Page 105 of The Dark Obsession

Tyson’s jaw clenches at hearing Raffaele’s distorted voice over the phone, his dark eyes darting to me.

“She’s none of your fucking business.”

With that he hangs up abruptly, throwing the phone across the room. The conversation already forgotten as he connects our foreheads with a heavy sigh.

“Mine.”

Chapter Nineteen

Malory

Early next morning while the front lawn is still sprinkled with dew, my body is covered in goosebumps.

Despite wearing leggings and Tyson’s black hoodie, his hand around mine is the only thing giving me a bit of warmth.

For some reason, the man is always burning up. Like my own personal furnace.

Nuzzling my nose into the neckline, I love that I can smell him on it. And with the thing being ginormous on me, it feels like being wrapped up in a cozy, oversized blanket at all times.

With one last breath of his calming scent, I take my first hesitant step into the garage.

I’ve never really been in this part of the cabin before, wanting Tyson to have his own space. And also because I’m a little intimidated by all the tools lying about.

All around me, everything from axes to saws, hammers and stuff I can’t even name is hanging from the walls. With a set of spare tires and canisters filled with petrol neatly stacked in the far corner.

The air smells like motor oil and saw dust but it isn’t stuffy like I expected. I’m honestly surprised how well organized everything seems.

I wouldn’t have pegged Tyson as the OCD type but given he isn’t guided by emotions, I guess he isn’t chaotic either.

That kind of makes sense in my head.

At the very back right next to a wood working bench, a metal cabinet that looks like an oversized safe secured with a complicated-looking lock towers over everything.

Coming to a stop in front of it, I watch Tyson unlock the thing effortlessly like he’s done it a thousand times. Which is probably the case.

A sharp breath passes my lips when he opens in, revealing what’s hidden inside.

Row after row of weapons. From sniper rifles to handguns with silencers, all kinds of tactical gear, night vision goggles, bullet proof vests and holsters.

It’s a hitman’s wet dream.

An arsenal that could sustain a small army from the looks of it.

“Pick your poison.” He nudges me towards the armory.

Yet all I can do is stare at it dumbfounded, with no idea where to even begin. And a little scared to touch anything in case it will explode.

A heartbreaking grin breaks out on Tyson’s handsome face when he sees my stunned expression.

Someone is clearly proud at his collection.

“How about we start with a small one.” The man takes out a sleek gun that looks like it might actually fit in my hand.

“Fitting for a tiny being like you.” He kisses my temple as I sigh with relief and a glance towards the larger rifles that I wouldn’t even be able to pick up on my own.

“Do not be afraid.” Tyson says calmly, setting the loaded gun into my open palm.

It’s heavier than I expected.

---