Page 70 of The Obsession
I take my time as I keep moving, letting the sound of my footsteps fill the room. It’s quiet enough that every tap of my boots against the concrete floor makes the nervous one flinch. Good.
“You know,” I say, stopping behind them, “I should be thanking you.” They both stiffen, confused. “If you hadn’t pulled that stunt at La Riviera, I wouldn’t be standing hereright now. And trust me, I’ve got a lot of pent-up anger swirling around for what you did, so I’m looking forward to this.”
The bold one scoffs, trying to mask the tremble in his jaw. “You think you scare us?”
I lean down beside him, close enough that he can feel my breath on his ear but not close enough for him to lean away. “No,” I murmur. “But you should ask your friend how he’s doing.”
The nervous one starts shaking harder. He avoids my eyes, staring at the floor, as if it might save him.
The cocky one shoots his friend a look of disgust before snapping his eyes back to me. “I eat cunts like you for breakfast,” he boasts, and my arm shoots out before I can think. My fist cracks against his jaw with such ferocity that his head violently snaps back, and a few teeth fly from his mouth, shutting him up fast.
I cross my arms over my chest and lock eyes with him, silently daring him to say something else. When he doesn’t, I start talking. “Here’s how this goes. You’re going to answer what I ask. You’re going to be honest, and pray that you give me something useful.”
The bold one spits blood on the floor by my feet, trying to hold on to whatever scraps of pride he’s got left. “We don’t owe you shit.”
My smile is slow. The kind that lets them know I’m not in a hurry. I need to know what their plans for Emily are. I need assurance that she’s safe.
Only a handful of bikies were at the clubhouse when the raid went down, so I have no idea whether the others in the brotherhood were given orders to threaten or harass her about her ex’s whereabouts. It’s my fault he’s missing, and I’m done gambling with her safety.
One of them is going to talk, and they’re going to do it before I lose what little restraint I’ve got left.
“That’s the problem, this was never about what you owe me,” I say, tilting my head and meeting their eyes in turn. “This is about what you did.” The nervous one swallows so hard it echoes in the silence. “And trust me,” I add, dragging a chair across the floor, sitting down in front of them, and resting my elbows on my knees. I keep my voice low and steady, despite the fury raging inside me. “I’m a patient man … until I’m not.”
“We did fuck all to you,” the smart-arse cunt says.
I reach out and fist his leather vest in my hand, dragging his chair closer until our faces are mere inches apart. “You threatened someone I care about.”
It takes a minute or two for him to understand what I’m talking about because he’s not the brightest tool in the shed, then it seems to click. “Is this about that bitch? She belongs to Muzzle, which makes her club property. I can do whatever I fucking want with her.”
I don’t react, not right away, although I want to. I just let his words hang there, giving him time to realise the mistake he’s just made.
When I finally speak, my voice is eerily calm despite how I’m feeling on the inside. “Say that again.”
He opens his mouth, probably to double down, because idiots like him always think volume equals authority. But something in my expression must finally register, because the words die halfway up his throat.
“She doesn’t belong to anyone,” I say, tightening my grip on his vest until the leather groans under my fist. “Not to Muzzle. Not to the club. And sure as hell not to you.” I drag him closer until our foreheads are touching. “You think calling her property makes her fair game?”
He snorts, the blood now drying at the corner of his mouth. “She’s a stuck-up bitch, and never fit in with us. No wonder Muzzle had to beat some sense into her.”
I leap to my feet, shoving him back as I go. I’d meant totake this slow, drag it out, make every second hurt for the trauma he caused my girl, but I’ve hit my limit with this fucker.
His chair skids, wobbles, then tips backwards. He goes over with a violent thud, and the sound of his skull hitting the hard floor echoes off the concrete. The room stills, and the air tightens like a wire about to snap. The dumb fucks eyes are still wide open and terrified, but he doesn’t blink … he doesn’t move. When I notice the blood pooling underneath his head a moment later, I know he’s gone.
I walk over and kick him in the side, getting nothing. “Fuck,” I grumble.
He was the one I was looking forward to torturing the most. I saw the footage from the restaurant, and he was the one who held the knife tomyEmily.
“Fuck,” I say again with gusto as I run my hand over my buzzed hair.
My eyes shift back to the skittish one, and when I take a step towards him, he flinches, as if I’ve already hit him. I crack my knuckles and growl, “Looks like you’re the one taking all the punishment now. You fucked around with my girl, so you’re about to find out, motherfucker.”
The colour drains from his face, and a slow, satisfied smile curves my lips when I see the dark, wet patch spreading across the crotch of his jeans.
I pull my keys out of my pocket as I walk up the front stairs. From out here, the place looks like it’s in complete darkness, but once I step inside, I see light coming from down the hall.
I open Peach’s bedroom door as I pass and peek my head inside to find the nightlight on and her sound asleep. Iwasn’t even concerned when I left her here with Emily this morning because I knew she’d be taken care of.
I close her door and keep moving. The soft glow of the kitchen hits me first, and that’s when I see Emily, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea cradled in her hands. She looks up as I enter, her eyes wide and tired but alert.
