Page 148 of Devious Obsession
Evil. Now and always.
He kicks over the suited man in front of me, and my throat closes all over again.
Steele’s dad.
He’s unconscious, but he lets out a low wheeze at the kick to his ribs. Dad crouches and pulls something from his jacket pocket. A length of cord, which he uses to tie Stephen’s wrists together. He lets Stephen’s hands fall to his chest, then slaps him.
Stephen’s eyes crack, barely glancing off my father and coming straight to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod quickly. I mean, I’m not—but for his sake, I can be.
But Dad has more things in his hands. A clear plastic bag, a mostly used roll of tape. I stare at him in confusion, until he snaps the plastic bag open and drags it over Stephen’s head.
Stephen immediately bucks, trying to get it off, but Dad moves fast with the duct tape. He loops it tight around his neck, then sits back on his haunches.
“Every action has a consequence.” Dad eyes Stephen with disdain.
Steele’s father is trying to get the tape off his neck, but with his hands bound he’s not making much progress.
Dad rises. “Will you help him, Aspen? Because he’s going to die tonight, one way or another. But I’m feeling charitable, so I’m going to leave the method up to you.”
He leaves us. The door slams behind him.
Immediately, I launch out of the armchair and fall down beside Stephen. I go for the plastic, my nails biting into it. It’s heavy, and for all my tugging doesn’t even rip. His face is getting redder, and the bag is filling and deflating against his mouth and nose with every rapid breath.
I rip at the tape, too, joining his efforts. His movements are getting weaker, slowing down.
“No, no, no,” I whisper.
His eyes shut, and he sags fully into the floor. I get through the tape just below his ear and yank it away, enough to unwind it and get the bag off. He’s not breathing.
How the fuck would I ever tell Steele that I let his dad die?
I slap Stephen’s cheek. My next step would be CPR—but figured I’d try a shot of violence first. Right? I don’t know. I only know that CPR should be done in time to that song about living. Or believing. Anyway, my slap is successful.
Stephen sucks in a ragged breath and shoots upright.
I grab his shoulders to steady him.
“Areyouokay?” I ask, mirroring his first question to me. I untie the rope binding his wrists, tossing it away from us.
He takes a few deep breaths and rubs his throat, then seems to shake it off. “I’m okay. Thanks. How are you? How long has he…” The concern flashing across his face is touching. “Has he done anything?”
“If redecorating this apartment with clothes and stuff he stole from me, remaking everything to be perfect for us to live with him, is ‘anything’, then…” I shrug and cross my arms. “How much do you know?”
Stephen sighs. “Your mother was forthcoming after our… rather sudden wedding. When we met, it was love at first sight. Or maybe lust, I don’t know. Getting married felt like diving into the ocean headfirst.”
“Terrifying and dangerous?”
“Fun, Aspen.”
He smirks, anddamn it, it reminds me of Steele. They must have the same mouth structure. A pang goes through me, and I look away.
“We jumped off the point today.”
Shouldn’t have said that.
To our parents, we’re stepsiblings. We’re supposed to be doing that brother-sister bonding thing, or whatever. At the very least, Steele was supposed to move me into his house to keep watch and make sure I didn’t go crazy.
