Page 4 of Hunted Obsession

I always made it my business to be as nosey as possible and know who and what is going on around campus at that age. So, I can’t imagine that I wouldn’t have at least heard this girl’s name in passing. It shouldn’t bother me, but it’s seriously irking me.

Narrowing my eyes, I type her name into my social media search bar and wait for her picture to appear. Because there is no way she doesn’t have some kind of presence online, I’m going to do anything and everything I can to get this woman out of Theron’s life.

She’s not good enough for him.

Just like the last five women who shared his bed on a regular basis, they were not good enough for him, either. Not to stick around anyway. They weren’t worthy of him. I am the onlyperson who understands who Theron is. I know what he needs and the way he needs it.

And I am the only one who can give him what he needs.

Just me.

Nobody else.

My eyes search her profile. It’s not even private. She wants people to see what she’s doing. She wants me to see what she is doing. Where she’s going, what she’s eating, and what she’s feeling. She tells everyone everything about her life, almost as if she’s keeping a diary.

She is just asking for me to look at every aspect of her life and involve myself. That’s fine with me because that’s what I’m going to be doing. And then I’m going to ruin her, completely and totally ruin her. She will be nothing but a ball of squishy flesh when I’m finished with her.

I create a fake profile using a fake name, but one that is close enough to my real name that it makes people second-guess. It sounds familiar, if nothing else. Next, I grab some stock pictures and upload them, along with some object pictures, and then make an announcement on my page that this is my new profile because my old one was hacked.

I start adding local people as friends. Making sure to add people from the four years that I was in high school, people who I know in real life and some I don’t. Then I add a few people from other states, because nobody just knows people locally. We’ve all had acquaintances who have moved away over the years.

Sitting back, I refresh, watching as person after person blindly accepts my friend requests, and when I have over one hundred, I add Emmie. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I stand up from my laptop and walk into the kitchen.

Opening the kitchen cabinet, I reach for a stemless wineglass, then open the bottle of wine on my counter and pourmyself a glass. Before I do anything else, I take my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture.

Then I log into my new fake account and post the picture with the caption beneath it:

Dinner of champs.

#alldaywineday #coffecoffeewinewine #dinnertime

Wrapping my fingers around the wineglass, I walk back over to my sofa and take a sip before I set it on the side table and bring my computer back to my lap. Within minutes of my post, I have ten likes and a few comments.

I continue looking for people to add to my list, then I add my real account, and just before I get ready to close my computer down and take a break from stalking, Emmie accepts my request.

Score.

Chapter Two

THERON

Slidingmy tongue along my bottom lip, I sink down in my chair and lean back as I wait for the other seats around the conference table to fill up. Lifting my hands to my face, I temple my fingers together in front of my mouth while my elbows rest on the tabletop.

I look around the room and take it in. This is the house we built. Six men from the worst backgrounds imaginable, and now we run the most exclusive security company in the city. We run this fucking city, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The conference room, along with the rest of the office, has been decorated in dark, masculine colors. There is a lot of sleek black furniture with light-gray accents and then some artwork that I don’t fucking understand.

We hired a woman to come and do it all for us, and she said it was going to make the aesthetic what we desired—whatever the fuck that means. I still don’t understand anything about it, but she did her work, and we paid her for it.

So, here I am, staring at some oil painting of some gold swirls. I don’t understand that shit at all. Not even a little fucking bit. But she said it was calming and classic. So, here it fucking is, along with some huge slim vases that also make no goddamn sense to me.

The door opens, interrupting my thoughts about the confusing artwork. Merrick is the first to walk inside. Boden is trailing behind him. They both sink down in their chairs with chin lifts. We don’t say anything. Everyone is busy on their phones, answering morning emails.

We wait for the rest of the guys to make their way into the office, and before I can even ask my assistant for coffee, I watch as Hale, Vaught, and Grayson waltz through the door. Grayson is last, and he locks the door behind him.

“The gang’s all here,” I murmur.

Shifting my gaze over to Merrick, I dip my chin slightly. He clears his throat and stands up from his seat just as the others take theirs. Leaning back, I focus my attention on him. I already know what he’s going to say, but I want to hear it in person.