Page 32 of The Dark Obsession

Not that I’m smug about it or anything.

Tyson is a vault, with the phone he barely uses tucked in the back pocket of his cargo pants along with the car keys.

I know that because I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to grab them this entire time. It’s a futile effort though.

He’s overly aware of my every move to the point I can’t even reach for a glass of water before he’s handing it to me.

And I refuse to admit how my heart leaps to my throat every time he does things like that.

“What do you want to know?” The smooth, deep voice breaks my train of thought.

“I don’t know, anything really.” I shrug. “What do you do? You can’t be living like this all the time.” I ramble as my expectations that he’ll actually tell me anything about himself dwindle by the second.

“I’m a hitman.”

My jaw drops.

Come again?

I scan his face, searching for a twitch of his lips, for any sign that he’s not serious. Only to find none.

Not a trace of emotion is marring his sharp features as his ministrations on my feet continue like he didn’t just drop that.

This guy is an actual assassin, a killer for hire.

And why does that kind of make sense?

“I’ve been taking on contracts since I was thirteen. My uncle took me under his wing, taught me everything I know. I guess he was trying to give my life a purpose and this was the only way he knew how.” There’s something vacant in his gaze, something darker hidden in the vast emptiness.

“You m-murder people for money?” My voice breaks since I already know the answer.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Tyson drawls. “The world is filled with cruel bastards, each of them more than deserving of a slow, painful death. I just happen to be the executioner.”

He turns to me, our eyes locking as a cold shiver runs down the length of my spine.

“The worst of them all, little one.”

I’m frozen in place, gaping at him as I struggle to grasp the meaning of his words, the clear warning that should make me want to run and hide.

But I don’t.

This actually explains a lot about my abduction, or why I never hear him enter a room before I feel his presence at my back as he wraps an arm around my waist seemingly out of nowhere.

What does that say about me that I’m letting a cold-blooded killer touch me like that?

I should be disgusted, utterly horrified and yet there’s barely a trace of those feelings within me.

Instead, a profound sense of understanding washes over me.

It all makes a bit more sense now.

A small piece of him falling into place.

“Don’t ponder it too much. It’s just business.” Tyson shrugs, leaning deeper into the cushions with a low sign.

“If I didn’t do it, someone else would.” His gaze lingers on mine, reading my every expression like I’m an open book. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings in the first place but with him, it’s impossible.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say that it isn’t fucking satisfying seeing my bullet pierce some asshole’s head, that to some extent I don’t get off on it.”

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