Lethal Obsession

1. Thalia

Chapter one

Thalia

There’s nothing I love more than a fucking headshot.

Maybe it’s the way skull fragments shatter, scattering into a million little pieces as they separate from the flesh.

Or maybe it’s the way blood paints across anything in its path, leaving a soaked canvas of abstract art in its wake.

Or maybe I just really like the way heads go pop.

Whatever it is, it’s what causes me to level my M243 along the roof’s ledge.

My target is a large man named Arthur Stout—and I’m not meaning in appearance.

Visually, he’s your typical rounded guy with a saggy neck and a horrible grey comb-over that went out of style in the late nineties.

Everywhere he goes, his baggy cheeks pull up into a too-bright smile, and he overstuffs his pockets with the money of the innocent.

He’s big because of his connections—the power he wields over the lower class. He’s a fucking leech, taking from the poor and giving nothing in return as he attempts to secure his spot as mayor of Miami. After compiling his profile, I found far more nefarious things lurking in his background.

Crooked deals to get innocent people locked away for life if they were a threat to his growing figure, money laundering, and the worst of all, trafficking.

Bitterness and disgust with this man swirl in my gut as I stare at him through the scope.

I’m usually prone to up-close kills, but being in his vicinity has something much darker arising in me.

During special cases like this, I don’t take my normal route and get close to the target.

Psychological torture is my forte, but this man deserves to be taken out before he can hurt anyone further.

My past can be attributed to that. My teeth grit as the lessons my mother drilled into me ricochet around my psyche.

“Thalia,” she said, staring down at me with her usual look of displeasure that she masked easily as motherly doting. “No man will take you seriously. Use what you have against them. Your looks are the only thing you have at your disposal.”

As I panted on the sparring mat, my lip busted and gushing blood and my eyes swelling shut from the beating our father forced Atlas to put me through, she had no idea that I was imagining slicing into the artery of her neck. I didn’t speak, but she didn’t need me to.

“One day, you’ll thank me for this. Go and clean yourself up. Next time you’ll know to block your face better.” She sneered, turning her back on me.

If I had not been beaten beyond recognition and exhausted, I would have jumped on her back, wrapped my forearm around her throat, and listened to her choke as I strangled the life out of her.

“Don’t,” Rowan’s voice whispered from behind me before he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t stoop to her level.”

I spat the pooling blood in my mouth onto the mat before wiping the trail left on my chin. “I hate her.”

My oldest brother took me into his arms, rubbing a comforting hand across my shoulders. In this world, it’s the only solace I’ll ever get, so I bunched his shirt into my fists as I melted into his embrace.

“I know you do,” Rowan said softly.

Atlas stood behind my oldest brother, his expression downcast and his knuckles bloodied. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I released Rowan before linking elbows with my sibling, with whom I have the most in common. Atlas can be heartless at times, but he was always protective of me. Both of my brothers were.

I was only glad to hold some emblem of peace in the fucked-up world we were forced into, and I knew that sparing days hurt them just as much as it hurt me.

Those horrid memories have created a flame beneath me from the very beginning. By the time I turned sixteen, I didn’t care about keeping my head. I learned to thrive in the insanity, and it finally felt good to let go of trying to be okay. I wasn’t normal, and I was tired of hiding it.

I knew I wouldn’t be free until Jack, our father, was dealt with. I was frothing at the maw day and night as Rowan concocted his plan to take over the Midwestern branch.

But it wasn’t Jack I was itching to turn into a canvas. I couldn’t care less about him, and Atlas wanted his blood.

I wanted to make our mother suffer. She had destroyed my image and self-esteem for years. She had stood by as our own father tortured us and never said a fucking word.

But Rowan made the decision to keep her prisoner on the compound.

His choice wasn’t for completely selfish reasons.

Our mother is the daughter of the West Syndicate leader, and basically untouchable unless we want to incite a war among branches.

While Rowan’s hold over our branch was still fragile, he didn’t want to bring unnecessary violence to our doorstep by provoking our withering, sorry sack of shit grandfather who never so much as visited us.

I only know his face from photos, and I would prefer to keep it that way. He has no place among the Midwestern branch.

People say time heals all wounds, but I’ve picked at mine like a rabid animal, finding little ways to keep what makes me feel something.

The twinkling chime of my phone pulls my attention as I dig it out of my pocket. The notification for Loxley’s baby shower scrolls across my screen and I curse.

Never in my whole twenty-three years of existence did I think I would be an aunt.

And I especially never considered how overjoyed I would be about it…

I would never tell Atlas, but I’m beyond excited for Sophia’s arrival. I still haven’t finished her gift, and I’m running out of time. This bundle of joy is going to have a whole compound of assassins wrapped around her chubby little fingers, and I’m at the front of the line.

“Well, looks like I have to make this quick.” I shrug as I level the barrel and take a bated breath.

My eyes lock onto Arthur as he walks toward the event center.

He buttons his suit jacket, waving to a few others who are entering the banquet hall in downtown Miami, where there’s a charity gala in full swing.

Security is around every corner, and with the steadily setting sun over the skyline, I’m perfectly obscured from view.

The building I’m on top of isn’t high, but it was the only option I had in my rush. I would normally scope out something much higher, but I wanted a front-row seat.

I release my breath, steadying my hands as my finger presses the trigger.

Time seems to slow as the bullet travels at a speed too fast for my eyes to register.

The only sign I get that I hit my target is when Arthur’s head shoots sharply to the right, and blood splatters all over a passing woman’s evening gown.

There’s only a beat before his body drops like a rag-doll and shrill screams ring through the streets.

People scramble as security drops down beside the man whose brain is splattered across the sidewalk.

There’s yelling for someone to call EMS, and a string of bystanders crowding around to see what happened.

It’s absolute chaos, and I sit back as I admire my work.

It’s sloppy and messy, but seeing the dark essence of such a vile human being soak into the concrete is like a gift.

It soothes the sick part of me that revels in delivering other’s fates.

Call me poetic, but bringing death to someone’s doorstep is a surreal experience.

My preening is short-lived when awareness zips down my spine, and that sixth sense I’ve developed over the years blares an alarm. My smile fades as I sigh and stand.

“I know you’re there,” I sing as I pack up my supplies.

From the shadows near the roof’s door, Brooks Heartfall, the bane of my existence and my ex-boyfriend, emerges with a rugged, crooked smirk. He’s always been devastatingly handsome with dark curls and the charming southern features women go crazy over.

Now, his smile looks more fox-like and conniving than suave. He’s nothing more than a snake in the grass, and this isn’t the first time he’s cornered me.

“You’ve always been one hell of a shot, darlin’.” His thick southern drawl used to be attractive to me. Now he just sounds like he’s trying to talk past the massive cock shoved in his mouth.

I put my hands on my hips, shaking my head as a slow, devious smile tugs at my lips. “And I thought you learned your lesson the last time you cornered me.”

His mask cracks a fraction before he recovers quickly and takes a few steps towards me with open arms. “I thought we could both wave the white flag and work together.”

I snort. “You got this idea after I dangled you by your wranglers from a skyscraper and a team of firefighters had to save your sorry ass? Learn to read context clues, my dude.”

His face falls as his eyes narrow. That serene mask slips away, revealing the beast that lurks beneath the surface. “That minor mishap won’t happen again.”

I rock back on my heels as I rub a finger across my chin. “You never told me how your blood transfusions are going. Do you still have to get them regularly?”

His scruff-lined jaw grinds.

Fuck, it’s so easy to rage-bait him.

He rolls his shoulders back, his lips twitching. “Once a month, Killer.”

That old nickname makes my insides twist in displeasure, but I don’t show it as I keep my smirk. “You never could handle me.”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “Blood play wasn’t my thing.”

“I can tell,” I wave a hand. “I remember when your face used to go ghost white and then your eyes would roll back into your head.” I mimic it before guffawing and slapping my thigh.

He gives me a tight smile that teeters on sinister. “I remember waking up to the bedsheets covered in my blood and you sleeping beside me as if you didn’t just try to drain the life from me.”

I wipe a stray tear. “Good times. But I know you didn’t just come here to reminisce.” I check the time on my phone before hissing. “Better make this quick before I knock you out and rob you. Again.”

He shakes his head, plastering on that charming grin. “I’m here to propose we work together on a…project.”

I lift a brow. “What kind of project?”

I can see the moment he slips into the dealmaker persona of his that could scheme him into anything. If I didn’t know who he really was, I would fall for it in an instant. It’s a little unsettling how convincing he can be when he gets like this.

“The South Branch is under new leadership, as I’m sure you’ve gathered.” He says with a tilt of his chin.

“I’m aware,” I shrug before crossing my arms. “What does that have to do with me?”

He steps closer, gazing down at me through the half-lidded eyes of a predator. “Let’s not fool ourselves. Bailey isn’t cut out for this. She’s a nobody who needed a direct invitation to join. I know it. You know it. The whole compound knows it.”

I blink before I break out into hysterics.

“You…oh, wait, this is so good…you expect me to help you overthrow her?” I brace my hands on my knees as I suck in a wheezing breath.

“Oh, that’s pathetic! You’ve really lost your edge, Brooks.

” I straighten, my eyes narrowing on him.

“Do you wonder what it would be like to drop from a roof of this height?”

He tilts his head, his lips thinning. “Can’t say I do, Killer.”

“Would you like to?” I ask, walking my fingers suggestively up his grey henley before I grip his collar and pull him down so we’re eye level.

“You fuck with Bailey, you fuck with the Midwestern branch. If even a strand of pretty blonde hair is out of place on her head, I’ll gut you before throwing you to the fucking wolves.

Have you ever seen Atlas torture someone for days?

It really is like watching the worst gore film. I’ll even make the goddamn popcorn.”

Brooks’ eye’s narrow. “So, I’ll take that as a no.”

“You can take that as a,” I tuck my lips in, winding up and spitting on his face in the process, “FUCK no. And I’m telling Bailey about your little resistance.”

He pulls back, fixing his shirt as I let him go. He rolls his shoulders before spreading his hands and smirking. “Be my guest, Killer.”

I roll my eyes before walking back towards the ledge and shouldering my backpack. I can never let him have the last word, but as I turn to him, I stop dead in my tracks the moment I notice the dark barrel of a pistol aimed at me.

“It really is nothing against you, Thalia, but I can’t have you fucking this up for me.”

Rage lights a fire in me, and I refuse to die without getting this off my chest. No regrets, right? “You fuck like a virgin—”

The sharp crack of the gun firing jars me before the bullet pierces my shoulder and causes my body to rock back. The shock isn’t enough to block the pain that spreads through my left arm, radiating like pins and needles as my teeth grit and the back of my legs hit the ledge.

I’m going to fall, I know I am, and I do the only thing I can at a time like this. I lift my middle finger to Brooks, the corner of my mouth twitching when I see him sneer at me, before gravity pulls me and I’m free-falling off the building.

I’m not going to die from this height, but I brace myself for the impact as the wind whistles past my ears.

I take two large gulps of air into my lungs, tucking my limbs in as much as I can with my wounded shoulder.

My eyes close on impact as my body crashes into the roof of some poor guy’s car.

Pain lances my back as the impact knocks the wind clean from me.

The car’s horn blares in protest, drowning out the sounds of my groaning as my ears ring.

I can hear someone shouting, but it’s all muffled as I lose consciousness. My last thought is of how I’m going to make Brooks fucking pay for this.