Page 65 of Hunted Obsession

He knows what I’m asking. He knows I’m asking him to give up this mission. A mission that we’ve been on for a fucking decade. “Let’s not make any decisions right now. We need to be able to have a conversation in an open forum.”

“I’ll talk to you later. I need to go in and see my woman,” I lie. This bitch is not my woman.

“Watch your back. I’ve got Hale watching you from the office. But seriously, watch your fucking back, Theron.”

Merrick ends the call, and I shove my phone in my pocket before I turn around and make my way into the back of the Willow Club. I’m not sure what situation is going to greet me, but apparently, there’ve been meetings, so there’s that.

This whole thing doesn’t feel right, and maybe my gut feeling is the right one, and I should just end all three of these assholes right now and forget about revenge on Ravet.

Walking into the back hallway, I pause at the silence. It’s completely fucking quiet in here. With the amount of cars parked in the lot, it should not be silent.

I’m about to turn the fuck around and make up some kind of excuse as to why I had to leave, but a throat clearing somewhere in the distance causes me to pause. I watch as Victor Marlowe appears. He’s got a shit-eating grin playing on his lips and seems absolutely fucking electric.

“Marlowe,” I murmur.

“We’re all underground,” he announces. “Come on, it’s a big day here.”

I’m not sure if I should be following behind him. What I should be doing is turning my ass around and getting the fuck out of here. I’m getting really fucking bad vibes about this whole thing. I have been since the moment this shit started.

I should have never taken Emmie home that first night. I should have never continued to fuck her. She targeted me,attempted to manipulate me, and I fucking let her. Initially, I thought that maybe it was all meant to be fate in a way.

Finding Ravet has been our goal for a decade, but now I’m not so sure. If becoming evil to hunt down my abuser is what I have to do, then I’m not sure it’s worth it. But even as I think that, I continue to walk down the narrow staircase with Victor in front of me.

The second door opens without us even knocking. This is very much not like the last time. Victor steps to the side as soon as he makes his way past the doorway. I move behind him, my gaze finding Emmie’s immediately. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, dipping her chin slightly. It’s a silent beg for me to come to her.

I do.

But only because I’m playing the game, one that I am so fucking over playing right now. Walking toward Emmie, I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist. She places her hand on the center of my chest, tipping her head back to smile up at me.

I pretend like I don’t know she wants Lucille dead. I pretend a lot of fucking things. Dipping my chin, I touch my lips to hers, then shift my face backward slightly so I can look into her eyes.

“What’s this?” I ask against her mouth.

“It’s my favorite part of the year,” she whispers. “It’s auction time.”

I open my mouth to ask her what that means but snap my lips closed because I don’t need to ask. Deep down, I already know exactly what the fuck it is, and instantly, my stomach churns.

This is everything I never wanted to be part of again, and yet, I don’t have the choice because this is the only way I’ll be able to find Ravet, and as much as I want to give up, I also want revenge just as badly—maybe even more.

Emmie slips her arm in mine and positions me so that I am standing behind her. It’s the perfect position. My back is to the wall, and I can take in every piece of shit in the room.

Every single one of them.

The men are dressed to the nines. They have on their suits, their watches, and their shoes. All of which are top-of-the-line designers. All of which just mask the devil within. They can dress it up any way they want, but they’re all fucking evil. However, none of them are the men in charge.

These are just men.

They are not Ravet.

They are not the top players.

These are men with money and time. The top players, the ones who are organizing this, they don’t have the time to sit here and show off their money. They’re too fucking busy. They also are too elite to be with the people here who are beneath their station.

The secret door that the women walked out of last time opens, and I watch as boys between the ages of ten and thirteen make their way into the room. They stand in a straight line. There are six of them, and my heart races at the sight.

Six.

Just like us.

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