Page 28 of Endless Obsession

But what I don’t want right now is to get attached. I want a chance to explore what that night at Masquerade awoke in me. I want a chance to try some of the fantasies that I’ve been thinking of ever since, before I get serious with anyone again.

More than anything, I want a chance to be free.

9

IVAN

By the time I leave Cafe L’Rose, I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine.

It all came together so much more easily than I expected. Her friend’s willingness to bail on lunch to give Charlotte a chance to get to know me went a long way. It makes me want to send Jaz flowers just for the assist, but that’s a bad idea. That might freak her out, and then I’d be back to square one.

I spent the weekend putting together the fake persona that I gave Charlotte. Vasili isn’t my last name, but if she Googles me, she’ll find a host of false records and planted information about me that will back up the story I gave her. A story about a purposefully vague career, so that I can keep track of what I’m telling her without slipping up.

Deep down, I know that this is all a very bad idea. That I’m mired in enough lies between my family and the feds. I don’t need another story to keep up with, another host of falsehoods and secrets to keep straight.

I should forget about Charlotte Williams, and let her go on with her life, while I go on with mine.

But I can’t. And I know she wouldn’t want me as I am. Not until she’s had a chance to get to know me better, anyway. If I tell her right off the bat that I’m Ivan Kariyev, that my family is one of the most dangerous criminal families in Chicago, that I have so much blood coating my hands that I could strip the skin away and still not be rid of it all, that I found her after that night at Masquerade because I hacked into every aspect of her life—she’d do more than just refuse to go out on a date with me.

She’d probably—and rightfully—call the cops. And then I’d have a whole other mess to deal with, even if nothing would ultimately come of it.

I don’t need any more complications in my life. Charlotte is a lot more than a complication—my desire for her, my growing obsession with her, could rip a hole in the fabric of my entire life. But now that I’ve seen her, met her, tasted her—I can’t get enough.

I can’t shake her. The only thing that I can hope is that this is a passing obsession, and that once I’ve had her, I will have had enough of her. That this will burn itself out, and I can go back to my life as it was before.

That has to be how this turns out in the end. Because I can’t lie to her for a lifetime. And if I’m being honest with myself, there is no other endgame beyond a temporary connection between the two of us. She’s not the kind of girl to get involved with a criminal. And I can’t keep her from knowing who I am forever.

I can for a while, though. Until I can get her out of my head.

—

The high I’m on only lasts until I get a call from Ani, the second of my brothers, telling me that there’s a family dinner tonight. “Don’t bother trying to get out of it tonight,” he tells me curtly. “Otets will be furious if you’re not there. He specifically said you were to be there, too. Don’t make this worse for the rest of us.”

There’s a warning there, in his tone. A warning not to cause trouble, or he and my other brothers will find a way to make me regret it.

The last time I crossed them, I was left holding a gun to a woman’s head while my brothers questioned her husband about a mistake he’d made with our father’s bookkeeping. Pulling that trigger would have been a line they knew I’d refuse to step over. And it would have given them the excuse they need to tell my father that I need to be removed, myself.

That his bastard son is better off dead than a part of the Kariyev family. That I can’t be trusted, even if I am my father’s blood.

I’m expected to dress respectably for dinner. Suit trousers, a button-down, although I can roll up the sleeves and skip a tie and jacket. While I dress, I glance over at my phone repeatedly, sitting on the sink next to me.

When I put my number in Charlotte’s phone, I also installed a tracker. It had to be done quickly, and it had to be embedded in her phone in a way that she wouldn’t notice. A new app would be something she’d pick up on immediately. Something she’d look into, since she’s also knowledgeable when it comes to tech. Instead, I got the information I needed from her phone, and used it to embed the tracker into an app already on it.

Right now, I’ve kept it simple. Her location, who’s texting her, who’s calling her. Not the actual texts themselves or the transcripts of calls. I don’t want to pry that deeply, yet. But I do want to know where she is, and what she’s doing—and with who.

For instance, if she goes back to Masquerade, I want to know. There’s no way I wouldn’t drop everything to go straight there, and make sure that she doesn’t end up with a different man there. The thought of her in one of those private rooms, with some other man’s face between her legs, makes my hands tighten around the edge of the sink counter hard enough for the granite edges to dig into my palms. The thought of her playing in public there, allowing others to see her as she’s pleasured, as she comes, is enough to make me squeeze the counter so hard that I’d break it if that were possible.

No other man is going to get to touch her. Her pleasure, her lessons, all of the things that are about to be opened up to her on account of her ex’s stupidity, are mine. No other man is going to make her come until I’ve had my fill of the sweet sounds she makes, until every other orgasm she has for the rest of her life is colored by the memory of all the times that it was me touching her.

The fact that I’d cross my family, risk angering my violent brothers and my father in order to intercept Charlotte if need be, should be enough to make me think twice about all of this. It should be enough to make me reconsider what I’m doing here.

But I’m not. I can’t.

I’ve done drugs a handful of times in my life. I’ve never understood how people get addicted to them. How they’ll do the things I’ve seen, make the deals I’ve witnessed, commit the atrocities that I know about, in order to get another high. But now that I’ve met Charlotte, now that I’ve had a hit of her—I get it.

I’m addicted. And all of my self-preservation has gone out the window in service of getting my next high. In service of making sure no one else gets a taste of what I want.

I drive myself over to my father’s house. I don’t want any delays between me and leaving, once I get the chance. And any chance I have to go out for a drive is one I want to take, anyway.

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