Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games 1)

This man has invaded my life in nearly every way possible. The message I told Ryland to pass along obviously didn’t do shit. So what makes me think a phone call will get through to this fucking psychopath?

Biting hard on my bottom lip, I swipe up on the screen, pulling up my internet app instead. I type in his phone number and name, and when an address pops up in the search results, I smile savagely.

Let’s see how he likes having his life invaded.

It’s a fifteen minute cab ride to his place, and I spring for the fare because I don’t think I could handle being on a bus right now. My body is buzzing with electric energy, my stomach tying itself into tighter and tighter knots as my mind keeps turning over and over.

I’ve had enough.

This has to fucking stop.

The cab driver keeps shooting me glances through the rearview mirror, and I know I probably look a little crazed. I can feel it in my eyes, in the tightness of my expression and the hard press of my lips. But I don’t say anything, and neither does he, and when he pulls up outside the address I gave him, I practically hurl a few wadded up bills into the front seat.

I slide out quickly before the car pulls away, and when I look up at the house that was listed as Marcus’s address, my eyes widen in shock.

Holy shit. It’s not a house. It’s a fucking mansion.

The large, modern-looking structure stands out compared to its neighbors, with sleek outer walls and large windows.

For a moment, I’m certain I must’ve come to the wrong place. This can’t be right. But then a flash of movement catches my eye through the window, and my heart stutters in my chest as I glimpse a figure walking across the large living room.

It’s him.

It’s Marcus.

The decal seems to burn like molten metal in my pocket, and I dig it out, letting the feel of the sharp edges against my palm ground me. Squeezing it in my hand, I march up to the door and pound on it with the fleshy part of my fist. I wait half a second, then do it again.

I’m about to bang on the door for a third time when it swings open. My fist freezes in mid-air as Marcus gazes at me, a look of mild surprise on his face. He’s shirtless, something I failed to notice when I saw him through the window, and the muscles of his chest and shoulders flex under lightly tanned skin. A pair of dark wash jeans sit low on his hips, and his chocolate brown hair is tousled.

Silence hovers between us for a long second. Then he smiles. “Ayla. I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”

His casual, easy response to the sight of me only ratchets my fury up higher. I hold up the decal in front of his face, my hand shaking. “What the fuck is this?”

His gaze lands on it for only a second before flicking back to my face. “Are you really asking me what it is?”

“Why was it in my apartment?” I’m vibrating all over. “What the fuck happened to Natalie? What did you do to her?”

Marcus’s expression hardens, the half-smile on his lips disappearing in a heartbeat. “She shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

My stomach flips over like a dying fish. He did see our altercation last night. And today, somehow, in the space of time I was gone at that office downtown, he did something about it. I think part of me expected him to deny all of this, to claim he has no idea what I’m talking about. But he’s made no attempt to even pretend it wasn’t him.

“What did you do?” I grit out.

He narrows his eyes, the rich brown of his irises seeming to darken as the blue churns like a stormy sky. “I had a little talk with her, and we both decided it would be better for her to move out. So I helped her with that.”

Oh, Jesus fuck.

“You don’t get to do that!” The words burst out of me in a shout. I hurl the decal down, and it hits the floor with a metallic ping before skittering away. Then I step forward, shoving hard at his chest with the palm of my hand. “That’s not your fucking job! That’s not your right! I don’t need your protection, okay? I don’t need whatever the fuck you think you’re doing. I can take care of myself!” I shove him again and again, driving him backward with each strike. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Life!”

There’s a tiny part of me that knows I’m not handling this rationally, that I’m not being smart. That I’m being monumentally stupid, in fact. That coming here was a huge mistake.

But I can’t hear that little voice in my head over the torrent of emotions cascading through me.

I step forward to shove Marcus again. But this time, his hand whips up to grab my wrist, deflecting the blow before it can land. His other hand grabs my shoulder, and he kicks the door shut a half-second before he forces me backward, pinning me against it.

My back hits the thick wood with a thud, and just like at the library, his large body boxes me in immediately.

He stares down at me, pressing my wrist to the door beside my head as his nostrils flare. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’ve watched you do it for the past two and a half years.”