Obsession (The Plus One Chronicles)

by Lyon, Jennifer

  Kat lifted her hand, studying it. “I still can’t believe I did it.” She’d fought back and won.

  “Broke his nose, according to Sloane. He said, and I quote, ‘It was fucking beautiful.’”

  A stupid-ass grin surprised her. “What a poet.”

  “I’d have paid to see it. That bastard had it coming.” He took her hand in his, sliding his fingers over her wrist.

  She rolled her eyes. “Sloane already checked my hand. It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt.”

  “Probably will tomorrow.”

  “Don’t care. It was worth it. David was so stunned. He said, You hit me.”

  “What a dumbass. He pulled a scalpel on you.” Drake settled their hands between them on the bed. “How’d it feel when you took him down?”

  She leaned back on the pillows Drake had stacked up. “A huge relief. Not just fighting back, but getting the truth out there finally. All those years, it was so frustrating that I couldn’t remember what happened. I still can’t fully remember it and probably never will. But I knew the attack hadn’t happened the way David said, and no one would believe me.”

  “You feel vindicated.”

  She flinched at the word. “My mom said that, only it came out an accusation.” Turning her head, she faced Drake. “But she was right, I do feel vindicated.”

  “You’re human.”

  “I feel bad for what they’re going to face in the coming days, weeks…could be years of trying to recover from this. David fooled us all. The only reason I wised up was because of Finn targeting me to keep David working for him.” She frowned, recalling Marshall’s reaction. “My brother was catching on to David. When he got there tonight, he told us that he and Amelia had hacked into David’s computer at work and found an income stream that wasn’t from SiriX. They surmised David was selling SiriX’s patented formulas to Finn, who was making counterfeit drugs to sell online, and they were searching his computer for evidence. That kind of piracy is big in pharmaceuticals.”

  “Did they find any evidence?”

  Kat shook her head. “No, and David denies it. Weirdly enough, I believe him. The money David made from steroids was a tool to obtain the life he craved—being a rich and renowned scientist, marrying me and owning part of SiriX. In his twisted way, he was protecting SiriX and I suppose me too. So much so that he killed Finn. He told the truth about that too. The police found Finn’s body exactly as David confessed.” It was all so surreal. “David murdering Finn with a lethal injection is so far beyond the man I thought I knew.”

  Hard-earned wisdom shone in Drake’s eyes. “Killing isn’t as difficult as it seems. It’s the living with it after that can break a man.”

  Kat never imagined she’d be here—sitting on the bed with a man who’d killed someone. She’d been raised with the notion that only the lowest forms of humanity committed acts of violence.

  And yet this man she sat with now had, in her view, changed countless lives for the better. Her parents created therapeutics to improve lives, and that was important. But Drake gave lost kids hope and guidance, and that was priceless. In many ways, he had more true compassion and humanity than her parents. Every breath he took held a note of regret for a single moment in his life.

  Kat gently squeezed his hand. “It didn’t break you. Instead you used it to guide you into a better man.” A man she’d come to love in a special way. “David was cracking under the strain of his secrets and the guilt that he refused to accept. When I told him that the steroids led to Ethan’s heart attack, he said Ethan wasn’t important.” She leaned over, hugging him. “You’re nothing like David.”

  His eyes took on a sheen. “I think you helped me find some of the words I need.”

  She settled back against the pillows. “For?”

  “Writing letters to people I care about. Once I’m gone, I want them to know how important they were in my life.”

  Oh God, that hurt. She tried to imagine Sloane reading a letter from Drake after… Heartbreaking, and yet he’d have something he could hold on to. Sara had been ripped away from him with no goodbyes or I love yous. No closure. Kat didn’t know what to say except, “You’re leaving them a priceless part of you. That will mean everything to them.” Damn it, she would not cry.

  “Maybe for some, but this letter is for Evie.” He touched the closed laptop resting on his legs as gently as Kat imagined him touching his lost love’s face. “I want her to know that I’m sorry. I loved her, and while I was supposed to protect her, I had no right to take away her father. I hope I find all the words I need in time.”

  Was that what kept Drake up so late? Old regrets? Needing to make things right? Kat clutched Drake’s hand in both of hers. She wanted to give him absolution, but she couldn’t. Kat hadn’t been there that day. She truly didn’t know if Drake had gone too far. The reality was Drake believed he had. A man’s life was on his conscience, as was Evie’s grief. “Tell her what you told me—the truth. And then tell her that she made you a better man, that you grew from your mistake and you hope she can know that you learned how to love—even if it couldn’t be her.”

  Drake stared at his computer then lifted his eyes to her. “Sloane’s a lucky man.”

  It was Kat who was lucky. “I’d never have found the courage to face all that happened tonight without him. Even now, I don’t want to go to sleep without him.” Okay Drake probably didn’t need to know that.

  Drake set his computer aside and picked up the remote. “Let’s watch TV until Sloane figures out you’re missing.”

  * * *

  Sloane’s blood hummed with violence. Seeing Dickhead put the scalpel to Kat’s throat had ignited a possessiveness that went beyond sane.

  He’d been ready to kill the fucker.

  Kat had held him back with her simple plea. Then she’d taken Dickhead down, and fierce pride had grabbed Sloane by the balls.

  He wanted her, needed her with that edge of violence… Yeah, he’d left her to go to bed without him. Couldn’t trust himself to get in the goddamned bed with her and not rip her clothes off.

  Kat didn’t need this animalistic side of him. She was still healing from the car accident and trying to process everything that had happened tonight. She didn’t need Sloane losing control and fucking her hard. Deep. Until he knew she was alive and his.

  Shit. Sloane had made his calls, reviewed Foster’s training video and now he paced his office.

  He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. Kat had to be asleep by now. He’d slide into bed and pull her to him. That would calm him down. As long as she was asleep, he’d stay in control. He left his office.

  A minute later Sloane stared at the empty bed in confusion. Where was she? But there was only one place she would go. He headed back downstairs and stopped in the doorway of Drake’s room.

  “She fell asleep waiting for you.”

  His heart swelled at the sight of her curled up next to Drake. Her long hair spilled over the side of the bed, and she had Drake’s hand clutched in hers. He moved closer, unable to stop staring at her. “Looks like the adrenaline crash caught up with her.”

  “Went out like a light. She didn’t want to be by herself.”

  He waited for the stab of guilt for leaving her alone, but it didn’t come. Kat had been giving him space much like he’d given her after they’d argued the other night. Instead she’d gone to Drake, finding her own way to get the comfort she needed. Or maybe she was comforting Drake. Probably some of both, judging by the content look in Drake’s eyes. “Am I going to have to fight you for my woman?”

  His mouth curved. “Think you’re good enough?”

  “To fight you? Any day. For Kat?” Sloane traced one of the pink streaks in her strands. “No.” How could someone like him be good enough for Kat?

  “Be good enough, Sloane. A woman like Kat only comes once in a lifetime.”

  He didn’t have an answer for that. Why did it feel like no matter what choice he made, there was going to be an unbearabl
e consequence? If he let Foster live, that motherfucker would come after what Sloane loved. If he killed Foster, Kat would look at him like she’d looked at David tonight.

  It was an impossible choice.

  Chapter Ten

  Wednesday afternoon, Sloane stood at the end of Drake’s bed, arms crossed and fighting down his impatient worry as the doctor went through his examination.

  Drake glared at him. “Zack didn’t need to call you or the doctor.”

  “He did if he wants to keep his job as one of your nurses.” Sloane was not fucking around about this. The nurse had phoned and told him that Drake was running a low-grade fever, so Sloane dropped everything and came home.

  The doctor pressed the stethoscope against Drake’s back. “Cough, Mr. Vaughn.”

  The rough cough caused Drake to wince.

  Finally, the doctor closed the bag. “Let’s do an IV with antibiotics and fluids.”

  “I don’t want an IV.”

  Sloane couldn’t stand still any longer. He snatched the shirt from the end of the bed and dropped it over Drake’s head, then sat down and leaned in. He ignored the crankiness. Sloane would be pissy too if his body progressively and ruthlessly betrayed him more each day, methodically stripping away layer after layer of his dignity and independence.

  “Do the IV. No hospitals, no extreme measures. I hear you, I get it.” Like it or not, he had to honor that. Drake was tired. Sloane could see death creeping farther into the man’s eyes every fucking day. But he was not going to send death an engraved invitation by letting an infection gain a foothold without making a token effort.

  “If I don’t? You planning on forcing me?”

  Sloane fisted his hand deep into the mattress. He could do it and they both knew it. Sloane was ready and willing to fight like hell to keep Drake with him.

  But it wasn’t his choice.

  Seconds ticked by as he wrestled with his locked jaw and the knives trying to slice up his chest. He was losing control of everything in his life. Drake was dying. Ethan had had a heart attack. That motherfucker Foster haunted Sara at her grave. He’d had to hold himself back from protecting Kat when David threatened her with that scalpel.

  And if he killed Foster, he’d lose Kat. How did he choose?

  But this choice about the IV wasn’t his. “No.” He forced his hand to unclench and clasped Drake’s shoulder. “But I’m asking you to do it. Please.”

  Drake kept his gaze, then nodded.

  Two hours later Drake was asleep, and frustration rode Sloane hard, driving him to his studio. Wearing nothing but shorts and taped hands, he cranked up the music, went through his stretching warm-ups then headed for the heavy bag.

  All the while, in his head, he heard the clock ticking down to Drake’s death and Sloane’s choice.

  Did he let Foster live, turning his back on Sara’s memory and living every moment in fear that he’d find Kat raped and murdered like Sara?

  Or kill Foster and watch Kat’s love die?

  * * *

  Kat opened the door to the studio off the garage. A dark, throbbing beat pounded from the speakers, broken only by hard thuds.

  Intensity crackled in her veins, and her breath whooshed out at the sight of Sloane. Wearing only shorts, he moved with blinding speed as he attacked the heavy bag with kicks and punches.

  His back bulged and released, his arms flexed powerfully, and when he jumped and spun into a flying kick, the sheer force of Sloane cutting through the air created a breeze. He landed in a crouch, his thighs and calves exploding with muscles beneath his bronzed skin.

  She could nearly taste his pain on the air.

  “Kat.”

  She walked to him. “I’m here.”

  He stood facing the heavy bag, hands down, head dropped. “He’s dying.”

  Her eyes blurred, but she blinked it away. However much she hurt at losing Drake, what Sloane was enduring was a million times worse. “Not today.” Drake had told her so. Told her he was determined to live until Sloane faced down his sister’s killer, and that was why he’d agreed to the IV that he hated. Then he’d told Kat to go find Sloane.

  Sloane turned, his gaze sliding over her face and down her workout clothes to her bare feet. Then he snapped his gaze up. “Why are you dressed to work out?”

  “Thought you might need a sparring partner to work off some of your tension. My turn to ask a question. Why are your hands taped?”

  “Protect my knuckles and wrist bone when I punch.” He stepped into her space, the gold chips in his eyes glittering. “And there’s no fucking way we’re sparring. I’m too amped up, and you’re still a little sore.”

  Kat’s blood fired the second he got in her face. “Good to know if I ever take up boxing.” Then she smiled. “And sparring is happening.”

  “I’m serious, Kat. Go inside. It was bad enough holding back yesterday and letting you disarm Dickhead. I can’t hold back now.”

  His scent washed over her, soap, sweat and a deep agitation that jerked her up to her toes until his warm breath brushed her face. “That’s really going to suck for you then.”

  The cords on his neck stood out. “What is?”

  “If you don’t fight back.” She aimed a punch toward his face.

  Sloane blocked with his forearm like he was brushing off a fly. “Knock it off.”

  Crap, like hitting cement. “Not happening, champ. Do you know why?” She stepped back and dropped into her fighting stance.

  Sloane eyed her. “Why?”

  “Because that’s not who we are. We don’t hold back from each other. Last night you needed some space, I gave it to you. Tonight, your luck ran out.” Balancing on her bad leg, she snapped her left leg into a knee strike.

  Sloane jumped back, his eyes narrowed as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Kitten, you get one chance. Walk away. Or I’m coming after you.” Slowly, he started pulling the tape off one hand.

  The way he purposely unwound that long strip of tape dried her mouth. Tingles popped out on her skin, and her nipples pebbled. “And?”

  Sloane looped the first strip of tape around his neck like a towel and started unwrapping the second hand. “I’ll take you to the mat, rip your clothes off and give you the full force of me as I fuck you.” Sloane tossed that second strip away and fixed his hard gaze on her. “Run.”

  A blast of raging desire gripped her core. He needed this, needed some kind of release that was deeper than fighting or screwing. “I don’t run from you.” She aimed a punch straight for his solar plexus.

  Sloane shot his hand out, catching her forearm, and tugged. “You can’t beat me.”

  The strip of athletic tape hanging from his neck dangled between them, taunting her. Why had he tossed one aside and kept the other? Did she want to find out?

  Hell yeah.

  Kat widened her stance, leaned in, pushing her elbow in to force Sloane’s wrist to an unnatural bend and loosen his grip, then she shoved her arm up, breaking the hold. “I have the advantage. You’re afraid of hurting me.”

  Sloane advanced on her, blocking every punch with ridiculous ease. Before she could plan a move, he lunged, curling one arm behind her shoulder and sweeping her legs into his other arm. He dropped to his knees and eased her to the mat.

  Stunned, Kat tried to roll away.

  He threw a leg over her, mounted her hips and caught her hands.

  Jesus he was fast. She heard her own panting over the beat of the music.

  He clamped her wrists to the mat and leaned down. “Don’t ever ask me to stand there and do nothing while you fight a man holding a blade on you again.”

  She stopped struggling, entranced by the man pinning her to the floor. Fury radiated from him. “You’re mad at me?”

  “I’m so goddamned proud of you I can barely breathe.” A beat passed. “But you’re mine. I protect what’s mine. I had to watch helplessly when you were in that out-of-control limo, and then just stand there last night.” His jaw locked, shoul
ders bulged, veins popped, yet he slid one finger gently along the fading bruise on her face.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re mine.” It came out a rumble. “You’re in my studio, I’m in control now.” Letting go of her wrists, he caught the end of her shirt and stripped it off. Tossed it aside.

  The air conditioning hit her exposed skin, clashing with the heat. All she wore now were her low-riding pants and Sloane straddling her.

  He trailed one finger down her throat to the swell of her breast to tease her nipple.

  She hissed, shocked at the hot streak of fire that arrowed straight down. Too much, too fast. It was all the emotion roiling between them inflaming her desire. The need to be filled and claimed by him surged up, stealing her breath with its intensity. She grabbed his wrist, trying to hold on to her sense of power. She didn’t want to give it to him without a fight.

  She wanted him to take it.

  His gaze snapped to hers. “Too late, baby. I’m in control.”

  She stared into his eyes, measuring what he needed, what the two of them together had. No holding back. That’s what they had. “You think I’m that easy to beat, that weak?” She dropped her hand as if giving up.

  His face blanked, and he relaxed his thighs pinning her. “Kat—”

  Sucker. She twisted over to her belly, scrabbling to slide out from under him. She got a few inches before he grabbed her around her waist, lifting her on her knees and yanking her back up to his chest. One arm locked around her ribs.

  “Do you feel what you’ve done to me?” He pressed his engorged cock against her lumbar. Sloane drew his hand down her belly, beneath her pants. Thick fingers teased her seam, brushing back and forth. He licked the shell of her ear, then demanded in a gravelly voice, “Spread your legs.”

  She wanted to. Oh God, she wanted more of the icy-hot ecstasy his touch invoked. Even his breath on her neck caused her to shiver with pleasure. Only he made her feel like this, so wickedly alive and okay to be herself. She could put up a fight knowing she was safe with him. “No.”