Page 24 of Devious Obsession
Best way to describe my uncle? He’s from the bowels of Chicago. As the stories go, he grew up fighting on the streets, running drugs, making friends with gangs. He’s a mobster’s worst nightmare and best friend, because he can do things that ordinary people can’t.
When I think of monsters, I think of my father first, and my uncle second.
There’s aclunkof the car’s locks opening, and he shoves open the passenger door. “Get in, babydoll.”
“I…”
“Don’t make me force you, Aspen.” His voice has gone cold.
I obey, sliding into the car. The seats are black leather, the windows tinted. As soon as I’m in, the locks reengage and the window climbs upward. It darkens the already dark interior.
“Your daddy wanted me to deliver this to you. Said he owed it to you.” He reaches in the back and withdraws a brown paper sack, setting it on my lap. It’s heavy, but the edges are rounded. Whatever it is, he must’ve wrapped it in something to protect it.
“I don’t talk to him, Uncle,” I say in a low voice.
He huffs. “You’re older. You’re as safe as can be from him. Now that you’re at a fancy college and being bankrolled by a corporation.”
I grimace.
The car is moving. I barely grip the package in my lap, just enough to keep it from sliding off. After a moment, he stops at the curb in front of my brownstone.
“Get going,” he grunts. “I’ll be in Boston until the end of the week, then the city after that. You need anything, you call me.”
“Got it.” I reach for the door handle.
His hand comes down on my forearm, and I automatically freeze in place. But then the overhead light floods on, and he grips my chin with his other hand. Pulling my face around, staring into my eyes. His are a deep blue, his hair dark brown like mine. He looks like my father, so I guess in turn he looks like me.
“People giving you trouble?”
“No,” I lie.
He narrows his eyes, and he waits a moment. Under his rough exterior, I think maybe he did care. Or does care. It’s hard to tell—it seems to come in waves.
My father only pretended to care about my mother. He married her because he knocked her up, and then he showed his true colors.
I yank free from his grasp and step out onto the sidewalk, closing the door quickly behind me. I spare only a moment of worry that he knows exactly where I live. The car idles, and I dig through my bag for my keys.
Keys that are most certainly not there.
“Problem, Asp?” My uncle is out of the car, leaving it idling. He bounds up the steps to stop just below me.
Out of the car, he might be even more intimidating. Tall, covered in tattoos, with a hard set of his brow. The kind of guy who doesn’t take shit from anyone.
I shift my weight. “I don’t know where my keys are. But it’s okay, I’ll just call my roommate—”
He waves me off and nudges me aside. He has something in his hands, two slim silver tools, and a moment later, the door swings inward.
“Your apartment door, too?”
I eye him. His tattoos crawl up his neck, framing his jaw. Helookslike he could be in the mob. He disappears inside my building, and I have no choice but to follow him. Definitely not if I want to get in without calling Thalia. We stride past the rows of mailboxes, the stairs to the upper levels, to my apartment door.
“Why are you helping me?” I blurt out. I’ve seen him more recently than Dad. He’s kept tabs on us over the years, finding us when even Dad couldn’t. I suspect it’s because Mom wanted to keep one of the Monroe brothers close. Better him than Dad, that’s for sure.
He glances at me, then at the package in my hand.
My fingers tighten on it.
“You may think you’re like your mother,” he says carefully, not meeting my eyes. “But some would say you’re more like your daddy’s side of the family.”
