Page 2 of Marked for Obsession

Pulse still racing from the sudden rush of adrenaline, she blew out a breath of relief. Filling her lungs fully, Poppy slowly exhaled as she mentally recovered from the near blunder. She glanced to her left, muttering a low curse when she remembered her phone…and the woman who’d been on the other line.

Well, crap.

Knowing Cam, the high-strung woman probably thought Poppy had been attacked by a gang of big, bad, steroid-induced thugs. The thought had her shaking her head with a shaky smile.

Heading into the dark alley, she paid close attention to her sore-but-otherwise-okay ankle as she made her way to where she’d seen the phone land. With help from the streetlamps near both ends of the narrow passageway, Poppy was able to scan the rough pavement around the metal container with relative ease.

The phone was nowhere in sight.

Damn it.

Spinning on the balls of her feet, she was in the middle of another once-over when Saweetie’s song ‘Best Friend’ filled the otherwise quiet night air. It was the ringtone Poppy had set for when Cam called.

And it was coming from somewhere under the dumpster.

Of course.

Reluctantly dropping to the ground, she ignored the tiny rocks digging into her knees and the palms of her hands as she tipped her head to the side in order to get a good look. With her face inches away from the asphalt, hope flourished when she saw what she’d been searching for.

Lying smack dab in the middle of the dumpster, she spotted her phone face-down on the ground. Giving the immediate area a thorough glance to avoid being bitten by an unknown critter in hiding, Poppy cautiously slid her hand into the dark, narrow space.

She stretched as far as she could go. Even scooted closer, her shoulder brushing against the container’s metal edge in her efforts. But it was no use.

Her heart sank when she realized she couldn’t reach it.

Double damn it!

The phone stopped ringing. Tempted to growl in frustration, Poppy knew her only choice was to try to shove the dumpster back a few feet. With that plan in place, she started to push herself to her feet when she heard a door open and shut in the distance, followed by two male voices coming from the opposite end of the alley.

“Jesus, he’s heavier than he looks,” a man she couldn’t see commented.

“Dude, shut the fuck up. Last thing we need is for someone to hear us and come lookin’.”

“Who’s gonna hear us?” The first man spoke up again. “Look around, dumbass. There’s no one else here.”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Poppy peeked around the dumpster in that direction. Confusion turned to horror when her brain caught up with what her eyes were seeing.

Two men were carrying what looked to be a body toward a car parked in the adjacent alley, which ran perpendicular with the street behind her. She could only see the car’s back end, but thanks to the streetlamp on that end of the alley, Poppy could tell the trunk was open.

She glanced at the walking men’s faces. Other than the fact that they were both white and appeared to have dark hair, they were too far away to make out any specific features. Their intentions, however, were crystal clear.

Terror spiked the icy blood rushing through Poppy’s veins. Frozen by fear, she held her breath as she watched the horrific scene unfold before her.

The men struggled to carry the third man—a man who was either unconscious or dead—toward the awaiting trunk. Light reflected off of something lining the interior.

Though Poppy could only see a small section, whatever it was appeared to be slick and sort of shiny. Kind of like the plastic tarp her dad often used to cover their wood pile back home, when he knew it was going to rain.

The men reached the car. The guy holding the unmoving man’s ankles started to put his half of the limp man’s body into the trunk. At the last second, the other man—the one with his arms hooked beneath the body’s arm pits—hesitated.

“Wait!”

The man carrying the lower half shot his partner what Poppy assumed was an angry glare. “For what? You wanna ask him if the accommodations are up to his standards?”

“No, asshole,” the other man growled. “I just don’t want to get a bunch of blood in the trunk of my car.”

Blood?

Poppy’s heart thumped unforgivingly against her ribs. Her gaze lowered to the man in their arms.

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