Page 15 of Obsessive Cravings

Chapter Ten

RILEY

Isat at the edge of my bed, all the lights on. A man had been in my apartment. The thought terrified me. At first, I’d worried he’d found me. That I hadn’t hidden far enough away, that somehow he’d discovered me. Clint Randall. The man who had opened my eyes to my brother’s misdeeds in such a terrifying way that I’d been looking behind me since that night. Nightmares had plagued me for months, and even now, they occasionally returned. The man I’d given my heart to just to have him tear it from me and stomp all over it when he tried to kill me. A man who had infiltrated my brother’s ranks then seduced me with his bad boy smile and tattooed biceps. He’d been everything I loved in a man, and I’d fallen like an idiot, naïve to Mason’s secret life and the enemies he had. An enemy who had found me and used me until the day he turned on Mason by trying to kill me.

He'd gotten away from Mason’s men that night as Mason had rushed me to the hospital. The wounds had healed, but the scars, both physical and emotional, hadn’t. It had been the fracturing moment in my relationship with my brother. And as much as he told me he’d always protected me, keeping me blind to it all to keep me safe, it didn’t matter.

I’d moved into his guesthouse at his insistence, and since Clint was still out there somewhere, I’d had no choice. Even now, Clint was still out there. Whether in hiding or hunting me, I didn’t know. But in my mind, he was hunting me. So when I’d woken to the touch of fingers on my cheek and the hushed ‘good girl’, my first thought had been Clint. But the touch wasn’t right. It was too gentle, and Clint had never been a gentle man. He’d insisted we keep our relationship from Mason, so when he took me, it was quick and dirty, his fingers forcing my orgasms from me. Clint wouldn’t have stood by and watched me touch myself. He would have taken what he wanted, then strangled and beaten me. There would have been no gentle brushing of his fingers over my cheek and certainly no hushed words. If the scarves hadn’t fallen over my eyes as they blinked open, I may have even thought I was dreaming. But it hadn’t been a dream. The scarves gripped in my hand were proof of that. My heart was thudding so loudly, I could barely think.

Someone had been in my apartment. Someone who had watched as I’d touched myself while imagining Greyson Tides was fucking me hard. My cheeks warmed with the memory of my fantasy until I reminded myself that someone had watched from my closet. The door hadn’t been wide open when I’d gone to sleep. Had he jerked off to the sight? The dirtiness of the thought gave me a strange stir of flutters in my lower belly.

“Shit, what is wrong with you, Riley?” I muttered, rising to check that he hadn’t come in through the window.

I stopped in my tracks, realizing that the top lock on my door was unlocked and I always locked it. The sight confirmed that someone had indeed been here. There was no sign that he’d broken the lock, and I clicked it back into place. Nothing but the scarves even looked touched. It was as if he’d only entered to watch me touch myself.

I sat back on the bed, my mind muddled. I should have reported it and called the police, but what would I tell them? Some guy snuck into my apartment and watched me finger fuck myself? It was too embarrassing to even confess. And he hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t sexually assaulted me, which seemed strange. Why hadn’t he touched me? He’d only brushed his fingers over my face delicately. I brought my hand to my cheek, remembering how the softness and the low words had stirred me. There was something familiar about the touch that I couldn’t place, something soothing.

I decided not to report the incident, but promised myself I would call the landlord in the morning and have my locks changed. There was no plausible way for me to explain it to anyone and so I rationalized the incident before I snuggled at the end of my bed, staring at the scarves in my hand, wondering why there was a familiar scent in the air. It took me a while, my mind awake and actively going through the event, but eventually my eyes grew weary, and sleep took me.

Morning came too fast, and I was too on edge to think clearly. I trudged my way to the shower, wondering how I was going to make it through work when I couldn’t get my mind from the touch of the stranger’s fingers on my face. Or that he’d watched me come, some warped part of me wanting to believe he’d come with me, that he was some sexy morally gray guy like in the dark romances I read. In reality, I knew I should have been worried and more frightened, but it hadn’t been Clint, and nothing frightened me like he did.

When I emerged from the bathroom, toweling my hair, I stopped in my tracks, my heart pounding. A beautiful bouquet of pink and white peonies sat on my counter. My favorite flower. The scarves lay delicately draped next to them. Drawing my eyes up, I scanned my apartment, checking under the bed and in the closet again. No one was there, but those flowers hadn’t been there before I’d stepped into the shower. Tentatively, I picked up the note that sat nestled within them.

You came magnificently, like a good girl.

My thighs clenched, my hand shaking. He’d been here. My stranger. My stranger? I was losing it. This man had broken into my apartment twice now and I was calling him mine? Clint must have damaged me completely, because this was not normal. I dropped the note, backing from the flowers, my mind a confused jumble of thoughts, my body a convoluted mix of excitement. I sat on the loveseat, staring at the flowers. They were lovely and delicate.

My phone sat on the table across from them and I rose, ready to pick it up and call the building manager, to have someone change the locks, but I sat back down. This was dangerous, and if my brother weren’t a killer and feared mob boss, if Clint hadn’t exposed me to violence and pain, I would have been terrified. But I wasn’t. Sure, this man had left me shaken, but I was also curious. Why go to the trouble of coming back and bringing me flowers? It seemed such a sweet gesture for the creepy act the night before. Why not rape me and never return? Something about the gentle touch to my cheek, the ‘good girl’ on the air, the note, and the flowers gave me pause. It was almost endearing, like something a lover would do. And maybe I was just so messed up that I was looking for a good guy in every man I came in contact with because so many had hurt me.

I bit my lip, worrying about my sanity and wishing I had someone to talk to. I didn’t know Ava enough to trust her with this and the only friend I had was the sister of Mason’s best friend. I couldn’t take the chance that she’d tell Tyson who would tell Mason.

Thinking of Mason brought a melancholy ache to my chest. A part of me wanted to hear his voice, to have him talk some sense into me. Rising, I reached into my purse, pulling out my second phone. The one I had yet to use because I knew it would bring Mason to my door. I placed it on the table, not turning it on. Sitting, I pulled my knees to my chest, looking between the phone and the flowers. Instinct told me to call, to have him come get me, to tell him what was going on because he would rescue me and pull me out of this warped sense of normalcy I was giving to someone who was clearly stalking me enough to know my favorite flower.

I dropped my head to my knees. I didn’t want to be rescued. I didn’t even know if I needed to be rescued. Someone was playing a game with me, but it wasn’t one that was hurting me. It was teasing me, twisting my sense of normalcy, and letting me accept that this was okay. And I didn’t know what to think of that. Chewing my lip, I glanced at my bed, where I’d slept with the scarves in my hand. A reminder of my stranger. And in return for watching me, he’d brought me flowers.

“Dammit, Riley,” I muttered. “This is wrong.”

I grabbed both phones, throwing my everyday one in my purse and tucking the other in the back pocket of my jeans before throwing on my boots and coat. Leaving, I rushed to the parking garage where I stored my car, forgetting that my hair was still wet until the winter air hit my face. It was too late now; I wasn’t turning back because the need to hear my brother’s voice was driving me. He had always been the calm, controlled one who made things better, even if I hadn’t seen who he really was.

While I wanted to hear Mason’s voice, I still wanted to remain free of his control. There was no way I could call him from my apartment, or he’d discover where I was. Leaving the parking garage, I headed west, only stopping to get gas and coffee once I left the city.

I wasn’t one to make friends easily. Ava was an exception, but I wasn’t about to tell her anything about my past. I rarely let anyone that close to me. I had acquaintances, but no one from home who I could call. Anyone else I knew was too close to Mason. And in reality, I only had Mason. He was my best friend. We’d always been close. Even though he was nine years older, he’d never pushed me away. I’d run in his pack, hung with him and Tyson, and stayed in their circle. I saw now that he’d placed me there on purpose. Needing me close to keep watch over me, to dictate all the pieces of my life without knowing. Pretending I had autonomy while keeping me on a short leash. A leash I’d rebelled against when Clint had tempted me. Clint was the first time I’d lied to my brother, the first time I’d ever gone behind his back. But it hadn’t been the first time he’d lied to me.

I drove all morning. I wanted to be far from Bridgeville, far from the life I was creating for myself. A life free of my brother’s reign.

By noon, I pulled into a mall in Creekwood. It was far enough from Bridgeville that Mason wouldn’t connect the two. I did some shopping to ensure I’d be on the cameras and grabbed some lunch. When I’d procrastinated enough, I returned to my car and powered the phone, seeing the picture of me and Mason load on my lock screen. The sight caused a sob to rip from me. As much as I hated my brother for what he’d done, I loved him. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I needed to hear his voice.

With a shaking finger, I hit his name and waited for him to answer. He picked up immediately.

“Riley?” His voice was a mix of anger and worry.

“Hi, Mason.”

“Where the fuck are you? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine? You left without a note, without a goodbye. Cleaned your storage unit out in the middle of the night? That’s not fine! What the fuck are you doing, Ri?”

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