Page 52 of Deadly Obsession

She’s a tornado of emotions in a confined space. Her emotions circle like a vortex, sucking everything inside it, including me. She consumes me, and I embody her pain as if it’s my own, making me want to do anything to make the weight of it stop.

I feel her eruption of anger, the crushing sadness, and, worst of all, the emptiness left behind.

She paces like a prowling animal. My chest stings from her punches, but it’s what I deserve. Even though I had second thoughts and tried to stop her, it was too late. As soon she hit that first button, Alaric was on his way.

I should have known better than to follow Alaric’s orders. Haven’t I learned from the past that he will say anything to get what he wants? Now, I’m locked in a space with a pocket rocket ready to launch.

“They wouldn’t do this,” she murmurs, shaking her head. She’s incoherent, saying long trailing sentences under her breath that don’t make sense. “This can’t be happening. They wouldn’t… I don’t…”

I sit down as she thumps on the door again. It’s pointless, and she’ll tire soon enough.

“Let me out!” Ivy yells. “Alaric! Stephanie!”

They won’t answer her calls. Not yet, anyway. If they left her with me, they had to be willing to let her die. For all they knew, I could have wrapped my hands around her throat the moment they threw her inside.

I doodle to distract myself from the shooting pain in my leg. The bullet went deeper than I thought. Stephanie’s an excellent shot.

I prefer working with paint. I like how oils glide and mix over a canvas, but the scratchy Biro on cheap paper matches our circumstances. I draw nothing in particular, swirling shapes that ground me. Art keeps me sane and helps me think straight.

I remember when Freddie told me I could buy art for the Dukes’ base. He and the others don’t understand art or see its importance, but I do. It helps you make sense of things. It makes youfeel.

Instead of going to expensive galleries, I prefer buying art from those who sell it at markets for less than the price of a bottle of wine. I spent time on the streets, searching for the next Picasso, seeking potential. I sense the artist’s emotions behind their brush strokes. Abstract art isn’t a case of spraying colours to see what works together, contrary to what most people think. It’s purposeful. It has meaning. That’s when I started making art of my own.

After a while, I started selling it on the down low—not that I wanted any credit. It’s not about the money for me, it’s about the process, which is why I protect my anonymity. The Dukes’ base houses my personal collection. They know the paintings are by a mysterious artist called Raptor, but they don’t know he’s my alter ego…

While Ivy keeps shouting, drawing allows me to drown her out. Eventually, her voice turns gravelly. When she finally gives up, she turns her attention to me.

“You’re drawing?” Her jaw drops in disbelief. “Now?”

What else do I have to do? My entertainment options are limited, and I’ve already decided that I’m not playing the Killers Club’s sick game. I won’t kill her; I’ve already got too much blood on my hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demands. “Why aren’t you doing something? One of us has to die!”

I shrug. I made peace with my death the moment they took me. Death doesn’t scare me. Living is scarier. It’s a miracle my heart is still beating at all.

“You’ve given up.” She snatches the paper from me and tears it in half, ruining my sketch. I won’t kill her, but she still makes me fucking angry. “Aren’t you at least going to try?”

I rise to my feet, and my nostrils flare as I stare at the ripped paper.You shouldn’t have done that.

“Aren’t you mad?” She pushes for a reaction. Her face shines with sweat from banging on the door so hard that her knuckles have minor cuts over the bone. “Don’t you want to get out of here? You know what you have to do!”

She has a fucking death wish, and my inaction only infuriates her. She’s like Callen. If he were here, he’d give her the fight she wants, but I won’t give in.

“Do it!” she screams. Her voice cracks for a second. “Don’t just stand there staring at me with that look on your face.”

What look?

“You’re fucking impossible!”

We don’t need to use words to communicate anymore. She understands what I’m saying through my expressions alone, which is rare. It took the Dukes a while to speak my language. Seb picked it up quicker than the others, but it’s different with Ivy. She sees straight into my mind.

I don’t know what you want from me.

She wails in exasperation, then grabs my hands. They’re still streaked with my blood. I’ve stemmed the flow for the time being, but if I don’t get medical attention, it’ll likely get infected, and it’ll kill me if a psycho redhead doesn’t kill me first.

She guides my hands to her throat, unravels my fingers and places them around her neck.

“See?” she taunts. She doesn’t back down easily. “It’s not that hard. All you have to do is squeeze.”

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