Page 13 of Deadly Obsession

To return tohim.

I’ve got to be strong, though, because the last thing I need is another man in my life.

Even if that man gave me the best sex of my life.

Chapter 4 – Elias

Istare at the piece of paper for what must be the millionth time.

Had to leave. Thanks for all the orgasms.

- Sage

Five orgasms, and she ghosts me?

It’s been three weeks.

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and the worst time of year is approaching. The holidays remind me how lonely I am. How much I miss my mother. How I miss my brother even though I’m the one who constantly pushes him away.

I twirl the pen Sage left between my fingers. It’s all I have of her. The note and a goddamn pen.

No phone number. No address.

I have her name that was logged when the bouncer scanned her ID at the door.

Sage Manilow.

My contact at the NYPD ran the information but came up empty-handed.

Sage Manilow doesn’t exist.

The address on the ID is to a laundromat in Harlem.

Searching Sage Manilow on the Internet pulls up pages upon pages of Barry Manilow results. Even my tech guy found nothing on the woman when delving into the depths of the dark web.

I scoured my security camera footage from that night, trying to find a good shot of her face for Phil to use in his searches. I found plenty of her on the dance floor, including the moment that man sexually assaulted her, but none of it was usable. Her face was either too blurry from dancing or too dark and pixelated in the club’s dim lighting.

Even when she was brought upstairs, she kept her head low and out of view of the cameras.

I have a camera in my office, too, but I turned it off before she walked inside, knowing we were about to have a less than legal conversation.

I also don’t film women in private settings without their consent.

I questioned if she was real. If my men hadn’t seen her, hadn’t escorted her to my office after that fucker touched her, I would have thought I was going mad.

A knock on the doorpulls me to the present.

“What?” I bark out.

My underboss, Martin, pops his head inside. He’s my uncle on my mother’s side and looks nothing like me. He’s short, maybe five six with light brown hair and brown eyes. He likely weighs half of me.

I’m a big guy. Six foot six and over three hundred pounds if I had to guess. I have no idea because I don’t give a shit about my weight. I take after my late father who was just as big with black hair and blue eyes. Anytime I look in the mirror, I see his ghost and it fills me with rage.

I will never be my father, the abusive prick.

Martin holds up an envelope. “This was just delivered.”

He enters my office and hands it over.