Page 10 of Secret Obsession
And four: something bad isaboutto happen.
“Thank you, Miles, for not letting him do anything else.”
He stiffens. “What does that mean?”
Oh. “Um, beyond groping me on the dance floor… It was why I was in a hurry to get away from him and backed into you.”
He reaches out and touches my cheek, the rough pads of his index and middle finger burning a path on my skin. It tingles, and I tense to stop from leaning into it. Wouldn’t that be madness?
Too soon—or right on time, depending on who you ask—he steps back. He clears his throat and focuses back on the bleeding guy.
Right.
He’s been watching our interaction with fury in his eyes—and it makes me want to steer very, very clear of him. What the hell made me accept drinks from him last night? Except now he’s paler, and the blood is more obvious. It’s dripping onto the rug under him, adding to the pool of it. He’s pale, with sweat dotting his brow. A stiff wind could blow him over.
“Willow.”
I tear my attention back to Miles, who has picked up a folding knife from the kitchen counter. I hadn’t even noticed it sitting next to his mug, which he takes a sip from next.
“Your little game with my brother is over, got it? Your game withmeis only just beginning. Starting with this.” He lets the tip of the blade point toward the man. “Starting with secrets that will tie us together forever.”
A shiver racks up my spine. I wrap my arms around my stomach, not sure I like what he’s insinuating. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not like Greyson or Steele. I’m not going to go behind your back and scare away the guys who think they have a right to touch you. And this is even more poetic because this fucker should’ve never laid a hand on you. But especially somewhere private. Somewhere that belongs tome.”
He sneers and kneels behind the guy, wrenching his head back and exposing his throat. The guy squirms. He tries to speak, but his voice is muffled behind the tape. His movements get jerkier. More frantic.
“No,” Miles continues. “I’m going to show you.”
“You don’t own me.” I step back, but the wall stops me from getting farther away from this madness. I can’t escape—the man and Miles are between me and the door. All I could do is sprint back into my room and lock the door, but something tells me that it would be a lost cause.
“I will,” he vows. He meets my eyes.
And then he stabs the man in the throat.
I scream.
Miles is on me in an instant, shoving me against the wall and covering my mouth with his blood-covered hand. I can feel the blood on my face, my neck. It burns like holy fire, making me complicit in this murder.
Murder.
I shudder when Miles leans down and runs his nose up the side of my face. His lips brush my temple.
“Look at him.” He grips my jaw, moving aside so I have no choice but to stare at the man dying on my carpet. Miles left the knife in his throat, and blood slips out around the blade.
“Pull it out and give him a painless death,” he whispers in my ear. “Or we can watch him die right here. However long it takes.”
“H-how long?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
He releases me completely, and I sag against the wall. The gurgling sound the man’s making—does he deserve todie? Or is Miles Whiteshaw just a complete psychopath?
He never struck me as the type. For a while, he was all smiles. A younger version of his charming brother. They look similar, sound similar…
Fuck.
I can’t escape them.
