Page 26 of Framed Obsession

Fine, have it your way.

I look over to Zane, rolling my eyes, and he chuckles. This isn't our first rodeo, and this fucker is about to find that out. I open my hand, gesturing for Zane to hand me the rag, and he does. I put the rough fabric over Flynn’s face, holding it in place. He squirms around in the chair, trying to move his face from underneath.

“W–What are you doing?” he asks in panic. Zane jogs around the island and approaches the sink, turning it on. I watch as he tugs on the small faucet on the side, pulling the tube along with it. He hovers the nozzle over the towel, and I nod, giving him the go-ahead.

Water aggressively spurts out, drenching the towel, soaking through it. Zanes grip tightens on the little nozzle, and I can hear the water leak through as the snitch underneath starts to squirm and gurgle. Waterboarding is an effective form of torture. It’s worked for centuries, so I’m damn sure it'll work today. We wait thirty seconds before stopping. Flynn gasps for air, coughing and wheezing.

“We can do this the hard way, Flynn.” I say, already bored of the time spent on this idiot. I keep the cloth in place, waiting for him to respond. He doesn't. Zane pushes on the nozzle, starting the spray of water again.

I struggle to keep the rag in place as his head thrashes back and forth. Zane’s other hand comes down on his skull, knocking him out. I don't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. I remove the towel from his face, throwing it onto the floor.

“Damn it,” Zane says, bummed at the outcome. I glimpse at the watch on my wrist. I’ve spent too much time on this and have gotten nowhere. Wishful thinking that he would be easy to crack. And that’s my impatience talking.

“Can you finish this one on your own?” I ask Zane impatiently.

“You’ve got somewhere to be? Come on, we waited so long for this!” he says, peeved at my question.

He’s right. We have waited a long time for this, but my priorities have changed. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still make him pay for what he did to me; I just can’t do it right now. I don’t have the time to do it right now.

“As a matter of fact, I do. You got a problem with that? Just deal with him until I get back.” I demand.

“I got a problem with the fact that I dragged this fucker here for you, and you don’t even want to put in the effort to teach him a lesson!”

He sounds like a nagging housewife. But what about my feelings? I mock him internally. I don’t see why he needs me for everything. I bend over to wipe the blood off my boots with the rag from the floor before responding.

“Like I said, I will deal with him when I get back.”

“And when is that?” he questions, crossing his arms.

“Jesus, Zane, I don’t know. I’ll be back.” I turn to leave, grabbing the door handle and twisting it open. Just as I’m about to leave, I turn back one last time and say, “Oh, and would you please put him in the fucking basement. I can hear him from the garage.” I slam the door shut, ready to head back out and see my Little Flower.

Chapter 22

The Flower

The headache that sears through my brain may just be the death of me. I’ve been at work for eleven hours… and counting. My last client for the day just left, and I have a pile of notes that I need to chart. This will probably take me hours. Maybe I’ll just do a few now and finish the rest at home. I’m not sure how much longer my ass can stay planted in this chair before it starts taking its shape.

I stand, stretching my legs one last time, and it feels so fucking good. The clicking of my kitten-heeled boots fills the quiet air as I make my way down the hall. My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the late hour.

I peek out into the waiting room, taking notice that everyone has left, including Layla. I don’t blame her; poor thing was required to stay late with me as a request from Parker. I insisted I could stay behind alone, and he insisted that I shouldn't.

I shrug and walk into the break room, heading to the vending machine that sits alone on the back wall. My eyes scan the flavorful packages inside. Do I want salty or sweet? I keep looking until something appetizing catches my eye. I click on “D5,” watching as the slot eats my last dollar.

I reach down into the one-sided door at the bottom, and grab my small bag. My stomach elicits a small growl again. Shh, I know. Down, girl. I open the plastic and reach inside eagerly, popping a cookie into my mouth. My taste buds instantly salivate at the contact.

“Mmm,” I groan. Cookies are my favorite. Chocolate chip to be exact, but I don’t discriminate; I love them all. A small thud from the hall catches my attention. I thought I was alone? I turn and head toward the open doorway, peering around the corner, and I’m met with nothing.

Confused, I head down the hall, making my way back into my office. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I notice Parker rummaging through my files. Did he not notice that I was still here? I stand with my arms folded over one another, and clear my throat loudly for him to hear.

“Can I help you?” I ask in annoyance. He pauses and closes the manila folder he was looking through. Fidgeting, he glances around in panic, like a child caught in the fridge searching for a midnight snack. He straightens, brushing his blazer.

“No. Wait, yes.” He quickly changes his mind. I can almost physically see the lightbulb appear above his head. The dread of not knowing what's coming next seeps into my muscles, already wearing me out.

“What are your plans for this evening? Shall we have dinner?”

I almost want to vomit in front of him. Should I? It might finally make him leave me alone. I roll my eyes. If it is not now, he’ll bug me till the end of time. I already hate what is about to leave my mouth.

“Sure, Parker. It’s just dinner, and that's it,” I say for the record. He smiles as if he won the lottery, and I instantly want to take back my words. Every cell in my body is already dreading the next few hours.