Obsessed

by Aleatha Romig

  This wasn’t like me.

  I didn’t get upset or regret my actions or words.

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

  Though my question was audible, no one was close enough to hear as the words were carried off by the wintry winds.

  Going back inside, my desk caught my attention. Hitting the button on the screen, I shook the mouse and brought the house cameras into view.

  Hey, asshole, how is watching her through a camera any less a violation of her privacy than her walking into your bedroom?

  I wasn’t in the mood for reasoning.

  The camera in her bedroom broadcast on my monitor. Still standing with my weight on my hands, I bent over the desk and clicked on her feed, keeping it from rotating to another location. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to see.

  Her—Laurel.

  I wanted to see her.

  The lens adjusted to night vision. Her lights were turned out.

  Where was she?

  The green hue created a grainier view as the camera panned out and Laurel came into view. There was no motion to detect. She was sitting up in the big bed, the blankets covering her breasts and her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was devoid of emotion as she stared into the darkness. The pain I’d inflicted was gone—or maybe simply suppressed.

  I fell back into the chair.

  I’d come upstairs because Laurel Carlson had violated the boundary I’d set, plain and simple. I came up to call her out and reinstate my dominance in this relationship. She was out of her league with what was happening and had already occurred. I set the rules. If this was going to work—if I was going to get her to a safe place—she needed to follow them.

  It wasn’t simply that she’d gone into my room. I wasn’t here. I was concerned about the fact that she’d blatantly disobeyed. Rules were like railings on balconies—respect them and they kept you safe. Ignore them and be prepared to accept the consequences.

  My chest filled with air as I inhaled and stood. Yes, I’d come up to deliver a consequence. It didn’t matter that it was somehow turned into me being wrong.

  Was that what all women did, turned the tables?

  No wonder I’d avoided them for years.

  My boots slapped the planks of the floor as I stepped determinedly toward the door.

  Fuck this.

  This is my house.

  She was my assignment.

  I made the rules.

  I flung open the bedroom door to the landing.

  Twenty minutes later, I was back upstairs, my long, determined strides passing the door to my bedroom. I barely hesitated, not bothering to knock, as I twisted the knob and pushed Laurel’s door open. The hallway light streamed into the room, yet the bed where she was now sleeping was still in the shadows.

  Her lack of movement meant she hadn’t heard me enter.

  Walking to the edge of the bed, I reached for the covers and threw them back.

  “What the—?” Her groggy question came in unison with my shocked one.

  “Fucking hell?” I asked. The vision before me was not at all what I’d expected—not that I was complaining. No longer wearing what she had been in my bedroom, Laurel was stark nude, every fucking curve and valley.

  She reached for the blankets.

  Nice try, sweetheart.

  I lifted them higher as a grin transformed my expression. There was no way I was giving them up. “Dinner is almost ready. You have five minutes to get your sweet-looking ass downstairs or the over-the-shoulder threat still stands.” My cheeks rose higher as she scooted away, lifting a pillow and pulling it over her.

  “Kader, this is...unacceptable.”

  “No, Doc. You breaking my rules is unacceptable, and it’s not going to happen again. I told you to stay out of my room. You disobeyed. I said that you needed to eat and you walked away from me. That shit isn’t going to happen. Not in my house. Not ever again.” I dropped the blankets near the end of the bed, leaving the pillow as her shield. And yet I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “Did our little discussion make you so hot and bothered you couldn’t wear clothes?”

  Laurel had reached down and pulled the sheet up, covering from her breasts down. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest, her hair was slightly mussed, and her blue eyes were sending daggers my way.

  She was hot as shit.

  “Did you get off?” I asked, my tone laced with amusement.

  “Stop it.” She slapped the bed beside her. “I took off my clothes because I don’t have any that are clean. I didn’t want to sleep in dirty clothes on fresh sheets.”

  Fuck. It seemed as though my track record of making dick comments was still intact.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, shaking my head.

  Hurrying to my bedroom, I grabbed two t-shirts and a button-down from the closet. Hell, they’d be dresses on her. I also grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from the dresser. When I made it back to her room, she was standing, holding the sheet around her. I had visions of Roman goddesses in togas. Those images paled in comparison to the one before me.

  “Here,” I said, tossing the clothes on the bed. “Four minutes. And after what I just saw, I hope you don’t make it. That bare ass over my shoulder would be more fun for me than it would be for you.”

  “Get out. You’re not touching my ass.”

  With a scoff, I turned to leave, but before I reached the door, I stopped. “Thought you should know; it’s over. I sent the message to whoever hired me. You’re dead.”

  Mason

  Over seven years ago in a mansion in Lincoln Park, Chicago

  * * *

  Sterling Sparrow replied to the Chicago police detective, “My mother needs time to come to terms with the loss of her husband before you or anyone else will be able to speak with her.”

  From the distance of the attached parlor, Genevieve Sparrow nodded. Sitting daintily on a velvet sofa, she appeared to be in deep thought about something on her lap. Truth be told, before allowing the detective to enter, Sparrow told his mother to be in sight and remain silent. There were too many moving parts right now for her to add any unnecessary information.

  Newly promoted from patrolling the city streets, Detective James was a recent assignment to the Chicago Police Bureau of Organized Crime. Though he thought he was a shark smelling blood, he was sorely mistaken. If keeping with the fish analogy, he was merely a simple herring flopping helplessly within a school of barracuda.

  The detective shuffled his feet over the shiny marble floor and straightened his neck, doing his best to see beyond the entry of the Sparrow mansion. It wasn’t going to happen. Sparrow and I were standing shoulder to shoulder in the foyer, gatekeepers refusing his entry.

  The detective swallowed. “Mr. Sparrow, why are you here?”

  “That question seems a little elementary coming from a detective. Perhaps the department needs you back on the streets directing traffic.” Before Detective James could respond, Sparrow went on, “Officers from the great Chicago PD came to my office this evening and informed me of my father’s passing. It shouldn’t take a detective to assume that comforting my mother, the alderman, and protecting her from unknown threats would be my top priority.”

  “Is she your top priority?”

  Taking a step forward, I decided that I’d stood silent long enough. “Good evening, Detective James. It’s time for you to go. Mrs. Sparrow will be available after her husband’s funeral has been arranged and completed. This is not a good time.” I took another step closer.

  Detective James lifted his hand. “Out of respect for the alderman, I won’t persist. I will, however, be back.”

  “Be sure to have the proper documentation,” Sparrow said. “This house is private property and my mother is a government official.”

  The detective returned a quick nod, his gaze going beyond the two of us to the parlor where Sparrow’s mother was dabbing her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Her unusually pale complexion was visible in
the ring of light from the lamp on the nearby table. Her long robe split near her feet, exposing what she would refer to as slippers, revealing the late hour.

  Who the fuck wore heels as slippers?

  I’d never been a Genevieve Sparrow fan.

  That wasn’t why we were here. We were here for this exact reason, keeping her away from the police and protecting what now belonged to the new Sparrow organization. The large limestone monstrosity was currently being protected by men we trusted. Many of Allister’s men would be out. There was a war happening on the streets of Chicago that wouldn’t make the newspapers or social media.

  The detective cleared his throat. “Mrs. Sparrow, you have my condolences.” He turned back to Sparrow. “And you too, Mr. Sparrow.”

  Genevieve responded with a simple nod of her head.

  “Thank you, Detective James,” Sparrow said. “I trust you and your department will leave my mother in peace. Contact me when you’re ready to speak to her.” He removed a business card from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “I won’t allow her to be questioned without support.”

  “Sir, it isn’t questioning, per se. We simply have some things to clarify. Like why would your father be at a construction site late this evening?”

  “That sounds like questioning to me.”

  “Did your father keep items here, business items, files, documents, or ledgers?”

  Sparrow inhaled. “Sparrow Enterprises is located on Michigan Avenue. I’m certain you’ve seen the building. There is an entire department that oversees those items. Sparrow Enterprises is fully transparent. If presented with a warrant, we will, of course, comply.”

  “I was simply curious if there might be more—”

  “I’ll say good evening one more time,” Sparrow interrupted, “and then I’ll make a call to the mayor and tell him about the inconsiderate behavior of one of his detectives. I’m certain he’ll take my concern up with the superintendent, first deputy superintendent, and eventually the chief of your department. You understand that while perhaps acceptable in the Bureau of Patrol, in your current appointment, harassing grieving widows is intolerable. And doubly so when the widow is an alderman...”

  Detective James nodded again as I stepped past him and opened the front door.

  “I’ll be in touch.” It was the last thing the detective said before crossing the threshold and stepping out into the cool rain.

  We all stood in silence until Reid entered from a back hallway. In his hand was a device capable of detecting unwanted monitoring devices. We couldn’t take the chance that Detective James had covertly left one behind. Once everything was cleared, Reid lifted his hand. “We’re good.”

  Genevieve looked up from her perch. “Sterling, your ring...”

  “That’s right, Mom, it’s mine. It’s all mine.”

  “The house?” she asked, her chin raised and proud.

  “I don’t want this house. You keep it. Burn it. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Language,” she replied as if she hadn’t just scolded the new king of Chicago’s underworld.

  Sparrow turned back, facing toward me and Reid. “I want this place crawling with Sparrows. Out of sight. No one is getting in here until we rid my father’s office of everything that’s now ours.”

  “What about him?” Reid asked, nodding toward the place Detective James had been.

  “He’ll back down,” Sparrow said. “He thinks because my father is gone that he can come in here, act tough, and I’ll reveal secrets. What he’s too stupid to understand is that those secrets involve people in his department and in positions over him. Hell, there isn’t a department of the police that isn’t involved. I’ll make a few calls. I’ll let them know that there’s been a change in leadership, and I’m now in charge. I’ll assure them that even better than my father, I’m capable of keeping secrets. I’ll help them...”

  “They’ll help you—us,” I finished.

  “I’ll see you in the office,” Reid said. His dark eyes grew wide. “Let me just say—shit.”

  The house phone rang in the distance. A moment later, a woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. “Mrs. Sparrow, Mrs. McFadden has called twice. She’s currently on line one and insists on speaking to you.”

  Pauline McFadden was the wife of Rubio McFadden, senator as well as the don of the other ruling organization in Chicago. It took fucking balls for her to attempt to reach Mrs. Sparrow on the same night as Allister’s death. That was what these women had to have—balls of steel—to survive in this world.

  All polite and genteel on the outside, the women of the underworld hierarchy were piranhas on the inside. The men who lived this life were at least honorable enough to call a rat a rat. These women, they were fucking sneaky. I wouldn’t trust a word of condolence from Pauline McFadden.

  “Molly,” Sparrow said before his mother could respond, “my mother is not taking any calls tonight. None. Take a message. Accept condolences from anyone who calls but...” He turned to Genevieve. “...no talking to anyone. Tell me you understand the importance of this transition.”

  His mother inhaled and turned to Molly. “Sterling is right. It would be best for you to tell anyone who calls that I’m too distraught to speak at this time.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  As Molly walked away, Sparrow asked, “Mom, where is your cell phone?”

  “Upstairs. It’s charging.”

  “I want that too.”

  With another sigh, Genevieve rose and came toward her son, her slippers clipping across the floor. “What about Rudy?”

  Rudy Carlson was Allister’s consigliere, a man now without an organization. There was no way in hell Sparrow could trust him.

  Sparrow shook his head. “He’s out. He won’t be coming here again.”

  Genevieve nodded.

  From her reaction, I wasn’t certain if she was relieved or disappointed. As long as she wasn’t fighting her son, I didn’t care.

  “How can you get your father’s things out of here without being seen?” she asked. “I want it all gone.”

  “The tunnel, and when we’re done, that entrance will be cemented shut. No one will be coming and going from your house without using a visible door.”

  You’d think a mansion like this would be on a sprawling estate. It wasn’t. There were other homes and buildings nearby. One of the less assuming homes in the area was connected to the mansion via an underground tunnel. It was how Allister Sparrow conducted business without the appearance of people coming and going from his residence.

  Mrs. Sparrow’s eyes fluttered as she laid her hand on Sparrow’s arm. “Be careful. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  He scoffed. “Don’t worry, Mom, the money won’t stop.”

  “It’s not—”

  “Go to bed,” Sparrow said, tilting his chin toward the staircase. “I’ll put a guard outside your door. This place is surrounded. No one will get to you or Molly. And tomorrow, have your assistant work on planning the funeral. You need to appear the grieving widow, doing what any widow in your position would do. You oversee what she does. Once you’re content, the plans need to be cleared by me. We will assure security.”

  Mrs. Sparrow nodded.

  “One more thing,” he said, “before you begin to return phone calls, I need to see the list. Things are happening as we speak. Tomorrow, some of those old biddies will also be—as you said about yourself—too distraught to take your call.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Sterling, please.”

  “Don’t,” he said with a shake of his head. “From the time I was a fucking kid, they’d made their beds. It’s past time for them to lie in them. Permanently.” With her hand still on his arm, Sparrow walked his mother to the staircase. “Good night, Mother. Go up to your suite. Have Molly bring me your cell phone.”

  Genevieve brushed her lips over Sparrow’s cheek. “Good night. I won’t interfere.”

  “That’s for the best.”

  With her depar
ture, I moved closer to Sparrow near the bottom of the stairs.

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, we watched as Sparrow’s mother walked regally up the giant staircase. The sweeping spiral design led to the second and third floors. Her long robe flowed behind her as she climbed with her chin in the air.

  The woman had always acted like a fucking queen—better than everyone.

  She tolerated Reid, Patrick, and me, but rarely acknowledged anyone other than her son even when we were all in the same room. Prior to the transition, the four of us had discussed how she would take the news. She should have suspected that something was going to happen. It was either her husband or her son. Sparrow was confident that she would do whatever was necessary to maintain her wealth and standing in the community.

  If the secrets in the back office were brought to light, Genevieve’s reputation as well as those of hundreds of other people would be ruined. The news channels would go wild fighting for the exclusive rights to all of the stories. While the idea of Allister’s reputation in the shitter was appealing, for the Sparrow organization as well as Sparrow Enterprises to remain unscathed, we’d keep the secrets. We’d move every damn document, every hidden ledger, everything that could be connected to the Sparrow organization to our new headquarters in the sky.

  And then over time, Reid, Patrick, and I would scan, classify, and destroy.

  Secrets were best when they were held in keeping—just in case.

  It was past time for the Sparrow organization to step up its record keeping. Paper ledgers and files were a thing of the past. We’d have a fucking bonfire in celebration of the new regime.

  As Genevieve disappeared onto the second-floor landing, I asked with a grin, “Did you just send your mother to bed and take away her phone?”

  Sparrow shrugged, a half smile coming to his face as he slapped me on the back. As his hand moved away, I took another look at the ring on his right hand, the gold one that bore the Sparrow family crest.

  As recently as this evening, it had been on Allister’s finger.