Page 5 of Killer's Obsession
I hate this feeling—this constant, gnawing anxiety that claws at my insides whenever he’s not here. I know it’s ridiculous. I know he’s fine. He’s a grown man, for crying out loud. A big, strong man who can take care of himself.
But still... I worry.
Adjusting my position on his massive bed, I tuck my legs underneath me. The white tank top I stole from his dresser hangs off my shoulder, practically swallowing me whole. Itsmells like him—Chanel Blue and something distinctly him that makes my stomach flutter.
I frown at the half-finished drawing. The menacing figure taking shape beneath my pencil feels too real, too close. I flip to a new page.
Three weeks.
I’ve been here at the Saints’ clubhouse for three weeks, and I still can’t bring myself to leave this room without Killer beside me.
The first week, I did nothing but sleep, my body crashing from the constant state of terror it had been in for months. The second, I binge-watched whatever was on the TV mounted on Killer’s wall, anything to drown out my thoughts.
And now?
All I want is to move—to do something. But every time I reach for the doorknob, my whole body locks up. I’m so tired of hiding, but I don’t know how to stop. It’s making me feel crazy.
Setting aside the sketchbook, I slide off the bed and walk to the window. The music from downstairs pulses through the floorboards—some classic rock song I don’t recognize. There’s a bonfire blazing on the beach behind the clubhouse. Orange flames lick the night sky as the bikers lounge in their chairs with beers in hand. Pinky’s pink hair glows in the firelight as she dances, hands raised above her head. Bambi twirls beside her, both of them singing along while the prospect, Jester, strums his guitar.
They look... happy.
Normal.
Free.
I press my palm against the cool glass. What would it be like to just go down there? To dance in the sand and feel the ocean breeze on my skin? I close my eyes at the thought while a lump forms in my throat.
I used to be like that—carefree and fearless. But that was before.
Before I was locked in a cage like an animal.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. Before everything that happened after that.
The sound of a key scraping in the lock pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. My eyes fly open, and I whip my head towards the door, my entire body going rigid until I seehim.
His massive frame fills the doorway.
Killer.
Relief floods through me.
He steps inside, his icy blue eyes immediately finding me by the window. His gaze travels slowly from my bare legs up to my face, lingering on the places where his shirt is hanging off my body. Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks.
“Where have you been?” I hate how manic my voice sounds, how the fear bleeds through despite my best efforts.
He closes the door gently and twists the lock. “I’m sorry, Pet.” His deep voice wraps around me, soothing my frantic nerves. There’s genuine concern in those cool blue eyes that are almost white. Eyes that look demonic on someone with skin the color of mocha. “My last appointment ran late. Then Reign needed me at Heaven’s Door.”
I stay by the window, turn back to look at the party that continues below. I watch as Pinky throws her head back in laughter as Devil twirls her in the sand.
“Did I wake you?” Killer asks.
I shake my head, not turning around. “I couldn’t sleep.”
The music switches to something slower, and I recognize Ozzy Osbourne’s voice crooning about coming home. God rest his soul. The world just lost a legend, but here in the Saints clubhouse, his life will forever be celebrated.
Down on the beach, Chilly grabs Bubbles by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder. She screams in surprise, pounding playfully on his back.
The scream cuts through me like a knife.
