Page 39 of Obsession

“Riot,” I started, hating how my voice trembled, “we need to talk. It’s important.”

“Important?” He loomed closer, his eyes two shards of ice. “Last I checked, you don’t decide what’s important.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, hard as a damn gravestone. “Believe me, this is.”

I sucked in a lungful of air, finding a shred of steel in my resolve. “Like the doctor said, I’m pregnant, Riot. And I’m scared shitless about how you’ll deal with a baby who’s crying.”

His reaction was immediate -- a gut punch of raw fury. His face contorted into something dark and terrible. It was like looking death in the face. His hands curled into fists, knuckles bone-white.

“Shut up.” The command was sharp and left no room for argument. But he stayed rooted, listening. There was an edge there, a razor-thin line between curiosity and contempt as he took in my shaking form. Maybe I could still make him listen, to understand. I knew it was risky. After all, he didn’t know a thing about human emotions.

I sat there, trembling from the inside out, bracing myself against the storm I saw brewing in his eyes. His fists were tight, but his eyes -- narrowed into unforgiving slits -- were fixed on me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t piece together.

“Riot, it’s more than just the crying. It’s… what if they end up like me? Bruised. Broken.” I paused, trying to figure out how to say everything I needed to say without making him angry. “Your kid doesn’t deserve to live in hell. I want to give them a better life than either of us had.”

For a moment, the room felt so still I was scared to even breathe. The man before me, “The Butcher” of Raven’s Vale, seemed to teeter on the edge of comprehension and chaos. A shiver crawled up my spine, knowing I was dancing with the devil.

“Say it again,” he said, low and dangerous, yet there was something beneath the surface. Confusion? Uncertainty?

“Your child, Riot,” I said, my voice hitching as I forced each word out. “I can’t stand to see them suffer, not like I do, not under your rule. I want them to be happy.”

His anger, the kind that fueled the nightmares of the entire town, flickered. Just for a second, it dimmed in his eyes, replaced by a shadow of something else. Maybe it was the thought of his own blood, vulnerable and innocent, that pierced the armor of his rage.

“Damnit, Hollis,” he muttered, almost to himself. His ironclad posture slackened as he paced, the predator within wrestling with a foreign contemplation. “You think I don’t know the risk?”

For a heartbeat, I saw it -- the glimpse of a man buried under the monster, struggling to break free. And in that fractured second, I dared to hope. It wouldn’t be overnight. Possibly not even over several years, but bit by bit I thought Riot might be able to become more human.

I bit into my trembling lip, the taste of iron blooming against my tongue. “There’s got to be a way.”

As he continued to pace, I wondered what I could possibly do to keep our child safe. Then it hit me. I thought of Riot’s room where he kept his journals stored. No one could go in there except him, or unless he let them in.

“A safe room,” I muttered.

Riot halted mid-pace. He turned to me, and I wasn’t sure what I saw in his eyes just then.

“Safe room?” he echoed, the words dripping with disdain, yet tinged with curiosity.

“Yeah,” I pushed on, feeling the weight of his gaze. “A place… for the kid. If things get too wild, if you or your brothers lose it, there’d be somewhere to hide. Somewhere… untouchable.”

Something shifted behind those eyes that had witnessed death more intimately than love. The harsh lines of Riot’s face softened, as if my words had hit home, carving through the hardness of his exterior. A flicker of understanding sparked to life where only darkness had resided.

“Untouchable,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if tasting a foreign concept. It wasn’t tenderness that filled his voice, but rather a grim recognition of necessity. His head tilted slightly, the movement predatory yet oddly protective.

“Damnit, Hollis,” Riot said, and for an instant, I could swear the beast of a man before me was weighing my life and the unborn’s against his own twisted desires. “You think a room would keep the shadows at bay? Think four walls and a door would keep me or the others out if we really wanted in there?”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But it might give us a fighting chance.”

His silence left a chill in the room. But his eyes… they held a gleam that wasn’t there before -- a reluctant admission that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t spewing nonsense.

“All right.” It was the closest thing to consent I’d ever gotten from him. And hell, it felt like victory, even in this Godforsaken place. The simple fact he’d admitted our child might need protection from him, Crash, and Kane was a step in the right direction.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll build your damn sanctuary. Not sure what good it will do, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe a way to reinforce the door or something.”

“Good.” Relief flooded me, swift and overwhelming. The safe room would be a fortress within a fortress, a place where innocence might be shielded from the monstrous reality beyond its walls. I knew it wasn’t perfect. Might not even work, but I had to at least try. I wanted our child to have something we never did -- a loving and safe environment.

“Remember, Hollis. I’m still in control. This changes nothing.”

“Of course,” I whispered. Except it really did change things and proved that Riot was slowly changing too. I didn’t think he’d ever be a normal person. There was a part of him that would always need the kill, the hunt. He thrived on bloodshed, and there was no way to remove that piece of him. Not without losing all of him. But if I could just find the smallest hint of humanity in him, and grow it a little, then living here wouldn’t be so bad. I might love him, but it didn’t mean I wanted to risk the safety of our child.

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