Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games, #1)

by Callie Rose

“Do I look like the kind of guy who enjoys a gala?” I laugh, resting my hand over his. “No. But to be fair, when I first met you, I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who had a shitload of money either.” “You know I take that as a compliment.” “Good. I meant it as one.”

Marcus nods once, then turns to me, pulling me into his arms. “There’s food in the fridge, booze in the liquor cabinet, and every streaming service you could want on the TV. Veg out. Have fun.” He grins slightly, as if he knows exactly what I really want to do. “Poke around all you want. What’s mine is yours.”

“I can’t,” he murmurs. “I’ll never let you go.” The words echo in my head like ripples spreading across a pond, and I clutch at his forearms, scraping my nails over the skin of his arms, his fingers, his knuckles—as if I could erase the events of one fateful night just by gouging out the date tattooed on his skin. I’ll never let you go.

as Marcus stares down at me, towering over me like an avenging angel. Or a devil come to life.

The two other men stand sentry behind him near the side of the bed, and just like in the garage that day, their gazes are rooted to us. Locked on us. Heat burns in their eyes, and neither one of them makes any move to leave, or even to look away. I don’t want them to. They’re supposed to be here. Just like this. It’s always been all three of them. When they leave, a part of me dies.

Without thinking, I reach for the two of them, needing something, needing… more. Ryland’s body goes rigid, and while he doesn’t look away from the sight of his friend fucking me into the bed, he doesn’t move any closer. Theo licks his lips, indecision and need warring in his features.

I sigh, feeling a hint of exhaustion creep in again. “Why any of it? Why me? Why Carson? What the fuck is going on?” Ryland’s face goes still for a moment. Then he lets out a heavy breath, reaching up to scrub a hand over his jaw. “I don’t think you know what you looked like that night, Ayla. The night you got shot. That fucking image will haunt me for the rest of my life.” His eyes go out of focus a little, like he’s seeing something I can’t, reliving a moment I’m not privy to. “It wasn’t the blood. It wasn’t even seeing someone die. That wasn’t new to me. It was the look on your face. You looked at us—you looked at Marcus—like he could save you.”

“We did what we could to help you. We paid your medical bills and bribed that woman from CPS to say she’d gotten the money from other sources. We made sure you got what you needed to help you heal.”

“No. Ayla.” Ryland looks up sharply, shaking his head. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks like he’s at a loss for words—not just choosing to withhold them. He tugs his chair a little closer to the bed, dropping his chin to meet my gaze. “It wasn’t for me. It was for you.” “For me?” He nods. “It was always for you. That’s the only reason I tried to convince Marcus to back off. I… I thought about you all the fucking time. I still do. But I thought you would be safer, that you’d have a better life, if we weren’t in it.”

“I don’t think any of us could help ourselves. But at least you never knew we were there. Until that night you almost got mugged, and… everything broke.”

“You didn’t sever ties,” I say quietly, speaking the obvious. Ryland’s eyes flicker as they meet mine. “No. You’re like a fucking drug, Ayla. We spent two and a half years hovering on the periphery of your life, but the moment we stepped into it that night, the moment we got close… it was like a barrier came down that was impossible to put back up. It was the first fix. And we kept coming back for more.”

“We should never have been in your life, Ayla. If we hadn’t been, none of this would’ve happened. You don’t belong in the middle of this, and I fucking hate that we dragged you into it. It’s not fucking fair. This isn’t your world, this isn’t your fight, and yet you almost died because of it.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “None of us expect to live long. But you should. You have to.”

Still holding my gaze, he drops his head and clasps my face in both hands, tilting my chin up. Then he presses his lips to mine. This man is all hardness. All taut fury and straight lines. He’s stubborn and callous and harsh. But none of those things are in this kiss.

“Luca was married once,” Marcus goes on. “Over twenty years ago now. None of us remember the woman who was his wife, but the way our parents talk about it, he fucking worshipped her. He adored her.”

“He never remarried.” Marcus shrugs. “She was it for him. All he ever wanted.”

“Is that what this was?” My fingers absently reach up to brush against the scar tissue on my chest, remembering the feel of bullets tearing through my skin. “A game?” Marcus swallows, his jaw clenching. “Yes.” Goose bumps creep over my skin. “And the man you killed? Devin. He was part of the game too?” “Yes.”

“There are only three ways out,” Ryland adds quietly. “You either die, hand over your life and allegiance to someone else… or you win.”