Page 34 of His Obsession

“Watch what you’re doing.” Tonk harassed.

“So, how long have you guys been friends?” Liz asked, watching their exchange.

“Tonk and I have been friends since I was sixteen and he was nineteen. Jake came in later,” I said briefly.

I threw away my trash, and we moved outside to the pool chairs. I could see where this was going. Curiosity took Liz on a wild ride, and it wouldn’t let her off until it satisfied her. I poured a scotch on the rocks, sat down across from her, watching as she pulled her knees up in that defensive position.

“I was at court for a murder trial,” I continued, not understanding my sudden need to share. Her eyes went wide, and I knew what she was thinking. “It was for someone I knew. Tonk was there as a spectator.” I sipped my scotch and rolled it around my tongue, my storytelling now over.

"We met Jake when he was eighteen, selling stolen IDs. He stuck around ever since." Tonk filled in.

“So how old does that make you then?” she asked. She leaned her arm on the chair and rested her chin on her fist. I bet she was enjoying finally getting some answers, albeit not the ones she truly craved.

“I’m thirty-three. How old are you, Tonk? Fifty?” I turned to him as he prepared a drink, and I laughed.

“Ha-ha, you’re a comedian, aren’t you? I’m thirty-six. My hair lost pigment when I got struck by lightning.”

“You’re so full of shit, Tonk.” I turned back to Liz. “Lightning never struck him. He’s just prematurely turning gray.”

“Well, I like it. That is the style going these days. People pay lots of money to have silver put in their hair.”

She was trying to comfort him, how kind. We always gave Tonk shit for the “silver” as she called it. He said it was because I stressed him out, and that was something I believed.

“How old are you, Jake? I know Becca is thirty, and she is older than you.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” he said hastily. “Well, this was fun, but I need to get to my class,” he said, standing.

“What class are you taking?” She pried.

“Krav Maga. It’s an Israeli form of self-defense.”

Her interest peaked, and she sat up straight. “Could I come with you sometime? I could go right now. I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Now, that was something I wasn’t expecting. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for Liz to take a few classes. Hell, Jake could train her, he was good at it. Terrifyingly good.

Jake looked at me for approval, and I gave him a slight nod, “Okay, let’s go. You need to wear easy-to-slip-off shoes; you can’t wear them on the mats,” he told her.

She jumped from her seat, screamingthank yourepeatedly, and ran to get her shoes.

“If she comes back worse for wear, you’re going to find out how hard it is to type with broken fingers,” I warned him.

"She'll be fine, it'll be good for her," Tonk said.

I knew it would be useful. After getting to her so easily with men posted outside, I didn't want her to leave. It made me anxious. The recall of watching him on the camera’s replay made me rage. I ground my teeth and clenched my hand, nearly breaking my tumbler full of liquor. When I get my hands on him…

Jake and Tonk walked away and left me to battle my inner demons alone.

Jake’s dark forest-green BMW sat in the driveway looking shiny like it was fresh off the lot. I walked to the passenger door with an extra spring in my step as Jake tossed his gym bag in the back seat. Would this be my way of gaining back some sense of control? This was what I convinced myself to be accurate, at least for now. If I could defend myself, I wouldn’t have to rely on him.

Jake’s engine gave a roar as he turned the key. The gate swung open wide enough for him to drive through, and he took off like a bat out of hell. I had a feeling with as protective as Alek was with me, he wouldn’t be too happy with Jake and his driving.

“So, this class is at an expert level. You’ll probably do a lot of watching tonight, but I’ll teach you a few basics after class if it still interests you,” Jake said while swerving around a car. I grabbed hold of the console and theOh-Shit-Barfor dear life.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Do you think we could, I don’t know, maybe slow down a little?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the handle tight.

“Relax, I’m trained for this,” he assured me.

“What would a computer nerd need to know about precision driving?” It was a valid question.