Page 18 of Unholy Obsession

Fuck.

A bruise is already blooming around my eye.

I groan. Goddammit.

But what’s the goddamn point? I root around in my purse for some aspirin and can’t find any. What do I come up with instead? Weed gummies, the magical Delta 9 kind that’s legal here in Texas.

My eye really does fucking hurt. I look around for the security guard, grab a handful of gummies, and stuff them in my mouth. There. That’ll help with the painandthe anxiety.

I yank the biggest pair of sunglasses off the rack and slide them on. They cover most of the bruise. Good enough. Everyone will be wearing extra accessories tonight, right? I’ll leave before things really get started since Domhn’ll be there.

Respectful boundaries and shit.

I tilt my head in the mirror, testing angles. “I’m so fucking respectful.”

I try a pouty face. Bad idea. My lip is swollen, too. Fucking perfect.

Right—concealer. I need concealer.

I yank the sunglasses off and stomp toward the cosmetics aisle. Should’ve grabbed a basket.

EIGHT

BANE

I’mat my usual perch, watching from the shadows and feeling more foolish than usual.

How long am I going to keep this up? Yes, we had one night of connection. And yes, she came to my church pleading for something—salvation or absolution, maybe. But the dazzling siren who commands every room she walks into doesn’t look like she needs saving. She looks untouchable. Unstoppable.

Unlike me.

Oh, I go through the motions: my rigid priest’s routine, my careful sermons, my daily devotions. But the truth? I’m having what the kind-hearted might call acrisis of faith. I don’t doubt God. I only doubt that He ever truly calledme.

Did I turn to the priesthood to atone, or was it just another form of selfishness? Another way to wrest control over the urges that have ruled me since I was old enough to name them? Because if I was ever truly in this life to serve others…

Then why can’t I let go of her?

She haunts me. Possesses me. Consumes my thoughts with a fervor no prayer could ever match.

I’ve stopped dressing it up. Why lie to myself? There’s nothing noble about this. There is no higher calling behind my actions.

There’s onlyobsession.

I’m as twisted as I ever was.

The drizzle starts, soaking through my collar as I keep up my usual vigil across the street from the club. But still, she doesn’t come.

I clench my jaw, already cursing myself for a fool and telling myself that this isit. The last night. I’ll leave this place behind. I’ll let her go.

Then, a car pulls up.

She steps out.

And my whole body lockswith tension.

Something’s wrong.

She stumbles, barely catching herself as the driver steadies her. Moira never stumbles. I’ve watched her for weeks; she’s a force of nature, striding through life with fiery confidence. But tonight, she’s moving like something inside her is broken.

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