Page 35 of Devious Obsession
When I’m as clean as I can get, I turn the light on in my room. The belt, sitting on my nightstand where I tossed it, catches my attention. I wrap it up, tucking the tail into itself. It rests in a ball on my palm. It’s definitely Steele’s belt, so… there’s that.
I climb into bed in the largest, softest t-shirt I own, and try to fall asleep.
The morning comes way too freaking fast.
I stagger to the bathroom and lift the large shirt to pee, and I almost choke on my gasp at the sight of my thigh.
Handprints.Bruises.
I thought his fingers might bruise, but my thigh has a perfect imprint of his hand wrapping around toward my ass. I rotate, trying to get a better look at it in the mirror. He must’ve dug his fingers in, because the spots where his fingertips rested on my skin are darker. Blue-black, where the rest of his hand is lighter.
Still totally obvious, though.
I shake it off and continue with my morning bathroom routine, emerging feeling somewhat better. Sleeping on wet hair was regrettable, and it takes a few tries to get it smooth. Thalia is in the kitchen when I emerge, already dressed and ready. She slides a giant mug of coffee my way, which I happily accept.
“Maybe not the best idea to get trashed on a school night,” she confesses. “Sorry.”
I sigh. “It’s okay.”
“What do you have planned for today?”
“Battle.” I say it simply, even though it’s anything but. I need to play my hand smarter, not louder. The idea of Steele getting the upper hand again makes me sick… even if some part of me last night was into it. Some little, fucked-up slice of my brain that isnotmaking decisions around here.
Thalia eyes me. “Do you need help?”
“Nope. I’ll see you for lunch, though?”
“Of course.”
I smile and head back into my room. I turn in a slow circle. My gaze falls on the crumpled fifty, and I pick it up. Smooth it out. Put it in my pocket and smile to myself, because I get an idea that’s bound to drive Steele absolutely insane.
9
STEELE
Knox and Greyson lean against the rooftop door, blocking it off for me. The football asshole who had his lipswaytoo close to Aspen’s breasts is on the floor beneath me. His face is a mess—bruised and bleeding and swelling. His eye is already swollen shut, with the other one soon to follow.
I may have broken his cheekbone.
“You get the message, jackass?” I growl, hauling him upright.
He stumbles away from me, his lips pulling in a grimace. “Yeah, yeah—”
“Good.” I point to the door, which Knox hauls open.
My latest victim wastes no time rushing through it and down the stairs, practically falling on his face. There are two more downstairs, tied up in the boiler room, and Greyson goes to fetch another one.
My knuckles are sore, split open, but I don’t give a shit.
The next one isn’t an athlete. I’m not sure why he even thought he had a chance with Aspen, but here we are. He sat next to her and kept his hand on her knee. So that’s where I’ll start.
“Wh-what are you doing?” The guy is already blubbering by the time he comes to a halt in front of me. No doubt he heard another guy pleading and thought it may help.
It doesn’t.
My lip curls. “You remember Aspen Monroe?”
He eyes me. “Y-yeah…”
