Page 50 of Hunted Obsession

I like that she thinks that she can come into my home and demand things from me. She can’t. Releasing my lips, I part them to speak.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I want to know why you followed me, why you pretended you weren’t following me, why you pretended anything at all.”

Tilting my head to the side, I watch her, then shake my head once. “To make you feel the way you do right now,” I simply state.

“What? Pity?”

The fact that she thinks I’ll buy her illusion of pity is hilarious. She is here, red-faced, heavy breathing, almost panting as she waits for me to respond. It’s laughable, really. She wants to know so damn badly.

She isn’t going to because I don’t give a fuck about her at all. Theron is the only person in this situation who I give a shit about. And the only person I will answer to. I refuse to answer to this fucking troll.

“Confused. No need to pity me, Emmie. I pity you enough for the both of us.”

Her eyes widen, and she takes a step forward. Then, with her next, she lunges. She doesn’t get far, mainly because I step to the side as I watch her fall straight to the floor right before the apartment door swings wide open.

THERON

A notification buzzeson my phone. I reach into my pocket, take it out, and look at it. Frowning, I open the camera app and watch as Emmie stands outside Lucille’s apartment door.

What the actual fuck?

I beefed up Lucille’s cameras when all the shit went down with us. Knowing that she was at least on the radar worried me. Seems as if I made the right choice. Standing from my desk, I rush out of the office, ignoring the contract and plans I have been working on, and rush to my car.

It doesn’t take me long to get to Lucille’s place, but when I reach her front door, I hear a loud thump. Reaching for my key, I throw the door open to the sight of Emmie falling face-first onto the floor as Lucille stands to the side, looking down at her.

“What the actual fuck?” I demand.

Emmie lifts her head, her eyes widen, and once the shock wears off, I watch as they instantly fill with fake tears. I have zero sympathy for her ass. Nothing. What the fuck is she even doing here?

I open my mouth to ask her when Lucille makes a noise that sounds like a snort. Flicking my gaze to hers, I arch a brow. “I’ll tell you what the fuck,” Lucille says.

I cross my arms over my chest, my gaze flicking from Emmie to Lucille, then back to Emmie, then back to Lucille. I don’t know where to look. I need one of them to start speaking.

“Your girlfriend barged into my apartment and said she pitied me. Then she got pissy when I said that she didn’t need to pity me because I pitied her enough for the both of us,” Lucille says with a shrug, her expression full of boredom and annoyance.

Inhaling a deep breath, I start to speak, but Emmie stands from the floor and interrupts me. “She’s obsessed with me,” Emmie cries out. “She’s been stalking me.”

“Did Lucille hurt you?” I ask.

No way in fuck am I going to give Emmie a pass. Not when it comes to Lucille. Nobody will ever, not ever, make me believethat Lucille is anything other than the perfect woman I love. It doesn’t matter what she does. I will always forgive her.

She’s Lucille.

She’ll always be Lucille.

“No,” Emmie whispers. “But she’s been pretending to be different people and stalking me. It’s scary,” she says, giving me big, sad eyes.

They are fake as fuck, just like her. But I haven’t finished the surveillance job for the drugs and trafficking shit that they have going on at the Willow Club. I can’t do a fucking thing with Emmie until that’s done. She’s far too involved with the shit as it is. If I take Lucille’s side right now, it’s going to piss her off, and that makes what I need to do a hell of a lot harder.

And finding Ravet trumps anything and everything.

Reaching out, I reluctantly wrap my arm around Emmie and pull her to my chest. My gaze never leaves Lucille’s, and I mouth the only words I can—I’m sorry.I don’t know what else to say. I can’t get into a conversation with her about this right now.

Thankfully, she either understands or she concedes. She shouldn’t. She is, without a doubt, the one I choose. She’s messy and unpredictable, but she is also the woman who I have always loved. The one I’ve tried to save from myself, and yet, here she is.

“Let’s get you home,” I murmur to Emmie.

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