Page 57 of Secret Obsession
Ronan licks his lips. “Didn’t realize she was your girl, Whiteshaw.”
I scowl. “Well, now you do.”
“Miles—”
I step back from him and turn to Willow. My knuckles ache, but I ignore it in favor of wrapping my arm around her shoulders.
“Now look at him, wild one,” I say in her ear.
She shivers. But she does it. She stares right at him.
“You accept a drink from someone other than me, and I’ll do a lot worse than this. And I’ll make sure you’re right there with me.” I kiss her temple and relax my grip.
She pulls away automatically, her brows furrowed. She doesn’t know what to make of it. But really, it’s not that hard to figure out.
I want her alone.
I want her isolated.
But I need her to learn that, of all the people in the world, and of all the fucked-up shit people will do to each other,Iwill never leave her.
17
WILLOW
We park outside my apartment, and Miles joins me on the curb. It seems he’s intent on not letting me out of his sight. He’s my shadow up the walkway, but when I pause on the doorstep outside the house, he doesn’t miss a beat. His hands catch my hips, but he doesn’t so much as bump into me.
Because he’s seeing the same thing I am.
The lock is broken. The whole door is slightly off, not quite closed. The cold wind whistles past us, but my muscles are already frozen.
“Stay here.” Miles slips past me.
I open my mouth to call him back, then glance around.
There’s no fucking way I’m waiting out here. I follow him in. There are shards of wood from the jamb on the floor. I’m on Miles’ heels going up the stairs, and he casts a warning look back at me.
I meet his glare with one of my own.
He sighs and shakes his head, but that seems to be the end of it. We get upstairs, and I grab the back of his jacket. My door is ajar. Similarly kicked in, with wood splinters on the floor just inside.
Miles switches tactics, suddenly pulling me closer behind him. We enter the apartment silently, creeping forward. My breath catches in my throat at the damage. My place has been torn apart—the couch upended, the coffee table cracked. Things yanked out of my kitchen cabinets and strewn across the floor and counters. The kitchen table’s shoved against the far wall, chairs knocked over. Even my plants have been damaged, torn from their pots. There’s dirt all over the living room, glass and ceramic in the kitchen. Silence surrounds us. It feels like the apartment itself is holding its breath.
Miles glances at me, then moves forward. Toward my bedroom.
I stop moving.
He goes on ahead, the gleam of his blade in his hand. But he checks my room and reappears a moment later, his brows furrowed.
“You need to call the police,” he says.
There’s a ringing in my ears.
I’m standing right where Miles killed the man.
“You want me to call the police,” I repeat, my voice hoarse. “So they can come snoop around my destroyed apartment where youmurderedsomeone?”
Miles rolls his eyes. “They won’t be looking for anything like that. Besides, no body, no crime. Call them, Willow.”
