Page 117 of Shadowed Obsession

Goddammit, César. If I die, I will haunt you.

The steps grow closer, and I find a man dressed in black—who is not my César—staring back at me with dead eyes visible through the holes in his mask. I take off running out of the kitchen, and he’s on my fucking heels. He grabs at me, but I don’t relent. Ihaveto get upstairs and fast.

49/

fight or flight of stairs

Deirdre

10:59 p.m. | ‘the last, last incident’

Adrenaline flows through my veins as I dash up the stairs. He grabs ahold of my leg to stop me, and I hold on to the banister as I kick, but he’s too strong.

I am not weak. I may not be a killer, but I am not against a good fight.

He tightens his grip around my leg and drags me down the steps, my kicks are wild and useless, but I don’t stop trying.

On the way down, my eyes scan everything in hopes of finding anything I can use to subdue him.

I need to get upstairs.

We’re about to pass an end table of small plants, some have concrete pots. I swipe my arms out to get one in my grasp. My hands are sweaty, but I manage to maintain my grip on one.

His attention stays forward as he drags me through the kitchen, seemingly taking me through the garage door.

I can do this, I tell myself.You are not dying today.

I chuck the concrete planter at him, and when it makes contact with his head, he screams in agony. His hands rush to assess the blow, and he releases his hold on my leg.

I don’t waste a minute charging back where I came, and he roars after me, his steps quick, but not as fast as before. I hike my knees up these long fucking stairs that I had to have for aesthetic purposes, and he unfortunately catches up, only a few steps behind me as I beeline for the top.

My bedroom door is in my line of sight when I feel his grip around my waist pulling me back down the stairs. His hold is awkward and provides enough room for me to shove my elbow into him, and I do. He groans, but it’s not enough.

I cannot let him pull me away from these stairs again. I rear a hook, and the punch lands against his temple. My knuckles crunch, but I keep flailing and punching until he finally drops me.

“Crazy fucking bitch,” he wails, rushing to cradle his head in his hands.

I dart up the stairs with no regard for him when I touch the doorknob handle, rip it open, and lock it behind me.

I stop in front of the safe and carefully remove the family photo covering it to lean it against the wall. My hands tremble as I punch in the code.

Three, nine, nine, one, zero, three, five, zero.

The hiss of the door releasing washes over me as my guns stare back at me, lined up and ready to be chosen. I take a deep breath, retrieve two handguns, and press the door shut, listening for the lock to click before I hide in my en suite.

I lost my phone amidst the fighting downstairs, but luckily my iPad is on the counter from watching a beauty tutorial earlier.

Being a girly girl might save my life.

I swipe to unlock and call César, but he doesn’t answer. I try

again, but I get nothing. So, I send a message to Regina, and

wait.

Someone broke into my house and I am locked in the bathroom.

I don’t need help, and you better not call my fucking dad or Darius.

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