Page 48 of Dangerous Obsession

“Iknowshe will.” He spoke with such certainty, like it was a foregone conclusion. “Look, Marigold, the last thing I want to do is freak you out or scare you away, but this, you and me …” He waggled his finger back and forth between them. “What we have, it’s special.” He cupped his hand to the side of her face, and his thumb skimmed her cheek. “I care about you a lot, and I know you need time—”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t care about me?” His body tensed.

“What? No!” She tossed off the sheet, threw one leg over him and straddled him, facing him. “I meant I don’t need time.” She curved her hands around the side of his neck and leaned in close. “I care about you, too, Viking.A lot.”

One corner of his mouth slowly lifted. “Well, that’s a relief.”

He rolled them over until she was beneath him, his forearms on either side of her head holding his weight. His lips skimmed across her forehead, down one cheek, and landed on that sensitive spot just beneath her ear that he’d discovered last night.

During their night together, she learned that her big, badass, deadly sniper was a very physically affectionate man. Since cracking the seal—so to speak—on their physical relationship, he couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

A brush of his hand to her cheek, a kiss here and there, and, boy, did he seem fascinated by her curls. Cliff had never liked them, so she’d spent way too much time trying to tame the wild mass. She loved that she could be her true self with Viking, and making love to him was a welcome escape from thoughts of her ex’s imminent release and the danger that might bring back into her life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cliffhoppeddownfromhis bunk, stretched his arms high overhead, and walked over to take his last-ever piss in the small metal toilet in the corner of his cell. He was getting the fuck out of here today, and no matter what happened, he would never be back again.

He wasn’t sure exactly what time he would be released, but he started gathering up the few personal items he possessed. The Bible given to him by the prison chaplain, another book about a soldier who became a mercenary that he’d traded for his pudding, a lame photo of his parents, three cigarettes, and two stamps. He had some socks and underwear, shit like that, but he planned to burn all of it the first chance he got.

Wanting to ensure he left nothing behind, he did a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree check of the small space, and his gaze stopped on the air vent. He walked over and stood beneath it, checked the door over his shoulder, then reached up and retrieved the three-inch long piece of sharpened wire he used to mark the ceiling.

“Why you takin’ that stupid-ass thing?” his toothless cellmate asked from where he lounged on his bunk. “It’s just a dumbass piece of wire.”

“Sentimental value.” Cliff rolled the wire between his thumb and forefinger.

He picked up the Bible, stabbed the wire down into the binding, and dropped it on top of the pitiful pile of stuff on his bunk.

“Don’t know why you takin’ that Bible wit’ ya. Only reason you even got that damn thing was so’s the preacher would think you was all reformed and shit. Ha! Reformed, my ass.” He started to cackle, and that led to a bout of phlegmy coughs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll pray for you.” Cliff leaned over, sat the guy up, and smacked the old guy on the back a few times.

“Shit, man. Stop beatin’ on me.” His cellmate leaned out of reach and swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “I’m fine.”

Cliff normally wouldn’t give two shits if the guy choked to death. But a dead cellmate meant a lockdown, a lockdown meant an investigation, and an investigation would definitely fuck up his release.

He just needed to make it a few more hours, then he could put this place in his rearview.

Footsteps drew his attention, and he moved over to look through the narrow window. CO Clayton and the big man himself, Warden James Newhouse, were making their way toward his cell.

Cliff’s heart rate kicked up at the thought of walking out of this cell for the last time. He forced a few deep breaths and reminded himself that he only needed to keep up the charade for a few more hours.

“Step back.” Clayton peered through the window and barked out his order a bit louder than usual. No doubt wanting to impress his boss.

Cliff moved to the back of the cell and turned away from them. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds, knowing it was the last time he’d hear them.

Keys rattled, the dead bolt clunked, and the heavy door groaned as it swung open. Two sets of footsteps moved into the space before Clayton grabbed his elbow and spun him to face the warden. He shackled his ankles, then his wrists in front of him and started rifling through Cliff’s stuff.

“Put all of your personal belongings in this.” Satisfied everything was legal, Clayton tossed him a cotton, drawstring bag.

The chains from the cuffs clattered together as he shoved everything into the bag and pulled the drawstring tight. The guard jerked it from his hands and clamped his fingers around his elbow.

The warden stepped closer and was eye to eye with Cliff.

Unlike the old, fat, suit-wearing wardens you typically see in movies, this guy was probably in his mid-forties and built like a brick shithouse. He wore a uniform similar to the guards. His shirt could barely contain his massive shoulders and arms, and his legs strained his uniform pants. Rumor had it he was a retired Marine drill instructor, and everyone knew those guys were badasses and didn’t take shit from anyone.

“Well, Barnum, looks like your release has come through.” The warden moved even closer until they were almost nose to nose. “Not sure how you pulled it off, but I suspect we’ll be seeing you back here again someday.”

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