Page 12 of Insane Obsession

Finally, I turn over my shoulder, my gray eyes finding those black ones automatically. I blink in confusion. Fuck me, he’s the guy from the painting. He must have followed me down here.

“Where is she?”

“What do you want me to say?” He cocks his head, and a slow smile spreads on his lips. “That I killed her in the isolation room? Or…” He cocks his head to the other side. “That I chased her up the stairs, down the corridor, past the hall—” He smiles and holds up a hand. “Poof. Gone.”

I clear my throat as a shiver works up my spine. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe I am.” He gestures for me to walk inside the room. “Maybe I’m not.” When I falter, he gets close, his lips touching the back of my neck as he breathes against my skin. “I’m Ringo, by the way. And you are even more handsome up close.” He rubs our cheeks together and presses a hand on my lower back, pushing me inside the room.

He smells like lemongrass, and his skin is smooth and pale. He’s gorgeous, the way his blond hair falls over his ears and frames his square face.

“No.” I dig my heels into the ground and push a hand against the wall. “I don’t want to go in. I want to go home.”

He releases his hand immediately, a genuinely shocked look in his eyes. “Why? You are curious about the murders, right? We rang the bells for you tonight. Set the tree. Look—” He opens the door, revealing a cozy, spacious living area.

“We?” I whisper, throat locking up.

“Hmm.” Ringo throws his arm around my shoulder, squeezing as he smiles. “Now, come on in, don’t be shy. You are, aren’t you?”

I shake my head in confusion.

“You don’t have to be around us. Shy.”

We take a few more steps inside. The room is warm. A record plays a Christmas melody in the background, and the scent of spices lingers.

“Ringo, that you?”

Holy shit, therearetwo of them.

“Please,” I beg.

Ringo’s eyes flare, and his smile returns. “What is it, flower?”

“I don’t want to die,” I murmur, ignoring the little name he gave me.

He chuckles at that and pets my hair. Then he pushes me further inside the room, and I see another guy sitting in an armchair, glass in hand.

They are identical twins. My heart jumps toward my throat.

“Welcome, flower. I’m Prince.”

“Prince?”

“Prince?” Ringo sounds surprised, too.

Prince’s smile turns predatory. “Yeah, I feel in the mood to be Prince today. Tell me, Finn, do you like the name Prince?”

I lick my lips nervously while my mind races to come up with something sensible to say. My heart wants to beg, my fists want to punch, but my feet stand frozen.

All I can do is nod. “I do.”

“Fantastic.” Prince points to the couch. “Come and sit with us. We’re so happy you’re here. Finn, such a beautiful name for such a rare flower.”

“I’m not—” My voice falters. “I’m sorry I barged into your home like this,” I say instead. “I was informed the asylum was empty, so I came. I mean, I would have never come in, had I known.”

Ringo chuckles.

Prince’s smile lingers as he picks up his phone. “No? Such a shame. And a lie, too. Right?”

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