Page 76 of Bound By Obsession

Time to get back to the competition. The noise descends on us, people rushing forward to shove their phones in our faces. Waiting for Axel to round the SUV, Avery leans up and presses her mouth to my ear.

“That was really sweet. Who knew you could be so vulnerable?”

“Don’t expect anything to change, Peach. I’m still a jackass,” I say, grinning as I give her a playful squeeze.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” she deadpans, but the smirk playing on her lips betrays her. That fluttering in my chest threatens to drag me down but luckily, Axel has made it to my side. Linking my fingers with his, I sling my arm over Avery’s shoulders and walk the pair of them towards the arena. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, the volume increasing. A few slurs are thrown in, calling Avery some unsavory names but she doesn’t let it affect her posture. She remains glued to my side, smiling as if she owns the fucking world. I’ve never been more attracted to her.

Once inside, the atmosphere turns electric. The stands are packed, the air buzzing with the sweet smell of popcorn and sweat. A giant screen above the court is already flashing our team’s logo and heavy-bass music pumps through the speakers. Avery catches the attention of the cheerleaders, a few giving her a small wave. I recognize one as the redhead she used to share a dorm room with, who’s apparently swapped track and field for a set of pom poms. Avery pauses before waving back hesitantly. They quickly go back to their warm-ups as if the exchange never happened.

Dax is yelling at me to head into the locker room for a pre-game pep talk with the subs we chose to join our team tonight. I wave him off until Huxley puts his fingers in his mouth andwhistles sharply. It seems he’s taken on the role as leader in Wyatt’s absence. What a fucking let down Riot has become.

Withdrawing from Avery’s hold, I catch her looking curiously towards the jocks across the court, most likely because they’re glaring at me. A few are on crutches, awkwardly trying to take their seats on the opposition’s side. I vaguely recognize them but without a red haze over my vision and my fists ramming into their bruised, swollen faces, it’s hard to tell. Cupping Avery’s jaw, I lift her onto her tiptoes to meet my direct gaze.

“Don’t pay them any notice. You should be too busy cheering for me,” I tease, tugging her closer for our lips to touch. She blinks once, her lashes fluttering over my cheeks.

“I will, when you earn it,” she fires back, her eyes twinkling. Axel laughs under his breath, ignoring the fleeting moment where he winces. I drag Avery the last millimeter, planting a possessive kiss on her mouth. A mark of ownership.

“Challenge accepted, Peach.” Setting her back on her feet, I see Axel to the bench on the sidelines to make sure he has enough space. Avery takes his side and his hand, and I promptly shove my tongue into his mouth. The crowd at his back is a cohort of screams and wolf whistles until I finally pull away, leaving him breathless.

“Give ‘em hell,” he smirks, cheeks pink and eyes alive. I wink before jogging across the court to my team, throwing my arms wide to soak it all in.

“It’s about time,” Hux folds his arms. Dax tries to mirror him but he has a harder time staying mad at me.

“I’ve been waiting weeks for this.” Turning Huxley in the direction of the lockers, he walks with me.

“You do know everything you’re doing is being caught on video,” he huffs.

“Exactly!” I exclaim, unable to hide my grin. “They’re talking anyway. It’s about time we showed people we don’t give a shitabout their rumors. We’re going to do our thing regardless. Feel free to join me by accosting Avery at half time.” Dax catches my eye, shooting me an approving glance as he pats my shoulder.

When we get back on the court, the momentum just keeps building and building. Every pass, every shot, it’s like we’re moving in perfect sync. The Subs do a much better job than I anticipated, given that their only instruction was to make sure either Hux, Dax or I had the ball. I catch sight of Avery often, especially when she’s up on her feet, fist pumping and bopping to the beat of the music. To be honest, she’s more of a distraction than a help but I wouldn’t change her being here for shit.

I end the first half with a dunk, swinging off the rim and milking it for all it’s worth before dropping down and jogging back to the bench. The crowd’s on their feet, Avery jumping up and down, clapping and cheering, her face lit up with pride. It strikes me like an arrow to the heart, everything clicking into place. Our girl, the center of our universe.

Whisking her into my sweaty arms, I’m promptly shoved in the face and she’s torn away by Hux. I laugh, admitting defeat. Returning to stand shoulder to shoulder with Dax across the court, I ignore the groans of the jocks I’ve elbowed at any possible opportunity. I have no doubt Kevin Tyler sprained his ankle when I tripped him up, and then ran back over said ankle to make sure. Now, my focus is pinned on Huxley’s hand.

Sitting on the bench beside Axel, he’s pulled Avery into his lap, his fingers trailing especially high up her thigh and disappearing beneath her short skirt. She bites on her lip, leaving nothing to the imagination. Arching slightly against him, she inhales sharply through her nose. I can’t look away. There’s nothing else I want to watch, other than Avery trying to hide how quickly she’s reaching her peak. I told Hux we should do our thing, and honestly, I’m impressed. I just need to figure out how I’m going to finish this game with a rock-hard boner.

Pausing outside of the door, I exhale and ask myself for the millionth time, what the fuck am I doing? I blame Avery, of course. She caught me off guard last night, and my brain hasn’t been able to switch off since. I slept better than I have in months, her soft curves pressed against my body, my cock nestled against her ass. And with a good sleep brings clarity. We can’t keep going on like we are, constantly looking over our shoulders.

Pushing the door open, a small bell announces my arrival. The smell hits me first. Garlic, tomatoes, and basil hang heavily in the air, almost too rich for my senses. I was surprised by the choice of location when I received the text of where and when to meet, but it’s slowly starting to make sense. This isn’t an ordinary Italian restaurant. It’s a front, being passed offas a quaint, family-run joint, but a dark undercurrent lingers beneath the surface.

The lighting is low, the kind that would make it hard to recognize a face across the room. The place is small, too intimate for comfort, with old wooden chairs that creak when you sit down and mismatched tablecloths that look like they’ve been around since the seventies. Photos of Italian landscapes hang crookedly on the walls, and the whole space feels cramped, like the walls are closing in on me.

Straightening my smart jacket, I make my way toward the back, where Fredrick Walters is seated in a corner booth, his back to the wall. I’ve never seen him before, but given that the rest of those seated are muscled meatheads sporting guns in their waistbands, I made an educated guess.

As it stands, the man is creepy as hell. Thin and pale, with sharp features that look like they were carved out of ice. His hair is slicked back, jet-black and too neat for someone with an unhinged glint in his eyes. He wears a similar black suit to mine, except it’s cheap and scuffed. Not what I’d expect of a person who is acting as if he owns the room.

His blue gaze locks on me, like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile, slow and deliberate, only heightens my nerves. In fact, it makes my skin crawl. There’s a coldness in his eyes, something devoid of humanity. Like he doesn’t just deal in crime; he thrives in it. Lives in it.

Every step holds more weight than the last. My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my face neutral, unreadable. I can’t let him see how much this freaks me out. If there’s one thing I know about men like Fredrick Walters, men that terrorize little girls, it’s that they feed off fear.

“Wyatt,” Fredrick says smoothly as I reach the table, his voice unsettlingly calm. “You’re right on time.” He gestures to the seat across from him with a flick of his hand. I hesitate for a second.I’m crossing a line I won’t be able to uncross, but then I think about Avery, about everything she’s been through at his hands, and I pull out the chair and sit.

The scent of the food makes my stomach turn, despite its mouthwatering appearance. Pasta dishes are laid out in front of Fredrick, untouched. I wonder if he even eats. Somehow, I doubt it. He’s too much of a snake, too focused on power and control to enjoy anything as simple as a meal.

“Do you have an aversion to Italian food?” he asks, following my gaze. That knowing smirk doesn’t leave his face for a second.

“No. I’m just surprised you’ve chosen to meet somewhere public. Aren’t you a wanted man?” I counter back, feigning ignorance that everyone in here looks like a convict. Fredrick glances up into the far corner, apparently in thought.

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