Secret Obsession: Chapter 51

I break the silence that lingers in the aftermath of Miles and I getting each other off with Knox in a front-row seat… by telling them about the dead guy’s brother.

And that really doesn’t break the silence so much as elongate it.

“I’m sorry,” Knox says, glancing back at me. “But you’re telling me that the guy Miles killed, the guy who put something in your drink and tried to rape you, has a brother? And that brother is searching for him?”

“And going the intimidation route,” I add. “I don’t know if the car is connected, but the detective seemed pretty convinced that it wasn’t a coincidence.”

“So we know he drives a truck,” Miles concludes. “And he’s looking for his brother, clearly, so he doesn’t know he’s dead.”

Never thought I’d say it, but I’m glad they didn’t put the body somewhere easily found. Like planting it elsewhere for the police to find.

“Where is he?” I ask, my stomach swooping.

I don’t want to know. I’ve never wanted to know. Minus the meat freezer photo Miles showed me, which I’ve got to assume has now been deleted for our own sake, I didn’t ask any questions.

That would only make me an accomplice.

“This guy’s been trying to find his brother for weeks,” Miles muses. He’s got his hand on my thigh, drawing a nonsense pattern with his finger. “How did he get to your apartment? So close after…”

I think back. “He was dancing with me at Prime. Is there security footage?”

Knox frowns and pulls out his phone. He dials, the phone connected to Bluetooth in the car, and it rings twice before Greyson answers.

“What’s up?”

“What do you know about Prime’s owner?” Knox asks. He fills their car in on what we’ve been discussing.

“Nothing,” Greyson answers. “Vi?”

“No,” she echoes. “Just that it opened somewhat recently.”

“Did you see any cameras in there? Security apart from the bouncer out front?”

“They scan IDs,” Aspen says. “Not everyone, but some nights. Do they keep a record?”

“Probably,” I reply. “I think they were scanning IDs the night I was there.”

Miles shifts forward, two lines forming between his brows. “O’Brien. When does your family return?”

“In a few days,” Steele replies. “So whatever you want to do, we need to do it soon.”

I meet Miles’ gaze in the dark. He’s worried. Maybe not outright, but enough to worry me, too. A shiver goes up my spine.

All of this is my fault.

When I close my eyes, I see Miles yanking the knife out of the guy’s neck.

But it wasn’t just me—they all had a part to play. Only Violet and Aspen are innocent, and I want to keep it that way.

“We should go now,” I mouth to him.

He nods once. “Let’s stop at the next rest stop. Switch cars.”

That’s exactly what we do—except when I think I’m going with Miles, he pushes me back toward the rental. “Go with the girls, baby. We’ll take care of this.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, you asshole. You got me into this—”

“Me?” Miles laughs. “You got yourself into this, wild girl. I got you out of it—”

“You didn’t have to murder him,” I whisper-yell. “You didn’t have to use him as an intimidation tactic.”

His eyes darken. “I may have twisted it that way, Willow, but he was dead either way. But at least you learned something.”

I throw my hands up. “At least I learned something? What, that my boyfriend is a psychopath?” I freeze. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

Oh, fuck. He’s grinning.

Argument forgotten, he looks like he just won everything.

“Boyfriend, huh? Not a fake one. For real.”

“Nope.” I step backward.

“Okay, fine, you can come.”

He lunges forward, and I let out a sharp squeal. We’re in the middle of the parking lot of a rest stop, but no one gives a shit. He grabs my hips and tosses me over his shoulder, then breaks into a run.

“She’s my real girlfriend!” Miles yells.

I shake my head and laugh.

What the fuck is wrong with us?

“Fake,” I cry out. “Fake girlfriend!”

He slaps my ass.

I yelp again and dig my nails into his back, hoping they cause some real damage. Like blood and scars or whatever.

He runs in a wide circle, drawing the attention of everyone else in our group. He slows down beside Violet’s car and leans forward, setting me down.

I grip his forearm, steadying myself, and glare at him.

“Was that necessary?”

“Celebrations? Yes, always.” He winks at me, then focuses on his friends. “Willow’s coming with us.”

“Fine by me,” Greyson says. “As long as you don’t fuck her in the backseat again…”

Miles smirks.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, elbowing Miles. “He’ll behave.”

“It’s you we need to worry about,” he says in my ear.

My face flames.

Was that me? Did I instigate that? I mean… maybe. But also, definitely not. Miles is just a conniving jerk. That’s why I like him. Not love, no, no, no. But like? Yeah. Sure.

I hug Aspen and Violet. They get in the rental car and head out, and the guys and I pile into Violet’s car. I’m squashed between Steele and Miles, which Miles has no trouble fixing by plucking me up and putting me on his lap sideways. I lean against him and the door, and he wraps his arms around me like a seat belt.

Soon enough, we’re pulling off the highway and navigating through a small, dark town. It’s silent, with no sign of night life, and eventually we come to the top of a long driveway.

Steele tells Greyson the code, and the gate—it has a gate!—swings inward. I stare at Steele, then at the upcoming house. It’s huge. Like, mansion big. I have no idea if the Whiteshaws or Devereuxes are this kind of rich, but it’s clear that Steele’s dad has a fuck ton of money.

Greyson parks in front of the garage, and we all pile out. Steele types in the code to the garage, and it rumbles upward, the lights flickering on.

The garage is empty, luckily. We hurry inside, and the garage door slides down behind us. I follow the guys down a short hallway, into another garage-like room. It feels like a guy’s version of a wet dream, which is weird. Like, games and an oversized television and couch, and a workbench along the far wall. The freezer is on the far wall, padlocked shut.

All at once, my body goes cold.

I remember the feeling of freezing.

“He was already dead when we put him in,” Miles says to me.

I blink hard, then look up at him. “Yeah.”

He nods and moves past me. He’s got the key to the padlock, and he wastes no time unlocking it and shoving the door up.

I inch closer, then peer down at the body.

He’s bent at weird angles, jammed in with folded limbs and a bent neck to fit. He’s wrapped in plastic, obscuring his face. It’s just his outlines that I can see. An elbow there, a hand there. His nose protruding through the opaque covering, the roundness of the top of his head.

“Still safe,” Steele comments. “I talked to Rhodes about this a few weeks ago. He suggested digging a hole, burning the body in it, then burying it. But the ground is still frozen.”

There isn’t as much snow here. And there was hardly any where their game was yesterday. The farther north we go, the more snow and colder it is. Even though we’re probably an hour south of Crown Point, it feels like a big temperature difference.

We have the lake effect, too. It compounds our weather, especially the snow.

“What’s his name?”

They don’t reply.

I glance over my shoulder at them, frowning. “Didn’t you check for a wallet or something? To know who you were… freezing?”

Miles shrugs. “It didn’t really matter at the time.”

I scoff. “If we know his name, we can find his brother’s name.” Taking a deep breath, I reach in and uncover the plastic wrap. It comes away easily, just having been tucked around him. I ignore his frost-bitten skin, the gaping cut on his neck, and pat down his pockets.

I pull a slim wallet from his pocket and open it, scanning his driver’s license. “Daniel Freeman. Crown Point resident, just a few streets over from me. Not so free anymore…” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t work out very well.

Seeing a photo of him alive, even though it’s a shitty DMV photo, sets me on edge. Nausea rolls through me, and I fold it back up and toss it on his lap. I shove the plastic down and take a few big steps back. He lived a few blocks over—and that, more than anything, makes me want to puke.

He was practically my neighbor.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

Miles and Knox trade a look.

“We could burn it without burying it,” Knox says slowly. “Out here, it wouldn’t raise much suspicion.”

“A fire in the middle of the woods would raise suspicion,” Steele counters. “At least if it was six feet down, the flames would be concealed.”

The room spins.

“Your family won’t get into it if we lock it again?”

Steele frowns. “He might find it suspicious to have a lock on his freezer.”

“We should move it,” Knox mutters. “Find somewhere else to stash it at the very least.”

“I don’t want to risk Aspen in this,” Steele finally says. “It was fine with them gone, but her sisters live here. And Dad will ask questions—”

Miles’ jaw tics. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing, yet. But if he asks, I’ll come up with something.”

Not the best plan—but it’s all we’ve got. Miles closes the lid and relocks it, and I can’t decide if I feel better or worse for knowing exactly where the body is.

I do know, I won’t be turning any of them in for this.

That much has shifted inside me.

I go to the couch and practically fall into it, burying my face in my hands. Our lives, or livelihoods, rest on how well Steele’s dad will believe his story?

If Aspen hadn’t already spilled how his dad trusted him so much, he orchestrated her to spy on him, I would believe in Steele’s confidence.

“Next week is supposed to be in the fifties here,” Miles says. “The ground will thaw, and we’ll come back and do it then. Okay?”

“Okay,” the guys all agree.

“Okay,” I echo.

But something really doesn’t feel right.