Page 17 of Obsession

“How did you get here?”

I have a sneaking suspicion he knows but wants everything out in the open.

“I got a ride.” I bite my tongue so I don’t snap back to remind him it’s his employee’s fault I don’t have a car.

“Right. I’ll make sure you get one back, and you’ll need a car.”

Wow, okay then. “You don’t have to give me a car as part of our arrangement?—”

“I do. All my employees need reliable transportation. It’s for my own peace of mind more than anything.” His voice sharpens. “I won’t have people that work for me taking a fucking Uber to work.”

Ouch.

I need to remind him of something, though. “I’m not your employee, Mr. Master.”

He purses his lips and doesn’t reply, but I can feel the judgy judgment in the air.Grrr.

We’re walking at a good clip, and he shouts out commands as we go. He tells one guy to run surveillance at the college (I’m guessing the one his sister goes to?), another to load “Goldie” with ammo (Who is Goldie and why does she need ammo?), anda third to keep a watch on all video surveillance of Skylar. Joe takes off.

He pulls out his phone and barks out a few commands.

As we walk through his house, as people dressed in fatigues start moving and calling himsir,it doesn’t feel like a home but a compound or a military base.

At the door, Joe comes up to us with a folded pile of clothing and hands it to me.

“Take those with you,” Cain orders.

With me? What the hell?

He looks up at Lanky—er, Joe. “Have Claude track my location and copy everything we say and do. No one follows us. I do not want backup until I call for it, is that clear?”

“Yessir.”

He clicks a key fob, and bright lights and a beep light up a truck a few yards away from us.

Oh my God.

When I was a teen, I had a few friends who got their licenses, and everyone wanted a car. Some just wanted a set of wheels to get from point A to point B, some freedom and independence. Some wanted a nicer car that would take them to job interviews or on road trips.

I wanted a truck. Specifically, a Toyota Tundra 4WD with a crew cab and thirty-eight-inch mud terrain tires with eighteen-inch Rockstar rims.

Cain Master drives my dream truck.

His truck’s like him, sturdy and fearless, a veritable force of nature. The wheels alone come up to my chest.Good God. Two-tone black rawhide leather seats with red inlay matches the candy blood-red paint job, and if it wasn’t for Massachusetts’ insanely strict gun laws, this baby would house a gun rack in the back perfect for a twelve-gauge shotgun or semi.

And is that…no.Behind this truck, in the back, there’s an even bigger truck.

“You do not drive a Ford 650!”

He gives me a curious look. “I do, but it’s too big to take tonight.”

“Will you let me touch it? Please? I just want to touch it, just once.”

Cain’s lips twitch, and he mutters, “That may be crossing a line, Miss Price.”

I don’t dignify his response with a reply, and don’t speak because I don’t trust my voice.

“Not now.” He’s right, I know he is. We have to get moving. Still, one day I just want to sit in that beautiful truck.

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