right now. I can’t deny a part of me feels safe with him.
A sizable seating area sits off to the right, although it does nothing to crowd the expansive space. The dark brown leather couches surround a long glass coffee table, whilst a bar covers half of the wall behind it. Glass bottles line the shelves, mostly filled with different variations and colours of amber liquid.
The faint hint of cigar smoke lingers in the air, burning my nostrils, and my stomach revolts at the smell. The times he came for me smelling of wood notes and spices were the worst, and I knew I wouldn’t make it through the night without a new scar, or several. It wasn’t that he was ever gentle, but those nights, I felt the anger radiating from him as he used my body to take out his frustrations, the scent of cigars rolling off him and sticking to my skin.
He’s not here.
He’s not here.
“Sebastian Reed, what do I owe the pleasure?”
My head swings in the other direction, landing on the man sitting behind a grand oak desk. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together, and gestures to the empty chairs in front of him.
The door shuts, and I turn as Easton takes up a place beside it, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. I hadn’t realised he had followed, but it shouldn’t surprise me, especially after everything that happened in my apartment.
Unsure what to do, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands grasping the straps of my backpack.
Do I follow Sebastian?
Stay where I am?
Without looking back at Easton, I can feel the weight of his stare, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing a reaction. From what I’ve seen of Easton so far, it’s clear he’s protective of Sebastian, and I’m glad he has someone like that by his side, but I’m not going to let Easton ruin this deal. This is it. There are no more chances after this. If I don’t make it out the other side of this thing with a passport and a plane ticket in hand, it’s only a matter of time before I fall back into his hands, and I can’t let that happen.
Sebastian stops just behind the chair and turns partly in my direction, his cold mask firmly in place. His gaze drops to my feet and my awkward stance as I lean to the side, trying to take the pressure off my injured ankle, then it shifts to the chair beside him.
Cautiously, I make my way towards them, trying to draw the least amount of attention possible. Careful of my ankle, I sit in the plush chair beside Sebastian and put my bag between my legs.
My gaze flicks between the two men, neither of them speaking.
Getting a closer look at the stranger, I notice just how striking he is. His tailored three-piece suit is a deep charcoal and nothing short of pristine. A short-trimmed beard frames his face, and his dark hair is swept back, but that’s not what grasps my attention. He has the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man, on anyone for that matter.
It’s the only—I don’t know—soft part of him. Everything else about him is hard lines and power.
