Obsession (Raven’s Vale Psychos #1

Epilogue

Hollis

Four Months Later

I leaned back against the cold stone of the mansion’s balcony, my gaze heavy with resignation. Raven’s Vale, a place as twisted and dark as the man who ruled it -- Riot Tredway, The Butcher, my captor turned perverse protector. This Godforsaken town was a trap, but in its cruel embrace, I’d found a sanctuary for me and the life growing inside me. The irony wasn’t lost on me. The safest haven for my child was under the wing of a psychopath.

“Safer with the devil you know,” I muttered to myself, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. Riot’s reign was unchallenged, his brutality the only law we knew. And in this hellhole, his word was gospel. In the end, he had carved a place for me here, in the heart of darkness. It was a twisted affection, one that promised death to any who dared harm me or mine.

Violence was as common as the whispered prayers for salvation in this place. A scream in the night didn’t summon help -- it only drew the curtains tighter across windows. If someone was lucky enough to survive the night, they didn’t take chances by interfering in the matters of Riot, Crash, or Kane.

“Damned souls,” I whispered as I watched a scuffle break out at the corner. Two men, both looking like they had more scars than untouched skin, were locked in a battle. Knives flashed, catching the faint glow from the flickering streetlamps. Blood spilled onto the ground, an offering to whatever gods still bothered to look upon Raven’s Vale. No one intervened… intervention meant death, or worse, the ire of Riot.

“Survival of the foulest,” I corrected my earlier thought, my hand subconsciously resting on the slight swell of my abdomen. The air was thick with the stench of fear. The town was a beast, and Riot… Riot was its beating heart -- a heart devoid of mercy, save for the oddities of his twisted affections.

Here’s where you belong, Hollis. The truth was a bitter pill, and in swallowing it, I secured a future for my unborn -- a future shrouded in shadow, yes, but alive. And in Raven’s Vale, life was a precious commodity.

I made my way inside and into the nursery beside our bedroom. Once I’d made it through the first trimester and the doctor assured Riot everything should be fine, he’d let me choose a room. Aside from the safe room in the basement. The baby needed a place near us without being in the same room.

I leaned against the doorframe. Riot stood in the center of the room, his presence nearly overwhelming. He was constructing a crib, each movement methodical, deliberate -- a stark contrast to the chaos that was his usual signature. The wood groaned under his strength, but he handled each piece with a touch that was almost reverent.

“Damn,” I muttered from the doorway, my eyes tracing the contours of his broad back, the way his muscles bunched and flexed under the strain of his task. Watching him, this beast of a man who could snap necks as easily as twigs, fuss over dowels and screws -- it was a mind-fuck of epic proportions. And sexy as hell.

Riot didn’t turn, but the air thrummed with his awareness of me. His hands, those weapons that had stained the earth red, now cradled the bars of the crib like they were made of glass instead of seasoned oak. The dissonance of it all -- his monstrous reputation versus this moment of almost sacred concentration -- sent a shiver down my spine.

“Always figured you’d build a gallows before a bed for a baby,” I said, not sure whether the tightness in my chest was fear or something far more dangerous.

He grunted, the sound low and guttural. “Not an ordinary child,” he said, without looking up. “It’s mine.”

Awe knotted with apprehension in my belly as I watched him, The Butcher, who could command the shadows and monsters of Raven’s Vale, pouring his soul into a symbol of life amidst so much death. It was a contradiction that should’ve been impossible, yet there it was, unfolding before my eyes. In the last several months, I’d seen more and more glimpses of the man he might have been if not for his thirst for the kill.

“Careful, Riot,” I whispered, half to myself, “you’re showing your humanity.”

His chuckle was dark, devoid of humor. “Nothing human about what I am, Hollis.”

And he was right. Nothing human indeed. There was a chance any emotion I saw from him was merely him mimicking what he’d witnessed others do. Still, it was probably as close as he’d ever get, and I’d take what I could.

The echo of boots on hardwood floors pulled my gaze from Riot’s tempting body. Kane was strutting toward me, a grin splitting his face that didn’t quite reach the coldness in his eyes -- a predator playing at domestic bliss. In his hands he clutched a werewolf plushie, its fake fur matted and one eye hanging by a thread. Where the hell had he found that thing?

“Got something for the little terror,” he said, thrusting the stuffed creature into my arms like it was some twisted offering.

“Figured it’d fit right in with the family.”

The toy was grotesque, a caricature of the very beasts of nightmares. I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh -- this was what passed for a nursery gift in Raven’s Vale. A fucking werewolf.

“Kane,” I started, the words catching in my throat, “this is…”

“Perfect, isn’t it?” His smirk widened, all teeth and no warmth.

I shook my head, not in disagreement but in disbelief. There was no escaping this place, no shielding a child from the savagery that seeped into every brick and bone of Raven’s Vale. We were hemmed in by violence, born of it, and now, my child would grow up here amongst the three worst murderers within hundreds of miles.

“Thanks,” I muttered. The plushie felt heavy in my hands, a symbol of resigned acceptance to the blood-soaked life that awaited us all.

“Every kiddo needs a beastie to cuddle,” Kane said, oblivious or indifferent to the tremor in my voice.

“Especially here,” Crash said, joining us.

“Especially here,” I echoed, my heart leaden, knowing full well the kind of cuddling that went on under Riot’s rule -- claws and fangs, screams echoing into the night. There was no sanctuary, only survival. And even that came with a steep price.

I turned the plushie over in my hands, its matted fur rough against my skin. I tried to remind myself it was the thought that counted, and Kane was trying. At least, I thought he was.

“A beastie for my baby,” I murmured, trying to swallow the bitterness that threatened to spill from my lips. Kane watched me, his face split with that same self-satisfied grin that made my stomach churn.

“Damn right. Have to let them know from the start that Raven’s Vale isn’t some kind of fairy-tale land.”

I nodded. The thing was hideous, but it was a gesture, something like kindness twisted into the shape of this town.

“I appreciate it, Kane,” I said, forcing gratitude into my voice.

“Anytime, Hollis.” He slapped my back, the sound echoing too loudly in the empty space around us.

The slap was still ringing in my ears when I heard the click of the last piece slotting into place. I heard footsteps walking off and knew I was alone with Riot again.

He stood up from where he’d been hunched over the crib, his large frame casting a shadow that swallowed the light. His hands -- those hands that had torn men apart without a second thought -- had assembled a sanctuary for the child that grew within me.

“Looks sturdy,” I commented, the werewolf plushie now forgotten in my grip.

“Of course it is,” Riot said, his voice low. “Everything I build, I build to last.”

Why did I get the feeling he didn’t mean the crib?

He stepped closer, and I could feel the heat rolling off him, the dangerous current that buzzed just beneath his skin.

“Even in this hellhole, I’ll keep you both safe,” Riot declared, his eyes burning into mine with a fierce intensity that promised violence to any who dared threaten us. It was the closest I’d ever get to a confession of love, and I was fine with it. Riot was who he was, and I’d never be able to change him. The little differences I’d seen during our time together would be all I’d get.

“Safe,” I echoed, the word feeling alien on my tongue. Here, safety was as rare as innocence, yet somehow, in his presence, I believed it. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it, because the alternative was too grim to face.

“Nobody touches what’s mine,” he continued, the possessiveness in his tone wrapping around me like a barrier between me and the horrors outside.

“Nobody,” I agreed softly, my resolve steeling within me. This was our life, our reality. And no matter how much blood stained the streets of Raven’s Vale, we would stand together in the midst of it all, a twisted family bound by more than just fear.

I met Riot’s gaze, searching the depths of his eyes for a trace of the man beneath the monster. There it was -- a flicker of something raw and unguarded, a vulnerability that belied his fearsome reputation. The sight sent a shiver down my spine, not of fear, but of recognition. I had found an unlikely home in his chaotic world, and I was as close to being in his heart as I’d ever get.

“Riot,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “you’re --”

“Complicated?” He cut me off with a wry smirk, the darkness swirling in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

The room seemed to shrink as he stepped toward me, a predator closing in on its prey. Yet I wasn’t afraid -- not of him, not in this moment. His presence was both a threat and a sanctuary, a paradox that defined our existence here in Raven’s Vale.

“Listen to me, Hollis,” Riot said, each word laden with possessive force. “You and the kid -- you’re mine. This town, these people, they’ll never touch you. I’ll see to that.”

Even as I bristled at the thought of being owned, part of me relished the certainty of his protection. It was twisted, finding solace in the arms of a killer, yet there was nowhere else on earth where I could feel this perverse sense of belonging.

“Try to leave, and I’ll hunt you down,” he continued, the menace in his tone sending a thrill of danger through my veins. “There’s no corner of this world where I won’t find you, Hollis. Remember that.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” I asked, the challenge in my voice surprising even myself.

“Take it as you will,” he replied, his words sharp. “But know this -- I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

As Riot’s intensity enveloped me, I knew he spoke the truth. In this violent dance, we were partners ’til death did us part. And deep down, past the horror and the madness, I understood that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was no escaping Riot’s clutches -- not that I didn’t crave the twisted sanctuary of his embrace. I watched him turn away, his back a wall of muscle and sinew, every inch the predator he was renowned to be. A dark yearning filled me.

“Fine,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “We’ll play house in this Godforsaken place.”

He didn’t respond, but I felt his approval radiating off him like heat from a blaze. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm.

Riot moved toward the crib, his hands tenderly adjusted the bars. His care was a stark contrast to the violence that seeped from the very air around him. The sight was surreal, like watching a wolf befriending a sparrow.

The crib, once just pieces of wood, now stood strong and sure -- a silent sentinel ready to guard our child. It was a symbol of permanence in a world where nothing seemed to last. And it anchored me to this moment, to the reality of being tethered to a man whose soul was a tempest of chaos.

“Will it hold?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Like iron,” Riot answered without looking up. His fingers traced the smooth edge of the crib, a gesture so delicate it was almost reverent.

I stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath my weight. The crib was beautifully crafted, and I fought the urge to reach out and touch the wood.

“Good.” I let out a breath. I didn’t just mean the crib. It was an acknowledgment of the life I had chosen -- or that had chosen me. The resolve hardened within me. I would protect my child with every fiber of my being, even if it meant living with the worst killers in town.

Riot placed a hand on the crib’s rail, his gaze finding mine. Those eyes, dark as a raven’s wing, held a glint that was both a warning and a vow.

I could see the outline of our lives taking shape, twisted and peculiar as it might be. Perhaps we didn’t have what most considered a fairy tale, or even a happily ever after, but for us, it was as close we could get.

As darkness claimed the room, it took with it any illusion of normalcy, leaving behind the raw truth of our existence. We were bound to survive -- no matter the cost. And I’d take whatever happiness I could find, even in the arms of a killer.