Page 40 of Cruel Obsession

“That’s what I thought.” She takes her empty glass back. “Which is why you’re going to promise me that you’ll be careful. And that you’ll answer when I call to make sure you haven’t been dismembered in his sex dungeon.”

“Jesus, Di.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” I meet her eyes, seeing real fear beneath the bravado. “I’ll check in every day.”

“And you’ll tell me if he gets weird?”

“Define weird.”

“Secret room of ex-wives’ corpses. Making you call him Daddy. Asking you to dress like his mother.”

I snort despite myself. “I swear to report all serial killer behavior.”

“And sex stuff,” she adds. “I need details about the sex stuff.”

“There won’t be any sex stuff.”

But even as I say it, my traitorous mind conjures images of black wings on tanned skin, broad shoulders flexing, strong hands pinning mine above my head, that cool, controlled voice rasping filthy commands against my ear.

I am so completely, royally fucked.

But there’s no time to think about it, because the deal is done. Somewhere inside Arkady Laurov’s office, there’s a contract with my signature on it. I’m working for him now. And I’m going to save Dad.

The next few days blur into a frenzy of paperwork and packing and panic. I resign from the registrar’s office, grateful for their one-week notice policy. My coworkers throw an awkward goodbye lunch that only makes me feel worse about leaving in such a hurry.

Erica catches me alone afterward, her face drawn tight with worry.

“Laurov,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s who you’re working for?”

My insides twist. “Do you think it’s a problem?” Why am I asking this? I’ve known the answer since I walked into that interview room.

“I know his family.” Her eyes skitter around us, checking for listeners. “They’re not people you want to cross, Mirabel.”

“I’m going to be fine, Erica, I promise.” I smile, hoping the lie lands smoothly.

She glances over her shoulder again. “Just watch yourself. Don’t ask questions. Don’t listen at doors.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “Don’t go looking for things that aren’t yours to find.”

My face burns hot. She’d always known about my habit of eavesdropping. A habit I’m trying to change.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, but her warning follows me out like a shadow, settling cold and heavy in my gut.

Sunday arrives with brutal swiftness. I stand in my bedroom, surveying the scraps of my life compressed into two suitcases. Clothes. Books. Photos. The bracelet I haven’t worn since Debra disappeared, wrapped in tissue paper like a precious, wounded thing.

My phone vibrates:

Car arrives 2 p.m. Pack essentials only. Anything else will be provided. - A.L.

The formality makes me smile despite everything. Of course he’d sign texts with his initials.

Diane finds me staring at my phone, lost in the void between decisions.

“Last chance to back out,” she says from the doorway.

I shake my head. “Dad has another treatment tomorrow.”

“I know.” She hugs herself, suddenly small. “I just worry about you alone with him.”