Page 12 of Dangerous Obsession

“God, that’s horrible.” She shudders, hugging her arms over her chest again, this time in fear over what I just said.

“That’s not even the worst they’ve done, but I’ll spare you the details.”

“I believe you.”

When the twenty minutes is up, I turn on the shower and nod at it, indicating she should get in. She does, but she doesn’t expect me in there with her. She acts startled and surprised when I move the shower curtain and climb in, leaving my clothing in a pile on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, covering herself as if we didn’t just fuck.

“Turn around,” I order, forcing her hips to rotate. She obeys, and I guide her into the water where the black dye begins to rinse across her body in angry-colored rivulets. I massage her hair, letting the excess dye wash away in the flow of water.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, but I don’t respond. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I just want to be here with her, touching her. Her skin beneath my fingers is silky. I feel addicted to it, like if I don’t touch her I’ll somehow suffocate or drown.

I wash her in silence, using only my hands and the bar of soap from the sink. The puddles on the bathroom floor, left when I had to climb out to get the soap, will dry, and time will pass, but this moment is priceless. It will live on in my memory like so many others I’ve had over the years.

“I have no tampons,” she mumbles as I tilt her head back. “Or clean water. I mean, we’re changing my appearance. Can we at least go to a store close by? I want to get some things.”

I ponder her request as I watch the last of the black dye swish down the drain. Trust is a two-way street. If I expect it from her, then I have to give it to her.

“Yeah, let’s get dressed. I just don’t want to be out after dark.”

In less than twenty minutes we are out the door and headed to the market around the corner. She shops for the things she needs, carrying a few bags on her arm as we stop at a second store, but my senses are on high alert. I don’t feel comfortable having a jaunt to the grocery when there are assassins out to get me and my family isn’t being the least bit protective of me.

“Let’s hurry this up,” I snap, irritable. Feeling exposed makes me that way.

Willow scowls and turns toward a giant stack of bottled water. “We need a case. I have to hydrate.”

I glance at the door. I have a feeling someone is watching us, hunting me. “Fuck’s sake,” I grumble and pick one up, and just as I do, I hear the bell hanging above the store’s door jingle. When I turn to look, I notice one of the Italian’s there. I don’t think he’s seen us yet.

“Fuck… head to the back,” I bark and her eyes go wide.

She scurries with her bags down the row and I pick up a case of water and follow her. Near the back of a store there are three doors—a men’s room, a women’s room and a janitor’s closet. “Where? What are we doing?”

“In there,” I say, nodding my head at the women’s room door, and she darts into it. With another glance over my shoulder to make sure we haven’t been made, I lock us into the room and set the case of water down. They know we’re here and I feel gut-sick. I whip my phone out and dial Dom’s number as Willow cowers in the corner.

“God, what’s happening!” she wails quietly and I glare at her.

“Dom, buddy, I need your help,” I’m speaking before the line fully connects.

“What’s going on?” Dominic sounds irritated to hear from me, and after our last conversation I know why.

“I’m barricaded in a women’s restroom in the markets. I need you to come and draw them away from us.”

“Us? You have her out with you? You idiot.” His disdain for anything Willow aggravates me. “Ditch her and get out of there; shoot your way out if you have to.”

“Dominic, I’m not ditching her.” I look at Willow whose eyes widen farther if that’s possible. She looks like she wants to cling to me, a scared little waif. “Send someone to help.”

“You know Dad’s orders. I can’t help you if you rebel against him.” Dominic hangs up and I’m left with my anger and a very scared woman. I turn to her and sigh.

“We have to just hunker down here until they’re gone. If they don’t already know we’re here, that is.” My gut usually isn’t wrong, but I’m praying it is this time. I crack the door and peek out. The men are still standing there; there are two of them now. We just have to wait and pray. I won’t risk a shootout with Willow again. I won’t lose her.

“What if they come looking?” she asks, and I look up to see her crying. She wipes at her tears and runs a hand through her hair. The black dye stained her scalp in places and it’s obvious right now it’s not her natural color. Just another giveaway that she isn’t who she’s pretending to be.

“They will,” I tell her, peeking out the door. I see an exit door near the side of the building. If we just run, we can make it. “Load as many waters into your bags as you can carry. Fill your pockets. We have to make a run for it.”

Willow scurries, shoving bottled water into every place imaginable, and when she’s ready, I peek again. The men are standing there talking to the cashier.

“We have to run. On the count of three… One…. Two…. Three….” I dart into the store, grabbing Willow’s hand to drag her along. We hide behind the shelves, ducking and making our way to the exit, when the bathroom door swings shut and slams loudly. It draws the attention of the men, who run toward it, but one of them spots me and pulls his gun. I’m faster, firing off a few rounds to cover her as she races through the door and up the sidewalk. More rounds boom into the air, slicing through the plate-glass windows as I charge out the door and chase Willow down. We’re out, but they know which way we went. We have seconds to get to safety, and she’s already eyed a good spot.

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