Secret Obsession: Chapter 2

Willow’s projectile vomit somehow misses me, and she passes out two seconds later. The smell of the new club, Prime, still clings to both of us. I’m tired and irritated, and the fact that she looks like a sleeping devil doesn’t really help matters.

And with her limp in my arms, I can’t resist heading to her apartment instead of my house. There are too many memories of her there, waking up in Knox’s bed.

When I fuck her in my bed, in my house, she’s not going to be thinking of my brother.

Besides, I’ve been curious about her living space. It’s not the same one her and Violet lived in together last year. She subleased a room from one of the dance team girls over the summer. Now, she’s on her own in a tiny little apartment only a block from campus. It’s close to the stadium, close to Haven. Close to everything, actually.

Minus the “small” factor—the bedroom is only large enough to hold her bed in the corner, a nightstand, a dresser, and an armchair that’s covered in clothes—it’s actually not bad.

After I set her on top of her comforter, I explore the rest of her space. The counter in the bathroom is covered in makeup. I pick up the lipstick and touch my thumb to it, inspecting the dark-red color that matches what she wore tonight. I rub it between my fingers and set the tube back down.

What would be a common area, the kitchen, dining, and living room all one space, is tidy. The gray linen couch with a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back, the plants. It all screams… nice. Except there’s a chill in here that has nothing to do with the winter.

It’s set up like it’s from a magazine. It’s not her. No trace of personality exists here.

Satisfied with my initial search, which includes fiddling with the locks on her windows and making sure they’re secure, I return to her room. She’s on the second floor, so burglars looking for easy theft wouldn’t likely pick her apartment. The one smart thing she did when she chose this place.

She cut her hair and lost some weight that she couldn’t afford to lose. Her hair used to be long, and now it barely brushes the tops of her shoulders. It’s a brutally blunt cut, and yet, it works on her. Her makeup has turned her into a seductress—on the outside anyway. No use arguing that she ensnared me from the moment I stepped foot on CPU’s campus, and that was long before she indulged in edgier aesthetics.

Right now, her dark-red lipstick is smeared across her mouth and cheek and is definitely getting on her pillow. I don’t even know why I wish it’s my pillow she’s drooling on. My feelings are too confusing around her. All-consuming. Which is why it’s better that I take her in now, get my leering over with, so the true work can begin tomorrow.

I shove clothes off the chair and drop into it, toeing off my shoes and socks. What I should do is go home, shower, and prepare for the start of the spring semester on Monday—but instead, I find myself just fixating on the passed-out girl.

It’s been a month since my brother wrecked her. Her social media accounts were dormant. Even Violet, via Greyson, had nothing to report. Willow went radio silent over winter break. But in the past few days, Crown Point University students have flocked back to town. Including her.

And damn it if I can’t stop thinking about what I’m going to do to her.

I shouldn’t have gone to the club, that’s for sure.

I pull her phone out of my pocket and set it on the arm of the chair. I’ve got a remote spyware app downloaded to my phone already, and it only takes a few minutes to connect it to hers.

It’s hilarious how companies can package these apps in the form of parental controls. Like any normal parent would want to monitor notifications, social media, texts. Plus, location tracking and creating a geofence. That was of particular interest to me.

And the bonus: it’ll give me access to her cell’s camera and microphone.

I test it out and find that it works perfectly. The glowing blue dot on my phone with her location, right down to the room she’s in.

She rolls over and makes a noise in the back of her throat, but I resist the urge to go to her. We’ve done this before, her and I. I’ve watched her sleep after my brother slipped out of the room. I’ve seen her cry when she thought she was alone.

Always watching, never able to cross that barrier.

That ends tomorrow.

My phone buzzes, and I scan the text.

I bite back my sigh. It’s not a real team meeting—it’s fucking past midnight. These things used to be a source of excitement—but not when it’s tearing me away from Willow. Not when I finally have a chance to do something about her.

I can only lock the knob of her door, not the deadbolt, on my way out. I curse myself that lack of foresight, then push it out of my head. There’s another door at the bottom of the stairs that also requires a key or a passcode—and this one is automatic. So I don’t feel as bad, hurrying away from the defenseless girl.

It’s not like a big, bad boogieman is out to get her.

The only one she has to worry about is me.

Except, as I’m coming out of the building, someone detaches from the shadows and steps toward me.

“Hey, asshole,” they call.

I glance over my shoulder at them, ignoring the prickle of apprehension that sweeps down my spine.

“I wasn’t finished with her.”

My feet stop moving, and I face the guy striding my way. “Oh?”

The closer he gets, the more I realize I recognize him from the club. Prime draws a lot of bad seeds, the small percentage that makes up the underbelly of Crown Point’s population, and clearly this guy is one of them. He was all over Willow until I hauled her out of there. I mean, he helped her up onto the top of the bar, for fuck’s sake. Fed her drinks until she couldn’t even walk in a straight line. Pawed at her incessantly, even after I got her away from him the first time.

Not my fault.

Not hers either.

I was happy to help her maneuver out of that dance, too. The guy was too much in her space. And by coming to her rescue, I’ve discovered his loose screw.

“So you’re pissed that she rejected you?” I tilt my head back, looking down my nose at him. Although it’s kind of hard, because he’s a fucking giant. Like he might have some ogre blood in him, if ogres actually exist. This guy makes me think they do.

“We were—”

“Or maybe your plan was to get her so blindingly drunk, she’d go home with you.” I narrow my eyes at him.

He’s inching closer. My arms are at my sides, loose, but my fingers curl into fists. Or maybe he did something worse. Something to ensure he’d get her the way he wanted. That makes more sense than her passing out from drinking too much.

“Did you spike her drinks?”

He leers at me. “None of your fucking business.”

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

He’s got buzzed hair, a brutish brow. Cold eyes that bore into mine. I recognize his touch of crazy and fully reject it.

“Doesn’t really matter,” I mutter to myself.

“What?”

I lunge for him, disregarding that we’re on a public street. Who gives a flying shit about that? My fist lands a direct hit on his throat. Sparring with Knox, and then dealing with opponents on the ice, taught me to always go for the weak spots. Especially when the guy coming for me has fifty pounds on me.

He chokes and falls backward, eyes going wide for a second. He makes a gurgling noise and swings at me. He’s faster than I anticipate, and the hit lands on my cheekbone and nose. My head whips to the side. He grabs the front of my shirt and hauls me in. His free hand wraps around my throat and squeezes.

My breath is cut off.

“I’m gonna go up and find her,” he says in my ear. “And I’m going to take what the slut owes me. I bought her four drinks, only for you to swoop in?”

My hand is in my pocket before I can register. I stare into his eyes as I wrap my fingers around the folding knife I always carry around with me. With burning-hot fury, I pull it out. Open it one-handed.

I slide the cold metal blade into his side without thinking.

He goes still as the foreign object enters his body. I yank it out and stab into him again, and hot liquid rushes over my knuckles. His grip on my throat tightens, almost crushingly strong, then loosens. He tries to draw back, but suddenly, I’m the one holding on to him.

“No, no you don’t,” I grunt. Shit. I just stabbed a guy.

He stumbles with me, both hands pressing to the open wounds in his side. He doesn’t even seem to notice where I guide him, his eyes are so fucking wide. I can see the whites on all sides, his brows lifted.

I haul him deeper into the shadows and contemplate leaving him, then change my mind. This is a shitty situation, but I can make the most of it. And I will. With sudden clarity, I know exactly what I have to do.

Back toward Willow’s apartment. I type in the code, and the door swings open under my hand. The guy comes with me, although I’m half dragging him. Up the stairs, leaving a trail of blood, to Willow’s apartment door.

Thank fuck she lives in a duplex and not something more populated.

I break the lock on her door and shove him through. He sprawls on his face in the middle of her living room, and I close the door behind me. It doesn’t latch, though, and I have to grab one of her chairs to prop against it.

My heart is pounding out of my chest.

I’ve never been so fucking exhilarated.

The guy crawls across the floor, seeming to realize that we’re now even more secluded. Maybe he senses that the end is near for him. I take a moment to look around, then nod to myself. The plan solidifies, until I’ve got a roadmap in my head.

Then I get to work.