Page 89 of Their Stolen Obsession
“And no one calls youanythingbut us,” Sin added.
The dog barked at its owner. Startled, Liv jumped and grabbed our hands. Sin and I glanced at eachother as we both noticed her strange behavior toward the animal. Time to go.
I whispered in Liv’s ear, “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you home.”
Forty-Six
Her Predator
Sin
Something was off with Liv, and she wasn’t acting like herself. Anytime a damn dog was around, or she heard a bark in the distance, she freaked out. She’d scurry away resembling a frightened cat, and we’d shield her from the fear, but there was only so much we could do. Dogs were everywhere in the city because people loved to have them as pets. But not Liv.
I did a brief Google search and found out she was experiencing cynophobia. A fear of dogs. The trauma from Preston’s pit bulls had bitten in and took hold of Liv. We couldn’t help her, and we needed a professional to fix her.
Shit.
I hated the idea of exposing Liv to others, a damn shrink getting into her head andfucking shit up for us. She was ours. No one would stand in the way of what we had claimed, but she needed help, and we couldn’t patch up the invisible scars. We required a therapist to heal her mind and some kind of cognitive bullshit we couldn’t give to her.
I loathed the plan, despised the thought of Liv sitting down for a fucking therapeutic session we couldn’t be there for and some quack using his mind-fuck mojo on her. The proposition was ridiculous. Completely off the table, but Saint had a great alternative.
We’d go. Sit down for a fucking therapy session with the shrink, and we’d see how it’d go. Much better than persuading Liv to go, and we could remain in full control.
Liv didn’t need captain obvious in her fucking head, reaching around inside of there and botching our plans. We only needed professional help to get through this unexpected hurdle we didn’t want to screw around with. One wrong move, and our little obsession could crack at the seams over goddamn animals with a furry coat, beady eyes, a powerful bark, slobbery kisses, and playful paws.
“Dr. Stevens will be in shortly.” The secretary smiled at me and Saint. “Help yourselves to a snack.”
I could crack her fucking neck. I found her cheerfulness excessive while I felt as if I were in a car precariously balanced on a cliff, ready to tilt over and crash. A shrink’s office gave me the goddamn jeepers creepers.
“Fuck no.” I shook my head.
A chill ran down my spine while Saint helped himself to a Sour Patch Kids pack and chewed on some bubble gum. Fuck me. My best friend always thought about his damn stomach.
Jesus. This was a terrible plan.
“On second thought…” I grabbed Saint by the arm and pulled him toward the door. “I think we’ll get out of here. This was a mistake.”
Saint resisted. “No. We’ll stay. My friend here is suffering from a case of jitters. I’m sure the shrink will have a solution for that.”
“Of course, Dr. Stevens can help.” She smiled.
I wanted to bash her teeth in.
“I’m sure he will.” I bared my teeth.
Her smile faded, and she fled the room.
When the door closed, I grabbed a piece of chewing gum and tore the packet open with my teeth. I spit the wrapper across the room and plopped down on the couch while chomping on the juicy taste in my mouth. I had to calm my nervous twitch and get through this for Liv. She was worth all the sessionswith Dr. Feelgood, even when everything about this situation was crappy.
“I can’t stand this place,” I grumbled.
“Neither can I.” Saint sighed as he sat down beside me, and the cushion bounced. “But we need to do this forher.”
“Fuck.” I ran a hand down my face and sat back against the squeaky leather.
I cracked my knuckles while Saint cracked his neck, and he pressed his gum underneath the table. He ate two more candies while I blew a bubble. A loud pop followed with the tasteless chewing gum stuck on my lips. Shit. I got the stickiness off, and I stuck it beside Saint’s discarded piece. Enough of that bullshit. I was prepared to get this mind-fuck session over with.
A knock sounded at the door.
