The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

“I have an addictive personality.”

“Alcohol?” she asked. I gave my head a shake. “Drugs?” Might’ve been easier. “Women?” Woman.

Does . . . the incident have to do with your . . . addictive personality?”

“No,” I lied. If I was completely honest, I’d be committed within the hour, or rather, the Bureau would make Sasha Taylor disappear, never to be heard from again. “Some believe it was over a woman,” she supplied tentatively.

I had a close relationship with the cold, in the most literal sense; now, however, I felt the furthest from it. A fire burned in my chest, licking at the edges of what soul I had left.

Just the idea that I could tasted sweet, doubled the pace of my heart, made me feel hot and edgy. I hated the woman for making my life hell for years, but damn, if I didn’t want to touch her, to fuck the memory of every other man out of her mind until she was half as obsessed as I was, until she’d never forget my name again for the rest of her life.

“Order.” “You prefer order?” she questioned. “In what circumstances?” “All of them.”

“And when disorder comes into your life?”

“I fix it.” Standing, I buttoned my jacket and headed to the door. “But what if it’s not fixable?” she pushed, jumping to her feet, my file in a loose grip by her side. I paused with one hand on the doorknob and glanced at my wrist, at the elastic tie hidden beneath my cuff. A sardonic feeling pulled in my chest. “That, Sasha, is when I obsess.”

For the love of God, he was only a fed. I’d dealt with Made Men since birth.

His gaze flicked up and caught mine, heavy and emotionless, as if he was looking straight through me. My heart turned cold in my chest.

Fed or not, with those eyes and presence, this man had seen and done things a normal Made Man hadn’t envisioned.

he was now only a man. One who judged me, wanted something from me— “Stand up.” —told me what to do.

me an asshole again, Russo, and I promise, you won’t like it.”

“Why am I not handcuffed?” I asked, watching two officers escort a shackled prisoner out the front doors. He tapped a finger on the counter in a rhythm of three—tap, tap, tap—and side-eyed me, his stare filling with a trace of dry amusement. “Did you want to be?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m married.” “So I can see, with that rock on your finger.”

“Tell me, Agent Allister, when did you realize you weren’t human?” The subtle glow of amusement lit in his eyes. “The day I was born, sweetheart.”

“Go to hell, Allister.” “Been there, Russo, and I’m not impressed.”

“If you get caught with blow on you again, I won’t save you. I’ll let you rot in a jail cell.” He wasn’t lying. Next time, he didn’t save me.

Rrring. Rrring. A groan escaped me, and I rolled over, my hand coming to rest on a bare chest. Something shifted, one puzzle piece clicking into place. Rrring. Rrring. Splaying my fingers, I ran my hand across his chest. Too hot. Too smooth. Not right.

“Jesus,” was what Nico muttered before he closed his eyes again.

Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that

“It wasn’t enough,” I whispered. I’m never enough. “Nothing is enough for my father, Gianna,” he said. “You know that.”

I was in love with my husband, a man who didn’t love me. Maybe I could blame Agent Allister for putting the idea in my head one year ago, but somehow, the pain had led me here. To my husband’s son.

“Did my papà do that to you?” I licked the cut on my bottom lip. “I threw a vase at his head and called him a cheating pig.” Ace made a small noise of amusement. “Of course you did.”

“You aren’t going to tell him,” Nico said. I didn’t respond. “If you tell him, I will make your life a living hell.”

“Why, Ace?” I whispered. How could you have let this happen? I knew why I had. I was a mess. Everything I did was wrong. But Nico? He always had his head on straight. He maintained control in every move he made. “I was drunk, Gianna. Really fucking drunk. And, to be completely honest, I still am.”

A box of chocolates tied with an apologetic red bow sat on our bed when I got home that morning. The same bed my husband had fucked my best friend on from behind.

“What color do you want, querida? Red is good.” The vise around my heart squeezed. “I see whoever taught you to clean taught you sensitivity as well,” I said, adding, “Nude, please.” “I do not clean.” “Exactly,” I

His were an ocean beneath ice, where nothing but the darkest creatures could thrive, while mine were a wide open plain. He saw everything. Every bruise. Every scar. Every slap against my face.

He thought I was unfaithful. And now, I couldn’t even deny it.

“Fill out the form and shut your mouth before I have to arrest you for tax evasion.”

I turned to him, expecting to see triumph, but as I met his gaze, my heart stilled before tugging in an unnatural way. There was something dark and genuine behind his eyes, and I didn’t realize until later that he was letting me see it. The steady drip, drip, drip of blood. The clanks of metal and fire that forged him.

His gaze narrowed in distaste as it fell to the pen I’d bitten between my teeth. It took only a second to connect the dots. Germs, most likely. I licked the end of the pen like a lollipop, tucked it into his front jacket pocket, and gave his chest a pat. “Have a lousy night, Allister.”

“What is it, Gianna?” he bit out. “Birth control pills.” “Why do you have them?” “Birth control.”

“How long?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Since the day we were married.” Since the night you stepped on my heart. The slap across my face was immediate. It whipped my head to the side and knocked the breath from my lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “The things you make me do, Gianna,” he growled. “Do you think I want to hit you?”

“I know everything about you, Gianna. Where you go, what you do, who you speak with.” He ran a hand into my hair, and I fought the urge to jerk away because he’d only pull the strands. “You’re mine. And I look after what’s mine.”

“Andromeda was boasted to be one of the most beautiful goddesses.” He moved closer, so close his jacket brushed my bare arm. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was on the sky. “She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.” I imagined her, a red-haired goddess with a heart of steel chained to a rock. The question bubbled up from the depths of me. “Did she survive?” His gaze fell to me. Down the tear tracks to the blood on my bottom lip. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “She did.”

“Ask me what her name means.” It was another rough demand, and I had the urge to refuse. To tell him to stop bossing me around. However, I wanted to know—I suddenly needed to. But he was already walking away, toward the exit. “Wait,” I breathed, turning to him. “What does her name mean?” He opened the door and a sliver of light poured onto the terrace. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. His head turned just enough to meet my gaze. Blue. “It means ruler of men.”

My breath came out steady. The knot in my chest loosened. The tremor in my veins became the hot buzz of an electric line. And then I did it for everyone who couldn’t. I did it for every bruise. Every scar. Every slap against my face. Most of all, I did it because I wanted to. I screamed.

“Why do you dislike my husband so much?” “Yes . . . why?”

“Don’t be mad, cara. It was a tasteful story, I promise.” His eyes coasted to Allister, hardening from amusement to jagged steel. “It’s not like I told them you bled all over my cock.”

Get the fuck away from me you disgusting old man

It seemed Allister wasn’t buying what Antonio was selling like everyone else did. It was . . . refreshing, and the first thing I truly liked about the man.

“A woman likes some passion and spontaneity in her life. You, Officer, need to loosen up.” “Should I fuck other women in her bed? Spontaneous enough, you think?” God, he just had to know about Sydney.

“You have such a handsome face. Does it get you everything you want?” “Almost.”

“One look from you, and women swoon at your feet.” He was growing annoyed with me. “Yet here you stand.”

Don’t you ever live on the edge, Officer? Just let yourself have whatever you want?” The air pulsed like it had a heartbeat as I pushed the shimmery material over my hips, letting my gown fall to my feet.

“Then how do you ever feel alive?” A smile touched my lips as I dove into the water. Because his gaze had slid down the curves of my body, and it was the furthest thing from cold I’d ever felt.

“Are you obsessing over the third now?” “No.” Yes. “Do you consider yourself OCD?” “Mildly, self-diagnosed,”

liked a clean space, clean clothes, and not to put dirty shit, like a used communal pen, in my mouth.

“They always knocked three times,” I said. “Who?” “The men who made me.”