Page 2 of Deadly Obsession
ONE
SERA
SATURDAY
As the Uber slowed to a stop, the gravel of the dirt road crunching beneath the tires, I took in the scene before me through my window.
The moon was full in the night sky, providing a sparse sheet of light on the towering trees that swayed in the autumn’s chilling breeze.
The cabin seemed to appear out of nowhere, the faint twinkling lights I’d spotted through the dense forest minutes earlier rapidly taking the form of a warmly-illuminated front porch.
The two-story rustic cabin was exactly as advertised on the Airbnb website.
A slight glow from the main floor windows along with the porch lights cut away small sections of the night, revealing a portion of the surrounding area as I stepped out of the car.
To one side of the home was a stone patio with multiple pieces of furniture and a large fire pit.
Somewhere beyond the house, I could hear the gentle flow of water, likely the creek I’d seen in the photos.
Shutting my car door and retrieving my luggage from the trunk, I then wished the driver farewell and he departed.
The chill night air softly stung the exposed skin on my face and neck, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the automobile.
I walked with purpose up the long set of stairs to the front porch, punched in the code on the electronic lock box just beside the ring camera, drew out the key, and opened the door.
The soothing scent of pumpkin spice mixed with the old natural wood of the cabin drew me in, instantly putting my body at ease.
This was exactly what I needed: a peaceful night alone in the middle of nowhere. No one else was expected to arrive until Sunday afternoon. For one night, it was just me, TikTok, and my fantasy book boyfriends. Tonight’s flavor: Ryat.
Stepping into the cabin, I locked the door behind me.
Then I began to survey the room just as the old grandfather clock rang out.
The strained sound of the escapement mechanism’s many aged gears and cogs—in need of lubrication—gave the likely once-beautiful chime an eerie undertone.
My eyes locked on to the old clock across the room just as the fifth chime sounded and suddenly all the lights went out.
A loud thud boomed from beneath my feet, vibrating the wooden floor.
My body tensed and my pulse quickened. I’d always been afraid of the dark.
“Shit… Hello? Is someone here?”
The clock continued its eerie marking of the hour, each clang making me flinch.
Turning, I frantically searched for the door knob, finding it by the final chime and right when the lights snapped back on.
I froze, cleared my throat, and turned back around while forcing out a tremulous laugh.
The cabin was built in the 1920s and, in the middle of the woods, there were bound to be some electrical problems. That thud was probably just a possum or something scared off by my arrival.
“Get it together, Sera Watson,” I said out loud, mocking my mother’s voice.
Remembering the floor plan and which room I’d been assigned, I headed upstairs to the main suite with my things and made myself at home .
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the large couch in the great room, in my pajamas. With the fireplace going, the lights dimmed and a glass of chardonnay, I settled in with The Ritual by Shantel Tessier.
Hello, Ryat Archer.
Just as I was getting back to the world of Ryat and Blakely, my phone’s Discord notification sounded with a new message. A smile pulled at the corners of my lips when I saw who it was from.
James: Hey, beautiful. Welcome to America. Have a nice flight?
Me: Hey, you. Yeah, long but not bad. Already at the cabin. I was just about to sit down and read before heading to bed.
James: Oh, yeah, how is it? Still on The Ritual ?
Me: The cabin is beautiful. It was already dark out when I arrived so I haven’t seen the outside too much, but I love it so far! Can’t wait for all of you to get here. And yes, still reading The Ritual . It’s so good. So hot!
James: Hah, yeah, that’s a great one. All right, Harps, this guy is hitting the rack. See you tomorrow… Not sure if I’ll be able to really sleep with this excitement, but I’ll need my energy.
Me: Lol, you are too much… I’m excited too. Maybe a little nervous. Goodnight, cowboy.
James: Night, Harps.
I couldn’t help smiling at my phone like an idiot at the use of the pet name he’d given me—Harpy.
He’d first used it when I’d told him about the day I left my abusive ex-husband.
Mike had attempted to grab me and prevent me from leaving the home, and in response, I turned and slashed my freshly-done nails across his face.
When the cuts finally healed, he’d been left with two long, thin scars from above his brow to his nose.
James had found not only amusement in my story, but he’d told me he was both impressed and proud of me.
And that was when he’d called me a ravishing harpy.
Suddenly, I found myself scrolling up in our messages on Discord.
James aka “Mustang” and I had been teasing each other for months, even more so since this trip was planned.
We’d started with descriptive messages and audio clips, then evolved to photos and video messages, our lust getting the better of us.
At this point, we’d seen practically every inch of each other’s bodies, with the exception of the mask-covered lower halves of our faces.
Which only added petrol to the lust-fueled fire.
I’d read many dark romance books over the last year, and every time I’d picked up another one, it unlocked something within me. I discovered a new kink I thought I might never get to explore. Like a thing for masked men.
Over the last year, I’d been part of an actively growing community on TikTok and Discord called “The Red Room.” To celebrate one full year, a special meet-and-greet vacation had been planned and a location had been randomly selected.
Shingletown, located in Northern California and surrounded by the state’s famous sequoia pines and cedars, was one of the most secluded and beautiful destinations optioned.
The plan was for all available members to meet on the second Sunday of October and stay until the following Saturday.
Closing the messages with James, I opened my text thread with my parents and smiled at the photos of Alex they’d sent me earlier.
My parents, excited for me to be getting away and taking some time for myself, not only agreed to watch their grandson but also purchased my plane tickets.
Of course, I was grateful. At the same time, it meant I was at their mercy when it came to scheduling.
I quickly learned they had me arriving at 7pm on the Saturday evening prior to the Airbnb reservation.
Fortunately, voicing my problem to the other eight members who would be attending the trip quickly resulted in the property owners agreeing to let me show up a night early .
This would be the longest I’d been away from my parents in years, and the first time I’d ever been away from Alexander longer than the occasional sleepover at his best mate’s house.
Alexander had been exposed to things a child should never have been exposed to within his early years. Neither of us should have been.
My mind began slipping down that dangerous slope to the horrible memories I’d been trying so hard to block out. I missed my parents. But most of all, right now, I missed my son.
Opening my camera, I switched it from photo to video, flipped to selfie mode and pressed record. “Hey, baby boy! Mummy just wanted to say I love you so very much and I’ll be home before you know it! Be extra good for grandma and grandpa!”
I dropped the video in the text string and hit send before closing it and looking at my home screen.
Smiling, I kissed the photo of my baby boy I used as my background wallpaper.
Then I turned off the screen and picked up my book, trying to distract myself from the horrid memories.
Something I found difficult enough in my consciousness and impossible to contain in the dream world.
Before long, though, I felt the familiar heaviness of fatigue weighing on my eyes.
And with book in hand, I sank into the darkness.
“There’s Daddy’s Sera Doll! Daddy is home and so horny,” he said, his words slurring as he stumbled forward. I could hear Alexander crying in the distance, clearly woken by his father’s abrupt entrance into our bedroom.
Standing from our bed, I went to move past my husband, only to be stopped by a large hand on my shoulder, the other gripping my breast through my pajama top.
“Mike, let me go. Alexander is crying,” I pleaded softly .
“Fucking brat can wait! Shut up, kid!” he said, still gripping me as he yelled at our son. His breath reeked of cheap whiskey, and I could see lipstick stains on his neck and what looked like bite marks.
“Mike, let—” was all I could get out before I felt the back of his hand come across my face, and I saw stars.
“Shut up, bitch,” he barked and shoved me back, my legs catching on the frame and causing me to fall onto the bed. Then I watched in horror as he staggered towards me, undoing his trousers as my child’s cries echoed from down the hall.