Page 139 of Obsession

A look of disgust and anger flickers in his eyes, there and gone in a flash, and he shoots to his feet.

Pacing on the spot, he kicks up the snow. Back and forth, he walks, agitated. He palms his hard dick with a groan that’s both seemingly enraged and dripping with raw longing.

“I’m the one in control here, you got it? Not you. Not ever you!”

Whimpering, I flinch at the snow kicked in my face.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” His bitter chuckles echo off the nearby trees, silencing a hooting owl in the distance. “You don’t know who I am?”

“You’re The Bridge Killer,” I reply weakly through my tears.

If his chuckle was bitter before, it’s even worse now, toxic, chilling.

He strides up to his backpack on the ground, roots through it, and retrieves a creased photograph. His livid eyes burn into meas he comes closer and tosses it at me, putting all of his pent-up rage behind the movement. “Recognize that woman?”

My head lifts off the tartan blanket, and I try to make out the picture where it lies next to me in the moon’s silvery light. I squint, trying to place the young woman in the photograph. She’s holding the hand of a little boy—a little boy who still has the same dirty blonde curls and emerald eyes. I gasp as the puzzle pieces fall into place.

It’s a picture straight from my worst nightmare.

“That’s right,” he says, crouching back down, hands dangling off his knees. “Hi, Sis.”

At a loss for words, I stare at him as the seconds stretch into minutes. The cold barely registers anymore. “How is that possible?”

“Mom was pregnant when she walked out on our father.” His teeth gnash. Something dark and truly terrifying stares back at me through those empty eyes. “A dad I never met, thanks to you. At least not one who could look me in the eye and talk to me.”

A chill winds its way through my body at the hidden meaning behind his words: he visited my dad.Our dad.

I can see their similarities now—the same straight nose, green eyes, and chill-inducing smirk.

The way he cocks his head to the side, just like my father used to do when he watched me through a cloud of cigar smoke while one of his friends forced themselves on me on the poker table.

“You’re sick in the head,” I bite out, watching Elliot stiffen. “You think you’ll get away with this? That you won’t get found out? Everyone saw us walk out together?—”

In a swift move, too quick to catch, he grabs me by my hair and hauls me up. “Shut your mouth.”

My scalp prickles with pain. I keep silent, refusing to show fear or cower.

Refusing to give him what he wants.

“What about the girls you killed? The staging of their bodies? Why did you do it?”

His eyes fly over my face, hard and cold. “How do you climb to the top in our world, Sis? How do you make a name for yourself in such a saturated market of reporters?”

When I don’t reply, his icy voice raises the hairs at the back of my neck. “We carve our own path.”

“You did all this for your career?”

He shakes his head before hauling me closer, making me cry out in pain. “I did it for us. You and me. Why do you think James insisted you come with me? Why he insisted we work together?”

“I don’t understand,” I choke out, tears trailing a hot path down my cheeks.

“I got you that job. I made sure the email landed in your inbox. Everything I did was for you. Don’t you see? You love the thrill of a mystery and secrets because you’re such a master at them yourself.” His gaze flits to my lips, and he chuckles, the sound eerie and terrifying. Then he drops me to the snowy ground and stands back up, unfolding to his full, looming height.

He gazes down at me from beneath his curly hair. “You should have seen your face at the crime scenes, the way your brain tried to solve the puzzle, and the sparkle in your eyes as you scanned the field for clues, trying to catch the thoughts as they popped into your head.”

“You didn’t do any of this for me. You killed for your own enjoyment. For your own sick mind,” I spit.

Stiffening, Elliot cocks his head. “I like the front page, Sis. If you ever cared to ask about me, you would know by now that I’ve always enjoyed writing headline news. It made sense to make the killings unique and eye-catching. Otherwise, my hard work would have blended into the background. Unless you’ve failed to notice, there’s a lot of noise in the world, Savannah. A lot of voices that scream to be heard. It’s hard to stand out and evenharder to make a name for yourself, but the lucky few who do go down in history.”