The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

“Three. Four. Five.”

Pebbles whooshed as I skidded around the first turn.

“Six. Seven.”

I tore down the path, pumping my arms to propel me faster.

“Eight. Nine. Ten.”

I took the next turn so tightly I clipped the corner and rough branches scraped across my arm. It kept stinging as I ran, but I didn’t glance down to see if it had drawn blood. It’d slow me down in more than one way, as I couldn’t stand the sight of it. It made my knees turn to jelly, and that was the last thing I needed right now.

“Eleven. Twelve.” His voice was quieter, muffled by the hedges and the distance between us. “Thirteen . . . Fourteen . . . Fifteen.”

When the counting ceased, my heart hammered in my chest. I huffed my breath, ignoring the throbbing scratches on my arm or the painful slap of my bare feet on the errant twigs that had fallen on the path. My freedom was still so far away.

When he’d stopped counting, Macalister became the Minotaur, and I ran from him as if my life depended on it. I didn’t hear his footsteps dashing behind me, but each beat of my heart was a cannon booming in my ears, drowning everything else out.

When I made the second to last turn, the muscles in my legs were hot and screaming. There was a painful stitch in my side, right below my Medusa tattoo, as if her snakes were biting at me, spurring me on. I had to keep going. For myself, for Royce, for the promise that we could be more someday.

I raced through the final turn, and hope swelled as the entrance came into view, but I didn’t ease up. For all I knew, the monster wanting to devour me was right on my heels.

The myth of Orpheus leapt into my mind. The fabled musician had lost his wife and made the harrowing journey to the underworld to try to bring her back. He impressed Hades and Persephone so much with his music, they released her on the condition she walk behind him and he wasn’t allowed to look back until they were safely out of Hades’ realm. Too anxious and impatient, the distraught husband reached the threshold for the mortal world and turned to see her.

I would not be Orpheus. I was too close to getting what I wanted to have it all vanish right before my eyes.

The thrill of escape grew exponentially with each step I took. In one more breath, I’d be out. Every cell in my body wanted to sing with elation—

No.

No!

It wasn’t possible.

The Minotaur didn’t catch me from behind.

He materialized ahead of me, stepping through the entrance, and blocked my escape, all while wearing a smile that announced I was doomed.

FIFTEEN

I STOPPED DEAD IN MY TRACKS, sending gravel skittering everywhere. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, but my body took over. It forced my legs to start churning, only this time, they carried me away from the exit. The only goal now was to blindly run.

Panic was a great motivator, but it couldn’t do the impossible. It didn’t make me as fast as the goddess of speed Nike or give me wings like Icarus to escape the Labyrinth. In fact, I only made it past the first turn before the Minotaur ensnared me in his powerful arms. His hold was a cage, and I ran at the bars, trying to escape.

“Marist, stop. It’s over,” Macalister said.

“How?” I sobbed. “How did you get ahead of me?”

He turned me to face him, and his pale eyes held me just as captive as his arms. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples, and he was breathing as hard as I was. He’d run in his suit and his dress shoes in the lazy September heat, and it’d taken its toll on him.

His hands were splayed out on my bare back, casing me to him while we both struggled to catch our breath and adjust to the shocking outcome of his game. His eyes hooded and his gaze swept down over my heated face, continuing further south.

I’d thought he was staring at my breasts, but his gaze shifted, and he frowned. “You’re hurt.”

I followed his eyeline and saw the angry red scratches across my bicep, the thin threads of blood seeping from them, and it pushed me past my limit. My knees gave way, and I sagged into his arms, drawing a startled noise of surprise from him. I clutched at the fabric of his suit as I went down, trying to halt my collapse, but it was pointless.

Macalister fell to a knee with me in his arms, slowing my descent. There was concern in his expression, and I found that more disorienting than anything else he’d tried to do. He wasn’t supposed to be capable of feelings.