Page 8 of Killer's Obsession
“It’s okay if you don’t want to show me,” he says, reading my hesitation.
I swallow hard, then make a decision. If I’m going to get my life back, I have to do the things I don’t want to do. I have to face my fears. “No, it’s okay. You can look.”
His eyes hold mine captive. “Are you sure?”
I nod. Go big or go home, right?
He takes the book and flips through the pages slowly, studying each drawing with genuine interest. Nothing in his expression suggests pity or concern—just honest appreciation.
“These are incredible,” he says after flipping through a few drawings of the beach. “You have a gift.”
I did. Not that I ever wanted to sound snotty about it. But I’d been drawing since I was a child. “I was in art school,” I admit, revealing another piece of my past. “Before... everything. I wanted to work in a gallery someday. Maybe even have my own show.”
He looks over at me. “You still can.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That dream is over.” It was stolen from me. I don’t want any part of the life I had before I came here. I’m not that woman anymore.
His brows draw together. “Memphis?—”
“I’m tired,” I force a smile, feeling overwhelmed.
He studies me for a long moment. When he sees the plea on my face, begging him to let it go, he nods. “Yeah. It’s late.”
I scoot back on the bed, making room for him as he stands and strips off his cut, hanging it carefully on the hook attached to the back of the door.
His t-shirt follows, revealing the muscles and tattoos on his back and shoulders.
I’ve seen him shirtless every night for three weeks, but my mouth still waters at the sight.
I quickly look away when he moves into the bathroom. The sound of running water follows soon after.
It’s the same routine every night when he comes back from work. A routine I’ve come to count on.
Pulling the covers up to my neck, I curl onto my side facing the wall. As he’s showering, I go over everything he said earlier.
It’s up to me to reclaim my life. If I want more, I have to take back my power.
The bathroom door opens, and the light from inside is extinguished. I listen to the sound of him dropping his wallet and the chain that connects it to his jeans on the nightstand. Then the mattress dips under his weight as he slides in behind me. A strong arm comes over my middle, and I’m pulled against his chest.
“Sleep, Pet.”
I close my eyes. With him at my back, I feel safe—protected.
Chapter Three
Killer
I wake with Memphis' little body curled into my side and her head resting on my chest. Her soft curves pressed against me is pure fucking torture.
I run my hand over her silky black hair, careful not to wake her. She breathes evenly, still deep in sleep.
Not a single nightmare last night. It’s the first time since she came here that she hasn’t woken in the middle of the night, screaming and covered in sweat.
Progress.
She hasn’t told anyone what happened to her down in that basement. Every time I try to get her to open up to me, she changes the subject.
Mac says not to push her. That she’ll talk when she’s ready. But I’m not so sure.
