Page 2 of Dangerous Obsession

Her chest heaves beneath my frame, but she stops fighting me. I lower my hand from her mouth but I don’t let her go. Her breath smells sweet, like she’s had a glass of wine, though I don’t recall having seen her drink this evening. She shifts, pushing at me, but I remain there pinning her to the wall. That car is going to move, and when they do, they’re going to have to go somewhere. We need to get out of her.

“Who are you?”

“You have to come with me, or they’ll kill you.” I keep my voice low and my gun ready.

“Leonid?” she asks, shock seeping into her tone. “Holy hell…” There is no hiding the surprised, not from me or the men down the alley.

I hear shouts erupting and know we’re made. I hook an arm around her waist and we bolt, racing down the rest of the alley. “Goddammit, woman.” She has no clue what she just did by alerting them to our presence. Life could have gone on for her like it was, for me too. She paints, I watch. But now they will hunt us both until they find us, and then they will try to kill us.

“God, Leo, let me go.” Now her fists strike me, pounding my chest as I hold her to my side and move as quickly as I can away from the danger. I hear feet slapping on the pavement first, then a gun goes off. The bullet ricochets and I know I have no choice but to fight. “Oh my god,” Willow squeals, no longer fighting me.

“I told you, they’ll kill you. Move faster,” I order, now letting her go. We can get to my car more quickly if she just runs. I fire over my shoulder and grab her hand. She cries out and covers her ear with the other hand. “Move, woman.” We run and turn back toward the street the gallery is on, enjoying a few seconds of respite from the bullets as the assailants can’t find us.

“Who the fuck are you now?” she calls out, barely keeping up.

“Just hurry up, for fuck’s sake.” Another round goes off over my head and I turn and fire again. My car is within sight; just a block away now. But the men are gaining on us. By the time we reach the car and climb in, they are only a half a block away. I fire my gun out the open window and they duck behind another car to take cover while I fire up my engine.

“Leo, they’re going to kill us!” Willow is hysterical now, clawing at the handle on the door. I reach over and push her head to her knees where she will be safe. The car has bullet proof glass but if these guys have armor piercing rounds she’s a goner.

“Stay down.” I pull out and floor it, firing off a few more rounds, but as I pass the two men cowering behind the front of a van, I meet their gaze. In the light streaming out of the gallery window onto the sidewalk, I know they get a good look—good enough to ID me. I’m fucked now.

I race off into the night, fleeing the scene, but these damn Italians know exactly who I am—or they will when they do even the slightest bit of research. I’m sure they’ve memorized my license plate by now, and if the man in the alley doesn’t die instantly, he will alert them to the fact that he followed the woman from the gallery. She’ll be simple to ID.

“Fuck’s sake, Willow, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers!”

She remains doubled over, crying, and all I can think is that hell just rained down in my life in a way I never expected, bringing heaven directly to my arms again. But fuck if I won’t have an impossible time trying to keep her safe now. She should have just refused that man the coffee.

2

WILLOW

Doubled over, unable to breathe, I hug my knees and pray the shooting stops. I’m frantic, panicked even. The guy just wanted a cup of coffee at the shop around the corner before they closed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve accepted a similar invitation plenty of times over the years and nothing like this happened before. My mind is racing so fast with fear about what just happened and what could have happened had Leonid not showed up when he did. I can’t even think straight.

“Calm down,” he says, but how do I calm down? That man could have raped me—or worse, killed me. I saw the weapon he tried to pull on Leo before that shot went off. He never had a pure intention, despite being friendly and kind with me at the gallery. I can’t calm down.

I feel sick, like I’m going to throw up or something. My breathing is jagged, stutter-breaths making me gag as mucus runs down the back of my throat from so much crying. I gag, coughing and gasping for air, but he just keeps driving like a maniac. I’m thrown into the door, then back so hard I almost land in his lap. It’s not safe. I grasp at the handle again, then the dashboard, and realize I need to buckle in.

The force of gravity on my body makes it hard to straighten in the seat but I manage. My hands shake as I buckle the seatbelt across my body and begin to feel more stable despite his erratic driving. No doubt Leo is trying to evade someone who may or may not be following us. Those men were very angry, shouting and shooting at us. Their friend is probably dead thanks to Leo, and I’m safe. One of those two things makes me very grateful he was there.

I wipe my face clean, trying to avoid vomiting and Leo shoves a handkerchief into my hand. He says nothing while I blow my nose and can finally breathe again. My body feels jittery, like I’ve had far too much coffee and I have energy to run ten marathons. It’s just the adrenaline of the incident. How can he even drive after that? Doesn’t he feel shock setting in like I do?

Pressing my head against the headrest, I look over at him and try to read him. There is no trace of fear on his features—furrowed brow, pursed lips, white knuckles on the steering wheel. He’s angry, not afraid. It’s like nothing fazed him, like he’s used to this or frustrated that it’s happening. I’m confused. Leo is a sweet boy, albeit raised by a very wealthy businessman, so why is he here with a gun in the middle of the night right when I need him?

“I don’t think they’re following us,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t slow the car down. “That’s good.”

“I, uh….” I try to form words, to thank him or question him, but the only thing that escapes is a murmur of unintelligible sounds followed by another desperate attempt on the part of my stomach to turn itself inside out. I grip the door handle again, bracing myself as he barrels through an intersection just after the light turns red. His driving is terrible, and I wonder if he always drives this way or if it’s just because of what happened.

“Slow down…”I manage, but my voice is weak and shaky. I’m not a pushover; I’m a powerful, strong woman. I have to be because I basically live alone with no connections in this world except a few people at the gallery and a friend I made in college. I notice him glance at me then look down at his speedometer. The car slows a little, but the erratic driving continues, weaving in and out of cars, turning without a signal, running red lights.

Leo was my world at one point. I was twenty; he was in his thirties. But we were good together. We dated for two years. We made plans to have a life together. I loved him so much it hurt—in a good way. Until it hurt in a very bad way. I still don’t understand why he sent me away or if he even knows how it destroyed my ability to trust any man for years. I spent five years not even dating. I pushed men away in college and told them it was because I was focused on my art and my career. Really I just didn’t want anything to do with men.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me either, because I can’t seem to find one to give me more than one date anyway. I’m sure it’s me, not them. If it were one or two guys I’d think those guys were jerks, but twelve in the past seven years? No, there is something definitely wrong with me, and maybe that something is why Leonid just dumped me and sent me packing. Why his father made those threats I don’t know either, but the millions he paid me to vanish after saying I made his son weak paid for my college and my current lifestyle.

“You need to take me home.” My voice shakes, betraying my emotions, but I clear my throat ready to stand up to him. I know him. He isn’t like the men on the street back there. He isn’t going to hurt me.

“You’re not going home.” A car pulls out in front of us with oncoming traffic in the other lane of a narrow street and Leo slams on the breaks. I’m glad I strapped in, because even with the belt I’m thrown forward. “Idiot!” he screams as he lays on the horn, but I finally get a little relief from the speeding death trap of his driving.

“Yes, I am going home. You can’t just whisk me away and pretend you own me. Won’t your father kill me if he sees us together? It’s been what, twelve years? You think he changed his mind.” My inner bitch comes out, lashing out at him, but I can’t help it. “Where are you going?”

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