Page 4 of Obsession

“What?” he asks in a dangerous tone, his voice silky and rubbing against my nipples, making them ache under my shirt. “Do go on.”

“I'm glad I ruined your fucking ass suit!”

The man stares at me, and then he smirks, his thumb coming to rub my lower lip, as he murmurs, “You have quite a mouth on you, don’t you?”

This is the part where he’s supposed to shoot me dead. Why isn’t he telling them to kill me?

“What's your point?” I try not to let my fear show.

The look in his eyes tells me he’s almost considering it, but he doesn't say anything for a long moment that seems endless. Finally, he mutters, “I think I’ve scared you enough for today.”

I freeze, and this time, my voice is small, as if my brain has suddenly remembered the situation I’m in. “So, you're not going to kill me?”

His smirk is lazy and spells all kinds of trouble. “Over my ugly suit? Didn't you say that now I have a reason to throw it away?”

I wet my dry lips and mutter, “I just said that to hasten the killing process.”

He blinks, “Do you want to die?”

“No?”

“Okay, then.” He jerks his chin, and the men suddenly put away their guns and move back to their seats as if nothing had ever happened.

I’m still frozen in my position, and the man says smoothly, "Do you need some help getting up?”

My muscles feel stiff, and I get to my feet slowly. It's then that I register the shaking in my hands. The adrenaline is fadingaway, only to be replaced by the stark realization that I nearly just got myself killed.

“Um–” I stare at him, and he looks at me with a small smile. “I can't afford to pay for your dry cleaning.”

I should be thanking him for not murdering me, not reminding him of his ruined suit, but his lazy question takes me aback. “Oh, do they not pay you enough here?”

I glance back at where Steve is lying unconscious, and I mutter, “They pay me, okay.”

“I see.”

My eyes feel wet, and I blink.

His smile disappears as I rub my eyes.

“I have to...” I take a step back slowly. “I have to go cry now. I’ll replace your drink in a minute.”

And with that, I dart off into the kitchen like a speeding bullet, relieved that at least I’m still breathing.

Chapter 2

Campus Visit

MEGAN

It took me three days to emotionally recover from the incident, but now I'm without a job. My manager was displeased that he almost shitted himself and fired me. My rent is due in two weeks, and I have just enough cash for a few groceries. In other words, I’m fucked.

I shuffle to the bathroom and wash my face, not even bothering to look at myself in the mirror any longer than I have to. My tangled curls are in a high bun, and my poorly done blonde highlights are growing out and are as clear as day. I really shouldn't have let Naomi mess with my hair to practice for her cosmetology class, but when your roommate gets you extra packs of Ramen as a bribe, you kind of have no choice.

My wide-set, almond-shaped eyes look exhausted and bruised as I mutter at my reflection, “This is why nobody wants to date you. Ghosts have a better chance of getting a hit on Tinder than you do.”

I still have a few lectures to attend today before I can go home and start my job search again. On my way back, I plan to drop off my résumé at a diner near my house and at a local bar.

I have headaches, so I take two ibuprofen from my bag and pop them into my mouth. My hand hesitates on the half-eaten banana, but I save it instead for lunch.

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