Page 10 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

An awareness tickled in the back of my mind as the streets grew more and more familiar. A cold sensation settled in my stomach, and as we turned onto my street, a heavy and distinct feeling consumed me. Anger. Deep and loathing. He’d let me believe he was the honorable fed when, really, he was nothing but another man in my husband’s pocket.

He pulled up to the curb in front of my home and put the car in park.

Resentment poured off me, mixing with the scent of leather and cologne. I was sure he could feel it when he turned his head to look at me. His gaze was as dry as gin, though a light brewed inside as if someone had thrown a lit match in the glass. Blue. The look grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me underwater.

I inhaled slowly. Released it.

A sudden feeling that I’d met this man before overwhelmed me. Though, the thought soon faded. It would be impossible to forget his face, no matter how much I wanted to forget his presence.

“You pried into my personal life,” I growled, grabbing my coat from the back seat.

“You wasted my time, therefore my right.”

Disbelief filled me. No other man of my husband’s would have asked me the questions this one had, and then gone on to call it his right.

Venom coated each sweetly-spoken word like candy. “Tell me, Agent Allister, when did you realize you weren’t human?”

The subtle glow of amusement lit in his eyes. “The day I was born, sweetheart.” It disappeared in a flash. “Unless you’d prefer to go back to jail, get your ass out of my car.”

I gritted my teeth but opened the door and stepped out. The frigid breeze tousled my long dark hair against my shoulders. A blanket of snow covered the street, and I welcomed the burn in my bare feet. Turning around, I eyed him with the most disdain I could muster.

“Go to hell, Allister.”

“Been there, Russo, and I’m not impressed.”

A strong statement, but I believed him.

His eyes were what nightmares were made of, ice and fire, and filled with secrets no one wanted to know. He could only pass as normal because of his too-handsome face—otherwise, he’d be locked up somewhere, the world seeing him for what he really was.

Dirty.

His parting words were short and apathetic. “If you get caught with blow on you again, I won’t save you. I’ll let you rot in a jail cell.”

He wasn’t lying.

Next time, he didn’t save me.

22 years old

October 2013

BLACKNESS. INKY AND STAGNANT, IT dripped into my subconscious.

It was often an escape from reality; a comfort in the madness. But this time, it whispered to me—telling me not to wake up now, not to wake up ever. Unfortunately, a shrill noise in the distance was louder. My eyes fluttered open, but I closed them again when pain cut through my head like a knife.

Rrring. Rrring.

A groan escaped me, and I rolled over, my hand coming to rest on a bare chest. Something shifted, one puzzle piece clicking into place.

Rrring. Rrring.

Splaying my fingers, I ran my hand across his chest.

Too hot. Too smooth. Not right.

Rrring. Rrr—

“What the fuck do you want?” a male voice grumbled.