Page 78 of The Art of Obsession

I don’t stay down. I pop up, firing twice at the third man as he advances. The first shot misses, but the second catches his thigh. He stumbles, clutching his leg, but he’s not down yet.

I rush him, pain screaming in my shoulder, but adrenaline dulls the edges. He raises his weapon, but I’m faster. My fist connects with his jaw, and he drops the gun. I don’t give him a chance to recover. Grabbing his collar, I slam his head against the brick wall of the alley, once, twice, until he slumps unconscious.

My driver helps me into the car, his face pale but composed. A result of his former special forces training and life as a petty wheelman before I offered him this position. The interior reeks of leather and iron as blood seeps into the seat. I press a handkerchief to my shoulder, gritting my teeth against the pain.

“Drive,” I order.

The ride is silent, save for the hum of the engine. My mind races. Who sent them? The art dealers wouldn’t dare. They know my reputation. This is someone else—someone bold or desperate. And the deep-seated suspicion preys on me and surges ice into every bone in my body.

This is about Everleigh.

By the timewe reach the estate, the pain has dulled to a throb. My private doctor, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, is already waiting. He stitches my shoulder in silence, his hands steady despite the gore.

As he works, my manager steps into the room, his expression grim.

“What did you find out?” I bark and take another swig of my whiskey since I opted out of painkillers.

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says without preamble. “Seven million. Anonymous source.”

I let out a low chuckle, though it sends a fresh wave of pain through my shoulder. “Seven million? I’m insulted. I’m worth at least ten.”

The manager doesn’t smile. “This isn’t a joke, Acheron. Whoever this is—they want you dead, and they have the resources to make it happen.”

I lean back, the fire in my veins stronger than ever. “Then we find out who they are. And we remind them why no one hunts me and lives to tell the tale.”

Once the doctor finishes, I rise. My enemies want a war? I’ll give them one. But first, I have art to give to my little historian.

However, when I enter the exhibit—too preoccupied with today’s earlier events—a small but solid fist crashes against my jaw, locking it up from the pain.

“Ow ow! Fuckfuckfuck!” Everleigh cries out and grips her fist. I can tell it’s not broken, but she may have sprained it.

I rub my jaw, having felt every ounce of her feminine fury. The same rage swirls a gray storm in her eyes. She’s fucking adorable in that sheer lacy camisole with her pretty pink nipples protruding through the fabric. Clenching all my muscles, I narrow my eyes, rip off my mask, and meet her on the battlefield. I feed the fire in my veins, eager to conquer her.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, little girl?” I growl and advance toward her, glaring when she steps back.

“It’s not about whatI’mdoing,” she hisses, still holding her fist to her chest. “It’s about whatyoudid!”

Then, she lifts the end of the camisole higher, betraying her lack of panties but revealing the evidence of her anger—blood smeared all over her upper thighs and a few droplets falling onto the floor.

She flares her nostrils, clenches her fists at her sides, and stabs out her chin. “You removed my implant, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

Fuck, she’s delicious. This is just what I needed.

Tilting my head with a predatory smirk, I flick my eyes down to her luscious thighs, and then…I laugh.

33

You know blood is his secret sauce

Chapter Playlist:

“Human” – Christina Perri

“Control” – Puddle of Mudd

“Pain” – Three Days Grace

“Beauty from Pain” – Superchick