Page 17 of Their Tracked Obsession

I slumped back against the dressing room wall. Raven joined me, sighing, but we jumped up when something hit the wall at our backs. Something fell to the floor with a thud. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I peered at Raven whose eyes were wide with uncertainty. Someone was in the fitting room next to ours.

No matter how much I’d like to forget, I had to remember Phoenix was a threat. He was still out there. I had to be careful.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Raven answered.

Another bang against the wall.

“Is everything okay?” I called out.

“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine,” said the employee who had assisted us. “I’m helping some customers beside you. Stupid heels aren’t the right fit.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Thank you, Jesus. I could relax.

I couldn’t let Phoenix Pitrone ruin my day.

Nine

Her Destiny

Sin

Video games. What the fuck were we? Children?

Nope. We were men. Pure predators who seek our prey. Our nature was to hunt. Not sit on our asses playing damn childish games. Especially with our girl out in the wild without us.

This was the game we enjoyed playing with our little obsession as long as she roamed this Earth we’d pursue her.

Liv was ours. Ours to fuck. To claim and have for the rest of our days, but we lived for this shit. To follow her wherever she went.

The addiction to the thrill was real. Liv was breathing. I could hear her right beside me, as if I could reach out and touch her, but I couldn’t. We had to remain hidden in the shadows, and darkness became ours. Our entire existence until…

Thud.

“Jesus Christ…” Saint whispered with frustration. “I can’t get these damn things on.”

We ditched the PlayStation for some real live entertainment and tracked Liv all the way to the bridal boutique. Sure, Gloria invited us to tag along, so we caused no harm. We’d remain invisible and out of sight. More fucking fun to be had by being bad.

“Fuck…” I smacked a hand against my forehead. “Put the damn thing on already.”

“I’m trying, man, I’m trying,” Saint muttered with frustration, and perspiration pooled on his forehead. “My feet are too fucking fat.”

“Go on a damn diet.” I swiped a finger across his forehead. “What the fuck are you sweating for?”

Saint jabbed me with his shoulder and tried to create more room. “I’m sweating my goddamn balls off in here stuck with you.”

Saint struggled to put the high-heeled boot on we had collected on the way inside without being noticed. We had a plan to stick to, and we should fit the damn part. Couldn’t be sitting ducks in a damn place full of women wearing black manly boots with pants on. One glance under the crack at the bottom of the door would reveal us. We’d be out on our asses in the streets with the mission failed.

There was a knock at the door.

Shit.

“Look what you did,” I mouthed and blamed Saint.

“Me?” Saint mouthed back and pointed at himself.

“Yes, you!” I whisper-shouted and poked him. “Dickhead.”