Frayed Obsession (The Frayed Trilogy 1)

“A little incentive, and he handed it over.”

I catch the redness of his knuckles as he unlocks the door, and I know exactly what kind of incentive it was.

Easton opens the door, pulls the gun from the waistband of his jeans, and does a quick scan of the apartment—if you could even call it that. I’m sure the whole thing could fit inside my bathroom.

My stomach twists at the thought of this girl living in a dump like this. I have no idea why it bothers me so much, and I try to shake the feeling.

It’s just one big—or rather, small—room. Paint peels off the walls, and the linoleum floor is stained and pulling up in places, but it’s otherwise clean enough.

The wardrobe doors, across from the bed, sit open, with a dining chair sitting partly inside, and I frown at the oddity of it. A couple of the drawers by the bed are open, and a small box sits empty on the bed.

Whoever was living here is gone and likely never coming back.

“Fuck, we missed her.” I scrub a hand down my face.

“Maybe she left something behind we can use.” Easton crosses to the open drawers by the bed, tucking the gun back into his jeans. I head for the bathroom, but I don’t find anything other than a lone bottle of shampoo, mould, and probably a staph infection. When I leave the bathroom, Easton is standing on the far side of the bed with his back to me.

There’s something off about him. His back tenses as he concentrates on something. So lost in thought, he doesn’t even notice I’ve rejoined him.

“What did you find?”

He flinches at my voice and looks over his shoulder but doesn’t hold eye contact for long. Scowling, he gestures to the open bedside drawer closest to him.

“There are a few more photos in this drawer. Looks like more of the same as what’s on the camera.” He moves out of my way and walks around the bed towards the kitchen as I study him.

I’m just about to reach for the few scattered photographs in the open drawer when my head snaps to the front door at the sound of a key scraping into the lock.

Easton’s eyes lock with mine as he holds his index finger to his lips and moves closer to the front of the apartment. I take a few quiet steps so that I’m standing in the open wardrobe but not visible to the front door.

With his hand resting against the butt of his gun, Easton moves closer to the edge of the kitchen near the small entryway until he’s out of my line of sight, just as the lock clicks and the door creaks open.

Shortly after, sounds of a scuffle echo through the apartment before a squeal abruptly cuts off. Rushing out from behind the wardrobe door, I see a mess of dark brown hair and wide blue eyes darting to me as I come into view.

Her back is pressed against the wall, and her small hands claw at Easton’s forearm which is pressed against her neck as his other palm covers her mouth. He doesn’t seem to be putting too much pressure on her neck, just enough to hold her there.

“Calm the fuck down, and I won’t hurt you,” he bites out.

She slows her movements and straightens her back as much as she can under Easton’s hold while lifting her chin—her gaze never leaving mine.

“Don’t scream.” Easton keeps his hold for a few moments more—a silent threat— before removing his hand from her mouth. He keeps his forearm against her but lowers it so it’s pressing above her chest and across her shoulders.

The girl’s breath is uneven and shaky as she lifts a hand to her throat, but her expression hides most of the panic that was there a second ago. Her dark blue stare spears through me as though she can see inside, to all my secrets, all my pain, and I struggle to pull myself away from the unexpected onslaught.

Just one word falls from her rosy lips.

“Sebastian.”