Page 11 of Driving My Obsession

“Are you getting in or what?” he asks.

I look back at the club before opening the car door and getting into the passenger seat. As soon as I close the door, the air shifts with an electrified tension that isn’t entirely uncomfortable. But itisweird. Is saving forty-something dollars really worth this risk? The moment when I opened his car door, it was. But now that I’m beside him...

I’m not so sure.

ChapterSeven

Ambrose

Ican’t believe she got into my Jeep again. What part of our previous interaction made that seem like a good idea? I said if I ever saw her again and she was stupid enough to get in my car, then I have no reason to hold back that demon inside me. But my plan disintegrates the moment I see how defeated she looks. She probably wouldn’t fight me off if I tried to kill her right now, and that’s no fun.

The scent of the club clings to her body and hangs like smog in the Jeep. She smells like sweaty old men and cheap perfume. Now it haunts my car, and no amount of air freshener will exorcize the stink from the upholstery.

My eyes glide over her body. Heavy makeup cakes her face, and the rain and sweat have smeared it in some places. Glitter glimmers on her chest, accentuating the curves of her breasts as they bulge above the neckline of her low-cut camisole. She’s not wearing a bra, and her nipples press against the thin fabric and beg for my attention. My eyes roll downward, stopping at the tiny shorts over her fishnet stockings. A vision pops into my head. In it, I’m cutting those slutty, stringy stockings away from her skin.

I force my mind to shift the image to one where I’m cutting away her skin instead of her clothing. That’s better.

I look away and throw the Jeep in drive, heading toward her home without saying a word. If I speak, I’ll say something that will make her hop out before I can do what I need to do. As we travel in silence, my thoughts wander to how fragile her throat would feel in my powerful hands. Maybe I could cover her red hair with a blonde wig, further elevating my revenge fantasy. Make her look like the victim I need but can’t have.

Thinking about her red hair was a mistake. Now I want to know what it feels like when it’s wrapped around my fist as I force her pink lips over my cock and fuck her face. That thought hardens me, and I put my arm on my lap to hide it. Guilt rolls in my gut because of my shameful erection. Despite being the beacon of sexuality, a whore like her shouldn’t arouse me.

I hate that I want her. It pisses me off.

“Why do you do what you do?” I ask. My voice spears through the silence, and she’s taken off guard by the abrupt question.

Her full lips spread as she tries to formulate an answer. “I need the money, and I was born to dance,” she says, toying with the hem of her shirt.

“Born to dance on the laps of disgusting men?”

Her eyes widen, and her chest rises and falls as her breath quickens. “I...I...”

“No one is born to be a whore,” I elaborate.

She scoffs, then finds her voice. “Until six months ago, I danced professionally. Not like this.”

“Why’d you change streams? Seems like you’d want to go from a dirty pond to clear waters, not the other way around.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” she says, her eyes staring out the window. “But I choose to dance, even if it’s lewd. It’s what I was made for.”

Her words tempt the corners of my lips to rise, but I sober. No matter what brought her to that club, it doesn’t negate the fact she’s there. That she’s one of them. She’s tainted now, and no amount of soap can wash away the dirt and decay.

I force my eyes away from her and remind myself why I picked her up after watching her do her filthy dance. That evil side of me hungers to take my knife and rip her apart. Eviscerate her. Fuck her heart while it’s still beating. Cover my imperfections with her skin. Wear her.

A low growl leaves my throat, and I hope she doesn’t hear it. My hand drops to the knife between the seat and the center console, and I toy with the metal blade between my fingers. Killing her has become a fantasy—sick, twisted, and erotic as fuck. I’m close enough that one swipe of my arm could plunge the knife into her neck. It’s exciting.

My eyes fall on her again. The sweet face attached to the body I want to desecrate gives me pause. I hate that she’s a walking contradiction. Her clothes and body advertise her slut status, but that face...It makes me weak. I fuckinghatebeing weak. Instead of lashing my anger outward, I internalize it. I boil myself alive.

I’m on fire.

I want to kill her. I need to. I never had the chance to make my mother pay for what she did to me, but I have the opportunity to send this whore in her place. The overwhelming desire is becoming harder to resist.

But tonight isn’t right.

The buzz of doubt in my gut whips back the beast that wants to rip her apart and feed on her sin. How much longer can I deny its hunger?

* * *

Oaklyn

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