Page 39 of Carved Obsession

Fuck.

Duty doesn’t prevail. Not now, as I watch her wash herself, oblivious to my presence in her private space. She’s so vulnerable. I could simply end her. Right here, right now.

I could do so many things to her.

Raw. Filthy. Utterly satisfying things.

Breaths rake out of me as I slide my knife into the holster, poking at my shattered resolve. I try to rationalize with myself and stop my retreat by ending the video and putting my phone away.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the cylindrical puzzle, keeping one eye on that shower and the woman inside it as I begin rotating the metal elements. I solved some of it as I was changing at home; maybe I’ll get the rest done while she’s washing herself.

Three more turns—her hands brush in circles over her breasts.

Two clicks—they run over her waist and belly.

Four rotations—her hand disappears between her legs as she widens them, rubbing between.

My cock stirs. As my fingers fly over the puzzle, I can only hope the clicks mean progress, not a trap.

Her movements are mechanical at first. Then they slow.

My hands still when the puzzle clicks open as a moan escapes Scarlet’s mouth. I can’t bring myself to look down at the contents, not when the woman takes her time between her legs.

But she moves on too suddenly, washing down her legs until she reaches her feet, and I’m slightly disappointed.

I let out a quiet breath that was painfully stuck in my lungs, then look at the solved puzzle to find a small roll of parchment. Unrolling it, I frown at what I find—a QR code and some senseless words.

No.

Not senseless at all.

A riddle.

Born in fire,

Fed by breath,

Warms in winter,

Dies a dark, slow death.

What the fuck?

I put away the box and pull out my phone to scan the QR code. A website pops up, nothing on it but one empty box with “password” written above it. I have to solve that damn riddle.

Returning my gaze to Scarlet, I run those words through my head. Fire. Breath—air. Warms in winter—actual campfire? Dies slow...Fire. Air blowing on it. Keeps you warm? Fizzles slow...

Ember?

I type in the word and when the website opens up, my spine snaps straight. Cocking my head, I scroll through what appear to be photos taken this evening in the speakeasy. Not just any photos, but of me, Jonathan, and Cillian during the business meeting.

This is not good. Not fucking good at all.

What are the chances this has been orchestrated by Scarlet? What interest would she have in the business deal I facilitated?

Sliding the phone into my pocket, I look up at the blurred version of the woman who’s taking up too much real estate in my brain and reluctantly step back. Further and further, passing through the door once more, wondering just when the purpose I’ve been chasing for so many months has turned from murder for my own protection to stubborn curiosity. Not deep down at all, I know that’s what brought me here tonight. Nothing else. Definitely not the desire to kill her.

Because I also brought a fucking surveillance camera with me. I knew my knife wouldn’t take her life tonight. But I had to pretend. I had to fucking try to fool myself.