Page 125 of Bonds of Obsession

I pull up in Quinn’s car outside Murphy’s Bar, remembering the matchbook I found in Emmett’s place. The parking lot reeks of exhaust and piss, and I can hear the noise of distant traffic mixed with 80’s rock that’s blaring from a jukebox inside.

I stick to the shadows, keeping my head down and avoiding the neon lights until I get to the grimy windows and take a look inside. The place is busier than I thought it would be, but that just works to my advantage.

The door squeals on rusted hinges as I step inside. Music pounds through blown speakers, and the floor is sticky enough to grab at my boots with every step. I’ve been known to hang out in some sketchy fucking places, but this? This joint reeks of stale beer and cheap cologne—exactly the kind of place I’d expect to find my least favorite walking asshole.

Almost subconsciously, I’ve already started doing a quick sweep, cataloging exits and threats as easily and naturally as breathing. There are two doors besides the main entrance, and a handful of bikers who are focused on a game of pool for now, but might cause me some trouble later.

Past the pool table, there are at least three working girls looking for johns. And there, perched on a barstool like he’s above it all, is my target.

Emmett.

Something dark and primal spreads in my chest. I like to think of it as the predator in me, and he’s always waiting just beneath the surface to come alive at the sight of my prey. My jaw clenches as I watch him trying to hit on some blonde at the bar, leaning in too close like the desperate fuck he is. His hands gesture wildly as he talks, probably lying about how important he is with the Tyrants these days.

He probably used to do the same fucking thing when he was with Enigma.

I slide through the crowd until I find a shadowy corner where I can watch him. This is what I do best. It’s what I was made for.

The blonde is already looking for an escape, and her eyes keep darting toward the bathroom. Perfect. Once she makes her move, I’ll make mine. And then Emmett’s going to learn what happens to rats who bite the hand that once fed them.

A cruel smile tugs at my lips as I settle deeper into my corner. I can be patient for now. Pretty soon, it’ll be time to show this fucker exactly why Quinn chose us over him.

Watching Emmett try to work his game makes my stomach turn. He’s got his elbows on the bar, leaning into the blonde’s space like he thinks he’s some kind of player. It’s the same way he used to hover around Quinn, always finding excuses to be near her or touch her arm. Any fucking thing to try to prove he was worthy of her attention.

“You should see how the Tyrants run things now,” he says, his voice carrying over the shitty music. “Not like before. We’re making real moves.”

Fucking traitorous rat.

The blonde, to her credit, isn’t buying the shit he’s selling. She keeps checking her phone, probably counting the minutes until she can bail. Emmett orders another drink, trying to keep her there, and I can see his desperation growing. Fucking weak little bitch of a man.

My hands clench. It would be so easy to walk up behind him and slam his face into the bar. Fuck, I could actually get off on watching his teeth scatter across the sticky floor.

That’s a fantasy I might have to indulge sometime. Maybe another night.

For now, I have my orders not to take things too far. Not until he can lead us to Ambrose.

The blonde finally stands and mumbles something about the bathroom. Emmett’s shoulders slump as she walks away. He’s so fucking pathetic. He signals the bartender for another drink, no doubt planning to drown his rejection in cheap whiskey.

I wait until the blonde is halfway down the hall before I move. The crowd parts around me like they can sense the violence I’m planning. Good. They should.

She’s pulling out her phone when I catch up to her. Years of hunting practice keep my footsteps nearly silent in spite of the fact that I take up most of the room in the narrow hallway.

“Hey.” I keep my voice low so she’s the only one who can hear me. She jumps, but doesn’t scream. Another good sign. “Want to make some quick cash?”

Her eyes narrow, assessing me. She’s smart and professional. I like that. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” I pull out five twenties, crisp and new. “Get that guy at the bar to follow you out back. That’s it.”

She glances at the money, then back at me. “The chatty one? With the shitty pickup lines?”

“That’s him.”

A small smile plays at her lips as she takes the cash with no other questions asked. This isn’t her first rodeo. “Give me two minutes. There’s a door by the dumpsters.”

I nod, already moving toward the back exit. This is why I love working alone. No messy explanations. No hesitation. Just the clean efficiency of the hunt.

I push open the back door and step into the dark alley. There’s plenty of garbage and piss and a few rats, but no other witnesses. Nobody comes back here except to score some drugs or to have a quick, drunken fuck.

Or maybe to die.

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