Page 73 of The Art of Obsession

She blows me a kiss.Now, you’re getting the idea.

When Acheron trails the knife along Nick’s other shoulder, he screams, “I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know who sent me! I was just commissioned on the dark web! A generous anonymous client paid me upfront! Transfer to my account in the Caymans.”

Acheron hums thoughtfully, his knife still tracing along Nick’s skin, making him tremble. He circles him again, his eyes dangerously locked on the man.

The blade plunges again, this time into Nick’s side. His body convulses, his restraints rattling as he jerks against the pain, screaming the whole time.

Heart racing, breath leaving in shallow gasps, I can’t tear my eyes away from Acheron. How terrifying and magnetic he is. Ishould be horrified, but all my nerve endings come alive, and I can’t deny the adrenaline rushing through me.

Acheron steps back, then forces the man’s head up, making him look at me.

“You fucked with the God of Art, Mr. Cassidy,” he says, his voice a lethal whisper. “But worse, you fucked with his muse. An unforgivable sin.”

And with that, he slices Nick’s throat. The spray of blood is almost beautiful, pooling around the man’s body as he slumps forward, lifeless.

You’re one lucky damn muse, Everleigh.

30

You love the violence…when you watch and when you feel!”

Chapter Playlist:

“Tourniquet” – Breaking Benjamin

“Tourniquet” – Evanescence

“Feral Hearts” Kerli

EVERLEIGH

I suck in a shaky breath,my knees nearly buckling. Acheron turns toward me, his eyes dark and intense, the knife still dripping with blood. I freeze, my heart pounding as he approaches me slowly with a cruel delight in his eyes.

When he’s close enough, he lifts the blade, the tip grazing my cheek. I part my lips, but my lower one trembles. All my hairs stand on end.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive, “is what happens to anyone who dares to look at you without my permission, Little Quill.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and before I can react, my knees give out. The world tilts, and I feel myself falling.

But Acheron is there, his arms sweeping around me, lifting me effortlessly into his embrace. No. He is Cal again.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, a stark contrast to the bloodshed. “No one will ever harm you while I breathe.”

I bury my face in his shoulder, the scent of blood and his cologne filling my senses. Despite the horror, despite the violence, I feel… safe. Protected. Completely, utterly protected.

The next thing I know, he has me on the cold stone floor facing the corpse. In one second, he rips the silk robe off my body, baring all of me and stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Oh, God!” I cry out as he holds me down by the back of my neck. Then, I shriek at the touch of his finger sliding into my ass, dripping some liquid inside. When it tingles, I realize it’s an arousing lube. Two fingers. “No, please, I can’t?—”

Memories surface, long since buried. The feeling of being bent over a desk before my skirt was shoved up and stockings and underwear pulled down. Dick hard against my ass, trying to probe inside.

I hyper-focus on the blood trickling into the drain. It seems to help as he adds another finger.

“You can. And you will. For me. Breathe, Little Quill.”

“Cal!” The God of Art is gone. Him and me now. And some twisted part of me understands how much he needs this. He needs me. The violence of his past is pressing in on him from all sides. This is how I protect him.

Stockholm Syndrome.