Page 2 of Carved Obsession

I’m about to break that promise.

A sharp yelp follows a loud snap and a deep thud.

“Yourhydrais losing heads faster than you can grow them. Your first mistake was crossing the threshold into our world and thinking you could use our city to traffic people. Children!”

Venom drips from his voice, urging me to squeeze my thighs together and ease the ache it brings.

“We didn’t take them from your fucking territory!” the other man rages.

“Your second mistake is thinking that we care where they came from. Don’t waste my time with lies. We already shut down one of your attempts.”

Oh god . . . human trafficking in Queenscove?

If there was ever a time to side with a criminal enterprise, this is it. Shivers run down my spine, anxiety mixing with the excitement, as the voices are now close enough that I can hear someone panting.

One more step and I stop. A heated, staggered breath makes its way into my lungs as I turn my head toward the darkness, facing the lurking danger. I should turn away, run in the other direction, but that thought brings back the unstable rage that drove me down this path in the first place.

I can’t. I won’t go back.

I need this.

I need to feel something other than the murderous sting of betrayal.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the scene falls into place. A tall, well-dressed man stands facing away from me. His waistcoat hugs his wide back, perfectly fitted over a light shirt wrapped around imposing shoulders and strong arms. And his ass. Damn, his ass threatens to pull my attention from the matter at hand as he looms over a figure kneeling on the ground.

I can’t discern any more details, so I do another stupid thing and take a step inside the alley.

“Fuck you!” The kneeler spits. “You can’t break us! We’re too big for you.” He doesn’t sound as confident as he thinks.

One thing’s for sure—he is not the owner of the enticing voice. The man who stands impossibly proud with his back to me is. Then I notice his extended arm. A gun shines in his hand, the barrel ending in a silencer aimed at the man on the ground.

“Nothing is too big for us. And I already have everything I need from you.” Ice rolls off his tongue as he shakes the phone he holds in his other hand.

“But I gave you nothing!”

“Your phone, password, history, and all the trackable information I require.” He slips the device into his back pocket and cocks his gun, driving an excited shudder through my muscles. “And we also have Adam Young. Your brother-in-arms apparently knows more than you. He’s currently strapped to a metal chair deep in the underground, and I worry my partners won’t wait for me to start what I can only hope will be a very satisfying interrogation.”

The slight gasp coming from the ground elates me. It’s hard to discern through these shadows, but I hope fear is etched on his features.

“He’ll never talk! We’ll carry on our operation over your dead fucking bodies, and we’ll break every unwilling, tight little hole that falls into our laps. You’ll die knowing that you failed!” He spits a mouthful at the standing man’s feet, the color too dark to be something other than blood.

Where is all his confidence coming from? He’s gonna fucking die in a minute, but his disgusting words fuel a bile-rising tightness that grows as this piece of shit talks.

An eerie silence cloaks the imposing man standing before him. He cracks his neck to the left, then to the right, his movements slow. Calculated. Bending time to his will as the man kneeling before him awaits his unavoidable execution.

“You insult us, and you dare think you’re untouchable on the ground hallowed by us? You’re not as good at your job as I thought, because you shouldn’t have the balls to speak those words, considering how fast your numbers are dwindling. That’s the problem with factions. You might not know how many of the others have fallen.”

Every word he speaks draws me closer, like a hypnotic chant with a mesmerizing rhythm. The fury so calm, so collected, I welcome it as my steps falter barely ten feet away.

The man on the ground jerks, eyes widening, and the misplaced hope in his gaze lands on me. I’m slightly startled by my shift from secret observer to participant. He thinks I’m about to interrupt his execution. Or maybe that I’m the right distraction for his escape.

I’m not sorry to disappoint him; he will die tonight.

That familiar, bone-chilling pleasure spills through me, steeped in darkness and death, in screams and thrills. Finally.

The ecstatic shudder threads through my nerves and heats my skin before I see it—the slight shift in the man standing with his back to me. The heat grows as I look away from the sack of meat kneeling on the ground, and tingles of fear join the heartbeat. The sheer force of the stranger’s gaze hits me deep enough in my belly that my breath tears from my chest. We’re connected by burning slivers of lightning searing through me until my hands tighten into fists to relieve the pressure. Pure need makes me squeeze my thighs together.

But him... He is unmoving. A marble statue with shadowed eyes. The gun remains aimed at the kneeling man, but the sparkle in the abyss of his gaze fixes on me. I wonder what color his eyes are.