Page 71 of The Art of Obsession

I pick up the phone he dropped, removing the chip and slipping it into my pocket for later examination. Then I lift the dark filter and turn to Everleigh.

She’s trembling, her eyes wide with awe and relief. But I see her breath coming too fast, the tears threatening to spill.

Once I enter the exhibit, I lift my arms to each side, beckoning her forward. She takes one light step before rushing toward me and falling into my arms. Her sobs are muffled against my chest, her hands clutching at my shirt. “Did he… was it… shared?” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“I don’t believe so,” I murmur, my tone low and firm. “And if it was, I won’t rest until every trace is destroyed.”

She looks up at me, her tear-streaked face filled with trust and vulnerability. I take her hand in mine, holding it tightly. After the past two weeks of relatively calm events, she needs something, something more than this. The moment she stabbed me, she showed me another side of her.

With her penchant for dark, erotic romance, I theorize my plan will be the perfect thing. It could go 50/50.

Leaving some things to speculative surprise keeps life interesting.

So, I cup her cheek, wiping at her tears. “Come with me,” I command.

She nods, her faith in me unspoken but palpable. Together, we leave the exhibit behind, the echoes of the alarms fading asI lead her down a hallway on our left…away from the fish tank bathroom. Once we round the corner, we arrive at an iron door.

“Cal, what is?—”

“Shh,” I silence her with a simple lift of my gloved finger.

She swallows hard but nods, her cheeks pale, her eyes paler with emotion. The door reads my scars as a signature and opens to my dungeon room. My torture room—with the intruder cuffed to a metal chair.

29

Hey, did you notice there’s a drain beneath the chair?

Chapter Playlist:

“Psycho” – Breaking Benjamin

“Pretty Little Psycho” – Porcelain Black

EVERLEIGH

I standat the edge of the dungeon room, pressed against the cold stone wall, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as the intruder’s muffled whimpers echo in the space.

Cherry hums knowingly, louder than ever.You could cut the tension in here with a knife—though I think Acheron has that covered.

Her voice is so clear. Because I need her more than ever.

Cal is not just Cal at present. He is Acheron, a vengeful god on earth, a punishing demon. He is a study in control as he circles the bound man. His dark red suit is pristine, but I know it won’t be for long. The knife in his hand gleams under the flickering light, sharp enough to slice through bone.

Oh, honey, this is better than front-row seats at a gladiator match,my figment waltzes up to me, her visionshimmering. She winks, folds her wings at her back, and leans against the wall with me while holding a paper bucket overflowing with buttery kernels.Want some popcorn?

Yes,I say without hesitation, imagining myself grabbing a handful. My fingers merely twitch at my sides.

Acheron is calm and composed, as always. My heart pounds in my chest, every beat a reminder of the danger of his mere presence.

The man, still tied to the chair, trembles beneath Acheron’s gaze. I can’t help but wonder how far my stalker will go. Tendrils of heat ripple to my center, wetting it.

Oooh, it’s like a predator circling his prey!Cherry claps rapidly, her wings buzzing.Remember those nature channels I love so much when the lion is crouching in the high grass and stalking a wounded gazelle before he pounces and rips the gazelle’s head off and?—

“Who are you?” Acheron’s voice cuts through my imagination, smooth and measured.

The man spits on the floor, his defiance clear. “Go to hell.”

Acheron’s lips curl into a smirk. “How about I bring hell to you instead?”