Page 26 of The Dark Obsession

After leading me through the greenhouse that’s almost bursting at the seams with greenery, we walk off the property towards the sound of running water. Towards a creek that’s winding its way down from a spring in the nearby mountains.

All this time, Tyson hasn’t let me go of my hand, keeping it neatly trapped in his. Not that I’ve tried letting go either.

He tells me every last detail about this place, making it evident how much time and care he invested into building it. Going as far as showing me where he laid pipes to have running water in the cabin, even installing filters to make it safe for us to drink.

Then the man moves on to solar panels and other off-grid things that I don’t even attempt to understand.

Since he still hasn’t bothered with a shirt, his chiseled chest further distracting me from whatever he’s saying. My focus involuntarily shifts towards the trail of black hair running down the middle of his sculpted abdomen before getting cut off by his waistband.

Whenever I think he’s not watching me, I discreetly study the intricate tattoos that cover most of his upper body, telling myself that it’s only because of my appreciation for art.

His right arm has a full sleeve, with elements of nature scattered in between while a detailed replica of a rifle covers Tyson’s other side, right over his ribs.

As I slow my steps, walking closely behind him whenever the trail grows too narrow, a skull stretching across his whole back and broad shoulders looks back at me. It’s eyes black pits of nothingness.

I’d be terrified if I wasn’t so damn fascinated by every new layer of this man that I get to unravel.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with us walking around the edge of the thick forest, our fingers firmly intwined.

I don’t know what to make of the whirlwind inside of me but I’ve long given up on trying to resist it.

Nero strolls contently before us, sniffing at every fallen leaf while I listen to the occasional flutter of wings above, raising my head towards the wild birds.

It’s so peaceful.Making me almost forget about the circumstances that brought me here not even half a day ago.

I find myself enjoying Tyson’s deep soothing voice as we fall in step beside each other.

The feeling of being his captive a distant memory.

Chapter Six

Malory

The afternoon sun casts long shadows as we enter the cabin, kicking our shoes off by the door.

I’ve always preferred being barefoot inside, it’s a lot cozier that way.

“What would you like for dinner?” Tyson asks casually, heading straight for the fridge.

“What are you having?” I counter as I awkwardly hover near the entrance, unsure what to do with myself yet again.

“I stocked the pantry before I brought you here so feel free to choose pretty much anything.” He shrugs and I wonder if he’d let me cook for myself. I don’t want to bother the man with my dietary choices even though he brought this upon himself.

“If you need anything else, tell me or write it down.” My captor nods towards a magnetic notepad on the fridge.

“And I don’t mean just food. In case I missed any toiletries or clothes.” His gaze softens when he sees me looking mighty uncomfortable, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, and it does something to my insides.

“There are some books and art supplies that could interest you over there.” The man points a thumb over his shoulder, towardsthe built-in bookcase under the stairs and my eyebrows shoot up. Talk about being treated like royalty.

“Y-you didn’t have to do that.” I stammer over my words.

“I want you to feel at home here, to have everything you could want. There’s no arguing about this, Malory.” Not a morsel of him indicates that he isn’t one hundred percent serious about this.

Shaking off my stupor before I can start overthinking what all of this means, I open the fridge only to immediately go back to being completely dumbfounded.

It’s filled to the brim with fruit and veggies, there’s even tofu and a giant tub of hummus. And olives, I adore olives.

“You’re vegan?” I ask incredulously, searching for any trace of something that was once alive.

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