Page 19 of His Obsession

Nothing.

She took a cautious step back toward the door, her fingers tightening around the handle of the dumpster for support. The alley was narrow, flanked by tall brick walls that seemed to close in around her. The faint hum of a streetlight buzzed above, casting long shadows that flickered ominously.

Another sound—a scrape, closer this time.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

A figure emerged from the shadows, and her breath caught in her throat. For one terrifying moment, she thought it might be Lynch or one of his men. But as the figure stepped into the light, the unmistakable shape of Callum filled her vision.

“Christ, Callum,” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and anger. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his dark eyes scanning her from head to toe, his expression unreadable. He looked utterly out of place in the alley, his tailored coat and sharp features an eerie contrast to the grit and grime around him. But his presence was no less commanding for it—if anything, it was more so.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with steel. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking out the trash,” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t need you—or Walsh—hovering over me like some kind of personal bodyguard.”

Callum stepped closer, the heat of his presence sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “You left your phone at the office,” he said, his tone accusatory. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

She glared at him, refusing to back down. “Reckless? I’m not the one dragging innocent people into criminal turf wars.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not the one who wandered into a world she doesn’t understand. But here you are, Isolde.”

Her breath hitched as he closed the distance between them, his gaze dark and intense. “You can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice trembling despite her defiance. “Showing up, warning me, acting like you have any right to control my life.”

“Control?” he echoed, his tone mocking. “If I wanted control, love, you wouldn’t be here arguing with me. You’d be safe in my bed, under my watch, where Lynch’s men couldn’t touch you.”

She froze at his words, her pulse pounding in her ears. His words sank into her, the danger she’d been trying to ignore crashing down like a tidal wave. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. “And you?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm. “Why are you here, Callum? Is it just about Lynch, or is this about you?”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, calculated man she’d come to expect.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “What matters is that you’re not safe. Not from Lynch, not from Bradford, and certainly not from me.”

Her heart thundered in her chest as his words hung between them, heavy and undeniable. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm. The contact sent a jolt of arousal surging through her veins—hot and sweet—and she hated the way her body responded to him, her breath hitching, her resolve faltering.

“Go away, Callum. Leave me alone,” she snarled. She was fed up with everyone and their brother telling her what to do. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“I told you before,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “This isn’t over, Isolde. Not by a long shot.”

As he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared, Isolde stood frozen in the alley, her pulse racing, her mind a whirlwind of fear and frustration.

She didn’t know what scared her more: the danger that surrounded her—or the way Callum Kavanagh made her feel.

The night was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the faint, off-putting tang of fear. Isolde’s breath came in short, uneven bursts as she rounded a corner, the muted glow of a flickering streetlamp doing little to illuminate the shadowed alleyways. Her earlier determination to steal a moment of solitude now seemed reckless, her own steps echoing like a countdown to disaster.

She froze mid-step as the sound of voices reached her ears. Low and gruff, she could hear the underlying intent in them, the kind of intent that made her skin prickle with unease. She didn’tunderstand all the words, but she heard enough: her name, spoken with an edge that sent a chill racing down her spine.

“Keep moving,” another voice growled, closer now. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”

Her stomach twisted, the reality of Callum’s warnings crashing down on her with brutal clarity. This wasn’t paranoia. It was real. And she was in over her head.

Before she could retreat, a hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her with a force that stole the air from her lungs. She was yanked into the shadows of a narrow alcove, the rough brick wall pressing cold and unforgiving against her back. Panic surged, but before she could scream, another hand—strong, unyielding—covered her mouth.

“Quiet,” Callum’s voice rasped in her ear, low and dangerous. His body pressed against hers, shielding her completely from view as the sounds of heavy boots drew closer. The heat from his body was a stark contrast to the cold dread creeping through her veins. She felt trapped, consumed by the sheer dominance of his presence, but she didn’t fight. Not with danger so close. Instead, she clung to him as if he was a lifeline in the building maelstrom that threatened to consume her.

The thundering of her heart drowned out the distant hum of the city, her pulse hammering against her ribs as if trying to break free. Callum’s hands were firm, one still covering her mouth, the other braced against the wall beside her head, caging her in. Yet, for all their strength, there was a gentleness to his touch that confused her. A care that belied the violence she knew him capable of.

The voices grew louder.

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