The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

Home?

It had always been Antonio’s house more than it had ever been mine. After the Sydney fiasco, I stayed at one of his apartments when I could, just to escape his attentions when he was home. I wondered if Sydney had known Antonio was never faithful to her, that he’d tried to seduce me while claiming to love her. She’d died for him, for love. The word left a sour aftertaste in my mouth.

The idea of going home suddenly sounded abhorrent.

I shook my head.

“Where?”

“Ace’s,” I whispered.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and something bitter passed through his eyes. “Ace won’t be there for a while.”

An ambulance had taken him to the hospital despite his protests. He’d been losing a lot of blood from the two bullet wounds he’d received, one in the side and one in the arm. He’d taken those bullets for me, and I was going to nurse him back to health, whether he liked it or not.

“I know,” I said.

Allister ran his tongue across his teeth as though agitated, but he moved to speak with one of the dozens of agents nearby.

I followed him to his car. I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him without a suit jacket. His white long-sleeve shirt molded his broad shoulders and arms. I’d never noticed just how built the man was until now. Maybe I was losing my mind, but I studied his form the entire walk to the car as I trailed behind him, barefoot.

He drove me to Nico’s home in the Bronx in silence and then followed me to the back door. I knew the code to Ace’s alarm system—not because he trusted me with it, but because I’d secretly watched him type it in once.

Allister stepped inside behind me and shut the door.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re in shock,” was his response.

He looked around the place, his shoulders tense. He didn’t want to leave me here. I thought he even hated the idea. The question was, why?

“Why are you here?” I asked, draping his jacket over an island chair. “Feeling sorry for me?”

“No.” The word was hard, and the glint in his eye conveyed that he did not feel sorry in any way.

God, he was heartless.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Don’t lie to me again, Gianna.”

I was too numb to be annoyed by his lord-and-master tone. In fact, it felt like I was hanging by a thread high in the sky, though I was too indifferent to care if it snapped.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

I headed up the stairs, dropping my blood-stained dress at the top, and took a shower. When I went downstairs twenty minutes later, with wet hair and dressed in only one of Ace’s white t-shirts, Allister was still there, leaning against the counter and talking on the phone. His consuming gaze found me, drifting down my body with a mixture of warmth and agitation.

A tremor started beneath my skin, buzzing stronger like an approaching bee that would surely sting.

“Come here,” he said after he hung up.

When I reached him, he handed me a white pill and a glass of water.

“Take it.”

I didn’t even ask what it was; I took it with a sip of water and went to set my glass on the counter.