Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games 1)

I don’t have to.

I can feel his gaze on me even as the front door swings shut behind me.

Chapter 4

The temptation to lock myself in my apartment like I’m trying to survive a zombie apocalypse is strong.

But if I hide, that means they win.

So despite the fact that my skin prickles with nerves every time I step outside my apartment building, I continue to go about my regular routine for the next two days.

I’m off work today, which means I actually could refuse to leave my apartment if I wanted to, but instead, I head to the library. My gaze darts quickly around the street as I head toward the bus stop, my hand unconsciously curling into a fist.

There’s no sign of Ryland or Marcus or their other friend, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean shit.

I sit at the back of the bus, which is my usual spot anyway—but today, there’s even more reason for it. I want a wall at my back, and I want to be able to keep an eye on the other passengers.

Shit. For all I know, it’s not just those three men who are watching me. Ryland said something about covering for Marcus because his friend had other shit to do and asked him to.

How many people has that psychopath roped into following me around?

The potential answers to that question do nothing to settle my nerves, so I push them out of my head and dart off the bus quickly when it reaches my stop. Hiking my bag higher on my shoulder, I make a beeline toward the library’s imposing stone steps and take them two at a time.

Only once I step inside the dim, quiet space do my nerves unwind a little. I know I’m not technically any safer here than I would be anywhere else, but the hushed, hallowed atmosphere calms me a little.

Nodding to the librarian at the front desk, I make my way to the worn stairs on one side of the building and head up to the second floor.

Since I can’t afford to go to school yet, the library has become my de facto classroom, the place I go to make sure I won’t be too far behind when I finally save up enough to afford a college education. This branch of the Halston Public Library is old, dingy, and understaffed. But it’s big, and it’s got a decent selection of books.

A while ago, I got my hands on a list of “Fifty Classics You Need to Read” or some shit like that, and I’ve been working my way through the list slowly but surely. I try to make myself focus on math and science books too, but to be honest, the fictional ones interest me more.

Some of them are shit. Catcher in the Rye? Ugh. Go fuck yourself, Holden Caulfield.

But a lot of them are amazing, and when I sit in my favorite spot in the back of the library and get lost between the pages of a book, all of my own problems and worries seem to disappear for a while.

Today, I’m on the hunt for something new by Virginia Woolf. I’ve read a few of her books already, and I’m craving the dark, melancholy atmosphere that seems to pervade her stories.

I’m browsing through the stacks when the fine hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rise on end. My fingers freeze on the spine of a book, my heart lurching in my chest, picking up its pace so fast it almost leaves me nauseated.

Fuck.

The prickling feeling grows more intense, and when I turn around, I almost crash backward into the large shelving unit.

Marcus stands there, so close he could reach out and touch me. Jesus, how did he get so fucking close before I even realized he was there? He’s like a goddamn ghost.

My lungs burn, demanding more oxygen, but I refuse to let him see me gasp for air. I refuse to let him know how much he scared me.

Swallowing, I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze dead on. “This doesn’t look like you fucking off.”

He chuckles lightly, a rough sound that seems to rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I got that message.”

“So? Fuck off.”

Despite the heavy thud of my heart, my voice is strong. But if I expected my words to have any damn effect on him, I’m disappointed. He doesn’t budge, just stands there staring at me from two feet away.

My legs burn with the impulse to run. To flee. To get away from this man, as far and as fast as I can. But I’m rooted to the spot, and I can’t tell if it’s fear that binds me in place or something else.

We’re in the far eastern corner of the library, and it’s a Tuesday afternoon. There’s no one else around, and I’m not even sure the librarian at the front desk would hear me if I yelled.