Page 82 of Endless Obsession

I have an advantage here. I can see in their faces that they’re afraid of me. That they know I have no love for them, that I’ll kill them if I have to in order to get out of here. To get to Charlotte.

“Ivan.” There’s a reasonable note in Niki’s voice, one that suggests he’s going to try to talk this out. But I’m in no mood to even give him a chance.

When he steps forward, I slash out with the knife, catching him in the arm. He lets out a startled sound of pain, my willingness to hurt him clearly catching him off guard. Lev is staggering forward, and I look around, gauging the distance between myself and the unlocked car.

A handful of steps. A few feet. That’s all I need to manage. I take a breath and barge forward, knife slashing out to one side, my fist connecting with one of my brothers’ soft flesh as I strike out to my left, swinging without elegance or grace as I bolt for the car.

I feel blood on my hand. Pain in my ribs. I strike again and again, the motion around me a blur as I grab for the door handle, yanking it out and flinging myself backward into the driver’s seat. I kick out with both feet as Lev lunges for me, driving my heels into his gut, grabbing for my keys as I swing upright and snatch the door shut.

There’s a howl of pain as I clip someone’s fingers as they try to grab it. I slam my hand down on the locks, every movement to start the car vicious, frantic as I gun it down the alley. Ani tries to step forward, and the corner of the hood clips him, knocking him to one side as I floor it, skidding out onto the road as I turn.

They’ll go for Charlotte next. But I’m going to get to her first.

26

CHARLOTTE

Ifeel oddly heavy, the morning after I slept with Ivan. There’s a text from him waiting as soon as I get up, a sweet good morning, but the messages from Nate are weighing on me. He saw me last night. He was watching me. Following me.

I remember the way I felt walking home from brunch, the creeping feeling of eyes on me, and how I’d fantasized about my masked man. In this new light, the thought makes my skin crawl, makes me want to get into a shower and scrub myself raw.

It’s not how I wanted to feel, the morning after. I wanted to be basking in the afterglow, sunny and happy and floating after the experience I had with Ivan. Instead, Nate’s messages make me feel itchy, like I want to scratch my skin off.

I’m tempted to stay home from work, but I know if I do, I’ll just fixate on the texts, and how they make me feel. It’s better to be busy, to have something to do, so I go to work, feeling like someone is watching me the whole way. That crawling feeling runs up and down my spine, banishing any lingering pleasantness from the night before, and I resent Nate even more for ruining that for me. From taking away what should have been a good morning.

I thought that if I ignored him, he’d go away. That he’d get the hint that this was over. But he’s only gotten worse, the more time has passed. And even though it’s laughable to me that he’s so upset over seeing me with someone else after what he did—the texts last night make me worry what he might do about it.

That’s another reason to go to work, one that I hate that I’m even thinking about. There, at least, I’m safe from anything he might try to do. I consider asking Jaz if I can stay with her tonight—have a girls’ sleepover, but I know the fact that I’m asking on a work night would clue her in that something is wrong. I’ve told her a little bit about the irritating texts from Nate, but not since they’ve gotten worse. And I don’t want to worry her.

All throughout the day, I try to focus on Ivan—on how good of a night we had last night, on all the things we did that I’d never felt before, on the fact that I now know it’s possible to feel all of that outside of just fantasies. Whether or not it will last, I have no idea, but for now—for now, it’s everything I wanted.

And I want more of it.

I text him throughout the afternoon, both of us dancing around how impactful last night felt, but I can tell he wants to see me again. We talk about possible dates, about a restaurant I want to try, about another hike, not after I’ve been drinking mimosas. I think about how he promised to fuck me up against a tree after we’d done it in a bed, and shiver pleasantly, some of the bad feelings receding.

“Do you want to get tapas after work?” I ask Jaz, when we grab lunch. “I know Zoe is busy, and Sarah is working late, so maybe just us? We could get dinner, even, and try out that new bar. The one with the custom cocktails.”

Jaz, ever the spontaneous one, is more than happy to go out on a work night. We go back to my apartment and change, and my phone stays silent, with no new text messages from Nate. None from Ivan in a while, either, but he had mentioned he had a busy work day today. I don’t want to seem clingy, so I wait for him to text me, first.

Dinner is great—appetizers and wine at a French fusion spot we both like, and the new custom cocktail bar, designed to create cocktails by spinning a series of wheels to choose the flavors to mix together, is even more fun. Two cocktails in, I’ve all but forgotten about Nate’s threats, pushing them to the back of my mind. He’s being an asshole, but he won’t actually do anything about it. And in time, I tell myself as I finish my third drink, he’ll get over it. He’ll realize his threats and blustering isn’t working, and he’ll leave me alone.

I hug Jaz, getting into an Uber to go home after we cash out, and finally open my phone after leaving it alone for most of the night. It’s after midnight, later than we should have stayed out, and I’m startled to see my screen light up with texts.

I’m even more startled to see that they’re from Daniel—Nate’s brother.

He never really talked to me of his own accord when Nate and I were together, and I don’t see why he would start now. I open my messages—and I feel my blood run cold as ice as I begin to read them.

Daniel: What the fuck is this, Charlotte? Do you know anything about this?

Daniel: Someone broke into our fucking house. Did this to Nate. Is this because he was texting you? Did you set someone on him?

A picture comes up on the screen—one that makes me gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. It’s Nate—or at least I’m almost sure it is. His face is battered, swollen almost beyond recognition, and in his chest, there’s a message carved.

Keep your mouth shut.

Frantically, I text him back.

Charlotte: No, of course I didn’t. He’s being a dick, but I would never think to do that. That’s horrible. Have you called the police?

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