Page 140 of Unholy Obsession

“But you don’t get that,” Quinn continues, her voice almost gentle now, almost kind. “No one’s coming to save you from this.” She leans in close, lips brushing my ear. “And youknow it.”

My hands tremble. I curl my fingers tighter, nails biting into my palms.

“Say it.”

I shake my head.

She sighs, almost pitying. “What are you afraid of? That saying it out loud will make it real?”

I don’t answer.

She crouches again, so close I can feel the heat of her body, the sharp scent of her perfume. “It’s already real. She’s gone. She left you. She walked away, and you let her.”

Something inside me snaps. My hands slam down on my thighs, my breath rushing out like I’ve been punched in the gut.

Quinn smiles, slow, triumphant. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

My pulse roars in my ears.

“You don’t need my hand on you,” she continues, her voice softer now. Deadlier. “You need to sit in this pain. You need to feel it. Acknowledge it. Stop trying to outrun it.”

She paces around me, taking her time, savoring it. “That’s why she left, isn’t it? You tried to make her something she wasn’t. And when she finally had enough, when she walked, you came here—hoping I’d erase her from your skin.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“But she’s still there, isn’t she?” Quinn crouches down in front of me again, lifting my chin with two fingers. “Every inch of you is still hers.”

I grind my teeth. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely,” she purrs. “Because I see you, Bane. And I know this won’t be the last time.”

I rip my face away from her grip, my entire body tight with restraint.

She leans in, almost gently. “You will sit with this pain. You will feel every second of it. The weight of her absence. The finality of it.” She smiles like she’s handing me my death sentence. “And when you’ve had enough of pretending, when you’re ready to actuallyfaceit, maybe then—maybe—you’ll finally understand why she left.”

I breathe hard through my nose, my body shaking with something violent and raw.

“Until then?” Quinn rises to her full height, looking down at me like I’m already broken.

“You’ll be back,” she says simply. “Again and again. Because you don’t want release. You want punishment.” She leans in one last time just to whisper, “But your true punishment is facing the pain inside you.”

Then she turns and walks away, leaving me on my knees, drowning in everything I refuse to say.

FIFTY-ONE

MOIRA

The speedometer needlequivers just under a hundred.

The engine roars beneath me, the whole car vibrating as if even the machine itself is terrified of the way I’m treating it. But the road stretches long and busy ahead of me. Red taillights flicker in the distance. Brake lights flare as I weave between cars.

But I don’t slow down. I don’t lift my foot off the gas. I don’t even blink.

I can’t. Because if I blink, if I stop, if I even let myself breathe too deeply, I’ll feel it.

The gaping, sucking chest wound where my heart used to be.

I did the right thing.

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