Page 143 of Obsession
In this fucked-up relationship, we both know it would be the ultimate betrayal on his part to give in to his darkness.
Maybe it makes no sense. Maybe it’s toxic, sick, twisted, demented, evil. We’re both broken. We’re both damaged beyond repair by our pasts.
Morally gray is not a word in our dictionary. Black is our color. Black is our song. Black is his love note to me.
Despite everything, I know he didn’t kill her.
I know it.
I just do.
My head shakes. “No, you didn’t kill Beatrix.”
Robbie says nothing. Never falters in his stride. I slowly drift to sleep in his arms, with his steady heart beating against my ear. His scent and those of the forest swirl around me as darkness drags me under and steals me from him.
When I wake up the following morning, I’m alone in my bed, and Robbie is gone.
57
ROBBIE
The night of the arrest
They haul me to my feet and drag me away, tearing me from her broken gaze with one final yank on my arm.
Reluctantly, I let them, even as every bone in my body urges me to fight and break free. To end this fucking nightmare once and for all.
Savannah betrayed me and gave me up to the cops. I’m not upset about it. I always knew she would. Always knew she was too good for someone as broken as me. I don’t deserve her, nor do I deserve something as good and pure as the love I see reflected in her tear-filled eyes—a look I would kill for.
Snow shifts underfoot as we walk silently toward the cop cars strategically parked out of sight. They hold my arms in their firm grips, and my breath puffs out in front of me as the cold seeps through my damp clothing.
I try to look behind me one last time, but the officer to my left jerks my arm and huffs, “Eyes forward.”
We turn the corner, and the cars come into view.
“We’ll take it from here,” comes a voice behind us.
A smile creeps on my lips before I quickly rearrange my face to resemble a blank mask.
“You sure?”
“Get out of here,” Detective Chapman orders as he comes to stand in front of me, watching me warily. A tired look crosses his face, and then he tips his chin to his colleagues before grabbing my arm and steering me to the car.
Detective Briem takes up the rear.
I feel his eyes heat my neck when Chapman opens the door to the backseat with a steady grip on my arm.
As I slide inside, our eyes lock and hold.
The air is tense with hatred and anticipation.
He looks away first and then rounds the car, his shoulders stiff and eyes alert. He scans the surrounding area while Chapman straps himself in and turns the ignition.
Detective Briem joins us, then shifts sideways to look at me with narrowed eyes that promise pain and suffering—a promise that makes me chuckle.
Amused, I shake my head.
“You’re sick. You know that, right?” he asks tersely. “My niece is missing, most likely dead, and you’re chuckling?”
