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Obsessed Love
Author: MINK


Obsessed Love






Prison didn’t do me any favors. The moment I’m free, I start to put my plan for revenge in motion and hit the road back home. But then, a set of flashing blue lights in my rear view have me slowing down. Stopping.

And then she walks up. Officer Lovett. I want her. So I steal her, snatch her right there off the side of the road and take her to my home. Like I said, prison did nothing to gentle my nature. In fact, I’m even more ruthless than I was before.

Now, nothing will stop me from getting revenge on my enemies. And no matter how hard she tries, Love won’t stop me from claiming her in every way that matters.









Two years. Two years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.

Not that I can complain too much. After all, I’ve committed plenty of crimes. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I walk through the final door that leads to freedom. The clerk gives me my old phone—the one I turned in when I was brought in. Of course, I have a brand-new iPhone in my pocket and have no need for the old one. There are plenty of things you can’t get in prison, and some things that are surprisingly easy to procure. Small tech, cigarettes, drugs—easy to get. A decent cheeseburger? Impossible.

I can’t say prison has been good to me. In fact, I think it made me even more ruthless, more animal. I was already a man who took what he wanted. But now it’s different. Now it’s fucking instinct—to survive, to overcome, and to rule. I had an empire before I went in, then I created a fucking empire in this concrete and steel jungle. I own this place, the sole ruler of this cesspool of vicious offenders.

But now I’m free. My time is up, and I don’t even know what to do first. There’s so much I missed, so many things that are perfectly simple when you’re on the outside and fucking impossible when you’re in the clink.

Stepping out, I take that first big gulp of free air and find a brand-new black Range Rover waiting for me right through the gate. Ali came through just as I instructed. Good.

I hop in, and I don’t miss the envious gazes of the guards as I start it up. I blast the air conditioning and flip on the radio. My shirt strains against my chest as I reach toward the glove box. It fit perfectly two years ago, but I suppose I’ve bulked up even more since I’ve had plenty of uninterrupted gym time.

Grabbing my gun, I check the magazine. Fully loaded. One of the guards watches me, but he doesn’t have the balls to say shit to me about breaking the law—felon in possession right here.

I ease down the pothole-filled road that leads to the highway. I should be whooping for joy or—I don’t know—having some sort of emotion. But I don’t. I just feel empty. The same I felt ever since that day two and a half years ago. The day I was betrayed. That’s something. When I think of Massimo, rage pulses through me in steady waves. I’ll take that over being numb.

The drive away from the prison turns smooth once I hit the highway. It’s early, only a few farm trucks on the road out here in the boonies.

I dial Ali.

He picks up immediately. “Sir.”

“Where is he?”

“Massimo is in the South of France.”

“Tell me when he gets back into the country.”

“Of course.”

I hang up even though I know Ali wants to speak more. About me getting out. About my plan for revenge. But I can’t talk. Not when I have this weird energy, like a spring that’s been compressed for too hard and too long. The longer I drive, the more I get the feeling I’m going out of my skin. I guess freedom can do that to a man.

Speeding up, I cruise into a nearby town, the houses small and the stores all mom and pop joints. I think about stopping for a moment just to get out and try to decompress. But I don’t. Instead, I press the gas pedal down. I don’t need to waste a single second.

The only thing that’s going to bring me even a semblance of peace is Mossimo’s head on a platter. So I speed through the shithole town, blasting through the blinking orange light at the main intersection near a row of old storefronts.

I’m already back out into the pastures and cornfields when I see blue lights in my rearview.

I grip the steering wheel hard and let out a string of curses that could set a priest on fire. I don’t have time for this bullshit. Eyeing my mirror, I think about just flooring it. The cop car probably wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Then again, I need to keep a low profile until I destroy Massimo. If I’m lucky, he hasn’t even realized I’m out.

With a sigh, I slow down and pull onto the shoulder. Irritation thrums in my veins as I pull my license and documents from the envelope Ali left in the glove compartment for me.

When I glance into my rearview mirror again, my heart seems to do a stutter step. Which is odd. Because, as a general rule, I fucking hate cops. I certainly don’t get heart palpitations over them.

But this woman—she’s different. She’s wearing a khaki uniform with a pistol at her hip. And fuck, those hips were made for a man to grab on to. Sauntering toward me, she tilts her head up, and I can see her face beneath the brim of her hat. She’s young with full lips and a button nose.

My blood heats, and my cock hardens as she moves closer. It can’t be possible, but I could swear I catch her scent—some sort of sweet blossoms—before she even reaches me. My mouth waters, and I peer intently at her in my side mirror.

Objects may appear closer than they are. No shit. I want her right up next to me, not hanging back by the rear window.

I adjust my cock so it doesn’t get strangled by my pants, then roll my window down.

“Sir?” she calls. Her voice is high and confident, ringing like a bell despite the cicadas humming in the background.

“Can I help you?” The question comes out gruff even though I didn’t intend it that way. Maybe prison changed me even more than I realized, because when I look at her in the mirror, I can’t stop the parade of filthy thoughts that trample through my mind. Fuck, how did she even get her top buttoned? Her tits strain at the button between them, and I want to yank it off with my teeth.

She straightens a little, her chin kicking up. “You were speeding through my town. I’m afraid I’ll be writing you a ticket. Please hand over your license and insurance information.”

“Sure thing, Officer …” I let it hang in the air.

“Lovett.” She stares at me in the mirror, though I can’t see her eyes through her reflective sunglasses.

I hold my papers just inside the window.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to hold them out farther.”

“I’m sorry, Officer Lovett, but I have an old injury that prevents me from fully extending my left arm.”

Come closer.

“Oh.” She edges slightly forward. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It happened a couple of years ago. I’m fine.” I wave the papers a little bit.

Come closer.

She takes two more steps. “You’ve got out-of-county plates. What are you doing in town?”

“Just passing through. Looking for a meal.” I smile at her reflection.

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