Page 15 of Deranged and Obsessed Omnibus: Vol 1

There was no surprise from him, just this stoic, apathetic expression that poured out of him like an ink stain creeping toward me. He just stared at me, and when he stepped forward, the very dim, sickly yellow light of the streetlights filtered over his face.

I recognized him instantly. I’d seen him at the diner—my old place of employmentandthe new one. He was there nightly, never speaking, just watching silently.

And then a slow, unsettling smile spread across his face. “You plan on opening me up with that pocketknife?”

My heart did beat faster then, but again, it wasn’t from fear.

“I’ll give you credit. You’ve got balls, confronting me in the middle of a darkened, empty alleyway,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I’m impressed.”

I gritted my teeth and held the knife up between us. “I want you to stop following me,” I repeated. “Stop fucking coming to where I work. I don’t know what you want, but I don’t fucking care.”

He took a step closer, unbothered by the threat in my voice. “Come on, Isla.”

I didn’t react to him using my name, even though inside, it felt as luxurious as melted butter on lobster.

“I don’t think you want that, not really.” His eyes glinted with something wicked and amused. “Did you like the gift I left you?”

I clenched my jaw and slowly shook my head. I refused to have this weird, macabre conversation with him.

“I thought you’d appreciate the hand of the man who touched you without permission,” he said nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly.

My stomach turned, because I knew he’d been in my apartment, more than likely more than once. He’d taken the hand of a human being who slapped my ass at the diner. Although I didn’t give a shit that motherfucker was missing a hand—maybe even dead—it was creepy and disturbing that anyone would think that was an acceptable gift.

He’d been watching me, creeping into my personal space, my very life.

I clenched the knife tighter, proud that my hand wasn’t shaking. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want from me?”

He kept that smug smile on his face but said nothing. He just had this dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Roman.”

The way he said his name, it felt like it was a lewd comment, a jarring and sharp cut in my core. I refused to give him any satisfaction at acknowledging who he was.

Instead of saying a word, I moved before he could and swiped out at him, slashing the knife across his arm, cutting through the sleeve of his jacket, and biting into his skin.

Although I knew it hurt him, Roman didn’t react. He looked down at the cut, his blood looking black and thick in the shadowy alley as it dripped onto the pavement. For a moment, I froze, staring at the inky trail.

But then he chuckled, low and dark, his gaze locked on mine. Slowly, deliberately, he swiped his fingers through the blood on his arm, and before I could react, he smeared it across his lips. He was on me a second later, pressing my back to the brick once more and slamming his lips on mine.

He shoved his tongue into my mouth and gripped both of my wrists in his hands, lifting them above my head and holding them painfully against the building. The knife fell from mygrasp, and I gasped, feeling the loss of my weapon like it was my only hope.

I gasped, recoiling as I tried to turn my head. But at the first swipe of his tongue against mine, and the flavor of his blood in my mouth, something in me shifted and grew hot. I didn’t know what in the hell was happening, but I wasn’t fighting him any longer.

I was submitting to this monster.

He pulled back, and I was too stunned to do anything but stand there, shocked and dazed, as I watched him gather more blood on his fingers and smear it all over my cheeks, lips, and jaw.

Reality crashed into me, and I pushed him back with all my strength. Maybe he let me. Maybe I took him by surprise. Either way, I was already running in the other direction. All I could hear was my panting and my feet pounding against the pavement.

I didn’t stop to see if he followed. I was sure he would. Maybe I was too stupid, because here I was, heading inside my apartment and slamming the door behind me. I rested back against the door and closed my eyes, shaking my head, even though I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

I stumbled away from the door and turned to stare at it, expecting him to bust through the flimsy shield at any second. But when nothing happened, I exhaled again and moved toward the bathroom. My hand shook as I slid it across the wall and turned on the light switch.

I stared at my reflection, my eyes looking big and wild. I touched my face. His blood was there, smeared in gruesome streaks, staining the lower half of my face. My stomach twisted, a mix of horror and something darker I couldn’t name taking over. I should’ve scrubbed his blood off right away. I should havewashed away the sick feeling of his coppery-flavored kiss from my lips.

Instead, I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, his blood partially dried on my lips, and the vivid reminder of what he’d—we’d—done, spiraling in my mind.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the blood. It was bitter, metallic, and oh-so wrong.

But I didn’t stop until I licked myself clean.

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