Page 44 of Obsessive Cravings

“Speak,” I said, walking toward the door.

“We found him.”

My heart raced, and I stopped in my tracks, looking back at Riley. She’d worked her shirt off, her thin lace bra leaving nothing to my imagination.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Where?”

She must have seen my expression, her brow furrowing as she sat up and climbed from the bed.

“He’s in a room in the Henly Hotel. We locked down the floor. There’s nowhere for him to go.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing how adept the Bad Omen were at hiding.

“Yeah.”

My phone buzzed again, a picture loading of a man who looked very close to the picture Mason had given me of Clint Randall. He wore a hat as if to conceal his identity, but there was no hiding the tattoo that marked him as an Omen. The bottom half of it showed just below his sleeve, embedded within a large spider design—the ugly black skull with the rusted dagger piercing it. Every Omen wore their brand in a different place. This one matched Randall’s exactly.

“I’ll be right there,” I told Den. “Text me the room number.”

“Grey?” Riley asked as I hung up.

“I need to go. I have something to take care of. When I get back, I’ll explain everything.”

“What’s everything? What’s going on, Greyson?”

She didn’t know I knew anything about Clint Randall other than the minor details she’d shared, and I didn’t have time to explain it now.

I took her face in my hands. “Trust me, please. I’ll leave security outside the house. When I return, you’ll be safe again and then no more secrets. I promise you.”

Kissing her quickly, I rushed from the room, grabbing my jacket and the pistol I kept hidden close to it. I signaled for the two men watching the house to stay alert as I jumped in my car. With Randall in my grasp, Riley was safe, but I wasn’t taking a chance.

I raced to the hotel in the center of the city and bolted up to the room, ready to enact justice on the fucker who had hurt Riley. I’d bring her his dead body and explain it all to her—the truth from start to finish—and hope she overlooked the fact that I was just like her brother. That she’d run from one mob boss to another, one web of lies to the next. Then I’d make her mine forever.

Den and several of my men stood outside, ready to pounce and awaiting my lead. I kicked the door in, and it splintered in half with the impact. This was my hotel, and the door was collateral damage that was easily repaired, unlike Riley’s heart.

The thought of her loving him, of him touching her and fucking her, burned through me like a red-hot flame and I threw him against the wall, only then seeing that it wasn’t him. There were striking similarities, but I’d ingrained the image of the bastard in my head, and this wasn’t Clint Randall.

I punched him and pushed his shirt sleeve up, looking for the mark and finding it exactly where I’d seen it in both photos, but that didn’t make sense. No other Omen would have their brand in that exact place. They strategically placed each one in a unique spot so there was no pattern to where they were, and they went undetected by most.

“Where the fuck is Randall?” I growled, putting my gun to his temple.

“He said to tell you he’s playing with your pretty thing,” he said. There was a nervous shake to his voice, one no Omen would have. I grabbed his arm again, rubbing the tattoo, which smudged with a small amount of pressure.

“Fuck, he’s a mark,” Den said, meeting my eyes.

Marks were people desperate enough to sell their soul to a family for something they needed. Whether it was money, protection for a loved one, medicine for a sick child, they forfeited their lives, the family paying out their wish once their deed was done. The families rarely used them unless they needed a sacrifice, a distraction from a crime, or in this case, from a target. Randall had found a mark who was close enough in appearance to fool even me—a change of hair color, a few days of facial hair, and we didn’t notice from a distance. That explained the lethal mistake my men had made. The same I’d made by leaving Riley alone.

I knocked the mark out with the blunt end of my gun and glared at Den. “Dispose of him, and then you can explain why you fell for their trap after I kill the fucker.”

“But boss?—”

“Just do it!”

I didn’t wait for a reply, running out of the hotel and tearing back to my house. I should have brought men with me, but my mind was only on Riley. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Images of Riley in fear, of her hurt, of her dead invaded my mind. I’d promised she was safe, and I’d left her to the wolves.

Not bothering to turn my car off, I drew my gun, running into the house. I found one of my men down with a gunshot to his head in the foyer. I didn’t have to question if Randall had taken the other out.

“Fuck!” I rounded the stairs, seeing where the struggle had taken place. Riley had run to the bedroom and tried to shut herself in, but he’d broken through. I stood in the center of the scene, spotting the splatter of blood on my bed sheets as if he’d hit her hard enough for the blood to travel.

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