Page 60 of Driving My Obsession

He motions toward the bag, and I look at him for a moment before opening it. Pink tissue paper fills the inside. I move it aside and find a gorgeous set of green lingerie. The color will complement my skin instead of washing it out like the harsh blacks I usually wore at work. The low-cut thong and silky garter skirt will hide absolutely nothing, but I guess that’s kind of the point.

“Go shower and get ready, and I’ll show you what it’s for,” he says, and his words leave no room for argument. His excited expression draws a smile from me, despite my confusion.

I put the lingerie into the bag. “What about the Darby situation? Did you handle that?”

“I put in a call to a couple of brothers who...handle things. They fight at the club sometimes, so they already know what a piece of shit Darby is. They’re probably in his office right about now, having a nice littletalk.”

That’s all I want to know about that. If Ambrose says it’s handled, that’s good enough for me.

I take a quick shower and dress in something comfortable. I don’t know what Ambrose has planned, but I can only hope a pair of shorts and a tank top will be suitable. He doesn’t seem like the type to dine at a fancy restaurant, so I’m probably fine. Before I leave the bedroom, I tuck the acorn into my pocket. I’ve come to see it as my little good luck charm, which I realize is weird since it was once used to terrify me. On our way out the door, he grabs the bag containing the lingerie. I eye him, still confused about what a bra and panty set has to do with where we’re going.

“Just wait and see,” he says with a smirk that makes me want to strip where I stand.

We get in the Jeep and drive until we hit a familiar part of town. My curiosity shifts to discomfort when I realize where we’re going.

“Ambrose...” I whisper as we drive down the familiar road toward the club. “If you’re going to the club, it doesn’t open for several hours and I have no way to get in.” It’s early afternoon. Jake doesn’t unlock the doors until five.

He just keeps driving.

I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right. He hasn’t said anything more about killing me, but that’s what I fear he plans to do. The club would be the perfect place to sacrifice me. It’s the reason he chose me in the first place, and it’s the fountain that spews forth all his hatred for women in my line of work.

He pulls into the empty parking lot, and my hand trembles on the armrest between us.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

My eyes jump to his.

“I told you I have something to give you,” he pushes.

I rattle the bag on my lap. “Yeah, you gave it to me already.”

He shakes his head, and a low laugh rattles his chest. “Oh no, that’s not foryou. That’s forme.”

My leg shakes as anxiety courses through me. Now the bag makes sense. He’s going to dress me up like the whore he always says I am, then he’s going to murder me in the club. I don’t want this to be my end. We’ve come too far in this fucked-up little relationship for him to kill me in a place we both hate.

“Please don’t kill me, Ambrose,” I whimper as I look into his eyes.

“Kill you?” he says. He gets out of the Jeep and comes to my side, then opens the door. He leans down. “I’m not going to kill you, tragedy. As much as I’d love the meaning behind ending you in the place where my mother used to work, I have no intention of killing you here. Or at all.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the back door. It’s propped open with a large stone, which is weird for this time of day. We enter the dressing room, and I glance at my station. My makeup and brush are missing, probably stolen by one of the other girls who considered it abandoned. It was, I guess.

Ambrose removes the stone from the door, and it closes. A scream from somewhere in the club permeates the silent air. I recognize the voice. My eyes roll up to Ambrose, and my head starts to shake before I can even process what I’m hearing.

“What did you do?” I ask, though I really,reallydon’t want to know. Even so, I have the terrible feeling he’ll show me regardless of what I want.

He pushes the bag into my hands. “Put this on. When you’re ready, I want to see you on the stage. I want to see you dance for me, tragedy.”

I’m too dumbfounded to speak, so I only nod. He leaves the dressing area, and I pull out the lingerie. As I slip off my clothes and dress in this outfit, I worry whatever’s about to happen will trigger Ambrose to do more than he’s planned. Another scream pierces the silence as I tighten the bra straps so that my breasts rise and pull together. I close my eyes. I have to trust him. He plans to hurt someone, but it won’t be me. I run my hand down the garter skirt and check myself in the mirror.

For the first time in this dressing room, I feel beautiful.

My eyes fall to the heels beside my station, and I slide my feet into them. The final touch.

I make my way to the stage and step onto it. With the lights in my eyes, it’s hard to see, but I eventually realize what’s happening as my vision adjusts.

A single chair sits in front of the main stage, and Jake is tied to it. Ropes wrap around his wrists, and another set binds his abdomen to the back of the chair, keeping him upright. More circle his ankles and hold his feet against the legs. A pair of panties have been fashioned into a gag over his mouth. When he sees me, he wiggles against his restraints and nearly tips over.

Ambrose strides toward him and pulls the fabric from his mouth.

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