Page 27 of Driving My Obsession

No one has ever depended on me like this before. What would she think if she knew her protector was also her tormentor? I can’t let her find out. Not until the end. If she isn’t who I think she is, if she isn’t the perfect target I’ve built her up to be, I’ll have to let her go. But if she is...

There’s only one way to find out. I need to test her.

ChapterSeventeen

Ambrose

Aslight thrill runs through my bones when she directs me to turn onto a dirt road ahead—I don’t get many chances to test the Jeep’s off-road skills in the city—but the feeling is short lived. The red dirt has been packed to smooth perfection without a mudhole in sight. How fucking boring. Even the curves in the narrow path were drawn into the countryside with ease of travel in mind.

We eventually turn off the main strip of dirt and meander down a gravel driveway for nearly a mile. Trees choke out the light, casting dark shadows over the path, even though it’s daytime. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and it’s perfect.

The forest breaks apart, and the house comes into view. Her parents must have an endless store of money if they can afford this property, especially since it sits on the edge of a massive lake. It seems to be the only house in this slough. I’ve never seen anything like it, which isn’t surprising. None of the foster parents I’ve lived with had enough money to stay in a place like this for a night, let alone owning such a cabin. Well, maybe they had enough money, but I certainly never saw any of it. I was lucky to receive a sliver of the allotment the state paid them for my care.

I park near the wooden front porch and get out of the Jeep, grabbing my bag from the back before following her to the front door. She pulls a key from beneath the doormat, and I roll my eyes internally. No wonder she was dumb enough to keep her house key beneath the bench cushion at her trailer. She inherited the bad habit from her parents.

Judging by the stuffy air when we step into the cabin, this place hasn’t seen a visitor in a very long time. After adjusting the thermostat, Oaklyn leads me up a creaky staircase and down a hallway. Instead of family pictures, only works of art line the walls. How goddamn pretentious.

She motions to a door near the end. “You can stay in there,” she says. “It’s the guest bedroom. We don’t have wi-fi or cell service out here, but you can always watch television if you get bored.” She looks around. “Well, if my parents still have the satellite connected.”

I nod, but I have other plans regarding entertainment while I’m here. And all of them involve her. I don’t want her to get too comfortable here. Aside from the test I’ve planned, I need to remind her that her stalker could be anywhere. She needs to remember she’s never safe if I want things to work the way I’ve pictured. I pull a switchblade from my pocket and push it toward her.

“What’s that?” she asks. She turns the handle between her fingers.

“Protection,” I say. “If your stalker has a way of tracking you, he might know you’re here. We won’t be in the same room, so this might buy you some time if he gets to you before I can.”

Her eyes widen as she processes what I’m saying, and it takes every ounce of strength in my body to stop the laughter from rising out of my chest. Her stalker didn’t need to track her when she literally called him for a ride. It’s too perfect.

“Thanks,” she mutters. Gripping the blade in shaking hands, she turns for her room.

I step into the bedroom I’ve been assigned and flick on the light. A lazy ceiling fan churns above the bed. I open a window beside the dresser, but I’m not only interested in getting some fresh air into the room. I need to find a silent way to get to the lower floor, and I’d prefer to avoid those loud-ass stairs. A half roof slopes a few feet below the window. Perfect.

After placing my bag beside the bed, I lie back and wait for nightfall. If I want my plan to have any chance of working, I’ll need the darkness. Oaklyn knocks on the door to ask if I want any food from the pantry—dry and canned goods are our only option until we can visit a nearby store—but I tell her no thanks. I’m too excited to eat. Tonight will finally put any doubt to rest. Either she deserves to be the outlet for my long-awaited revenge or she doesn’t. And I don’t know which one I want it to be.

I have carried this anger for my mother for far too long. It’s a bag of bricks on my shoulders, and each time I think about what that woman did to me, I add another to the growing stack. When my mother fashioned her bedcovers into a noose and ended her own life, she piled on a few more and denied me the chance to take the revenge I’m owed. The burden is too much, and I’m ready to shed this weight.

But I’m not ready to say goodbye to Oaklyn.

My stomach sours with this admission. If she hadn’t planted this doubt in my mind, I wouldn’t find her so alluring. She’s a whore. She removes her clothes and allows men to feel her up for money. Her reasons for doing so are compelling, but they aren’t good enough. Still, I can’t stop this nagging feeling that I’ve gotten something wrong, and I can’t move forward until I know for sure.

I mull these things over until the sun has slipped far below the horizon. By the time it grows dark enough to get started, I’m nearly frothing at the mouth with anticipation.

I ease out of the open window and creep to the edge of the slanted half roof, then drop to the ground. I’ll use the ladder I spotted near the matching outbuilding to get back up there if I can’t manage it on my own.

Before I enter the downstairs, I go to my Jeep for the little bag of acorns I’ve stashed beneath the driver’s seat. If everything goes how I think it will, I’ll need to leave a little souvenir behind for her. I grab my knife and tuck its sheath into my pants. The thought of her panic when she realizes her stalker has followed her all the way to this cabin—when she realizes her stalker isinthe fucking cabin and he drove her here—sends a rush of adrenaline straight to my brain.

Using the key beneath the mat, I let myself in through the front door and search for the breaker box. I find it in the laundry room and cut the power to the house. Now it’s a race against time.

Even if a home seems silent, it’s never as quiet as when all power has ceased to flow through its walls. That silence is loud enough to wake even the lightest sleepers. I can only hope she tries to talk herself down from panic before coming into my room to ask for help. I guess I should also hope she comes to me for help. Otherwise, my plan was for nothing. She seems like a pretty independent woman, bound and determined to do things for herself, but she’s also in a precarious situation. I’ve planted enough fear into her heart, so she’ll likely be too terrified to search for the source of the problem on her own.

I exit the house and lock the door, then slip the key beneath the mat. As I race around the side of the building, I consider grabbing the ladder but decide to try pulling myself onto the roof via a jump first. My choice is the right one because I reach the roof’s edge with ease and pull myself onto the rough shingles with minimal effort. My muscles are good for more than throwing punches.

Back in the bedroom, I stash the bag of acorns within my bag and flop onto the mattress. I try to slow each breath that pours in and out of my lungs. A light sweat slicks my back and forehead, but I can blame that on the temperature. Then again, if I’m so overheated, why would I still be fully dressed? I rip off my shirt and pants and toss them to the floor.

And I wait.

* * *

Oaklyn

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