Brutal Obsession: Chapter 42

Willow glowers at me. She was forcibly kidnapped from our apartment by a grumpy Knox this afternoon. I guess neither of them are thrilled with the situation that Grey and I have put them in, but they’re stuck.

Grey doesn’t want anything bad to happen to me, and I’m not staying here without her.

We sit on the couch. I attended all my classes, and I actually found myself paying better attention now that we’ve worked through our issues.

That’s what I tell myself anyway.

And now, I’ve finished explaining everything to my best friend.

“Why hasn’t this stalker made himself known?” She twitches. “I mean, I know you’ve felt like you were being watched, but I assumed Greyson.”

“I did, too. So I brushed it off. And I thought the break-ins were related to the article. An overzealous journalist or something.”

“An overzealous journalist destroying your room?” She bites her lip, her expression twisting. “What if it’s the other way around?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone focused on Greyson in the article. Both times, right? First, right after the accident. And then the one that came out here. But what if it wasn’t so much about him but you ?”

“That still doesn’t answer why they would go to such extremes. Calling me a whore, trashing everything I own…”

She shrugs. “What happened right before that?”

“The video of me and Jack.” I wince. “Worst decision ever. I don’t even like blow jobs.”

She snorts. “Sure.”

“Okay, fine.” I shift. “The video that painted me as a slut was posted—and taken down.” Except, something bothers me about that. Things on the internet tend to live forever, don’t they? That’s what Greyson’s dad’s secretary said, in a sort of offhand way.

“Then that article comes out,” Willow says.

“That was almost immediately after…” I exhale. “That incident.”

She narrows her eyes. “Remind me which incident? There seems to be many.”

“Greyson had her blow me,” Steele says from behind her.

She whirls around, then makes a face at me.

“It was hot,” Steele says.

I glare at him until he raises his hands in surrender. “And never to be repeated,” he hastily adds. “I’ll leave you girls to it…”

He disappears around the corner, and Willow gapes at me. She switches seats and plops down next to me.

“You could’ve told me Greyson had gone off the deep end.”

“That was just the start,” I whisper. “But I think I’m just as fucked up, because I enjoy what he comes up with.”

She laughs. “Okay, fair enough. Match made in Heaven.”

“Or Hell.”

“Did he tell someone? Or Steele maybe? It could’ve been a tipping point.”

I don’t know. But now that I think about it, anyone could’ve seen me go into the locker room. They would’ve seen Steele leave, then Greyson. Then me, much less put together than when I went in.

Thinking back, I doubt I even looked around. I just got out of there as fast as I could.

“The photo they used was taken from my room,” I point out.

She frowns.

“What’re you guys doing?” Greyson enters the room, dropping his gym bag on the floor by the doorway. He flops on the couch on my other side.

“Creating a theory,” Willow says carefully.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

The move is unexpectedly sweet, and butterflies flutter in my chest.

Willow sniggers when he keeps my hand. “Okay, so. Someone’s been following Violet’s ballet career. Enter: Greyson Devereux and the car crash.” She side-eyes him. “Violet is taken to the hospital, presumably, and Greyson goes on his merry way—”

“Until he’s arrested,” Greyson grumbles.

“Until he’s arrested,” Willow agrees. “Let’s say whoever was following her career was already interested in her personal life. Maybe Violet posts something on social media about being in the hospital, or an accident. Something .”

“I did,” I pipe up.

Greyson makes a noise of contention. “Did you delete it? I don’t remember seeing it on your Instagram.”

My face heats. “Actually, yeah. It was pretty negative. I think I was still coming down off the anesthesia when I posted… I was really upset.”

I grab my phone and scroll through my archive of private posts. I find it relatively quickly—there are just a few that I’ve been annoyed with and taken off my public feed.

The picture is black and white. It’s clear I took it myself. It’s just of my leg, in a cast and propped up on pillows, in my hospital bed. My other leg is under the blankets.

I wrote: I will probably never dance again. Pray for my leg. And let’s not even talk about the shape my car is in…

Greyson reads it and winces. He passes the phone to Willow, who frowns.

“Yeah, I remember that. You called me right after it.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Has anyone stood out over the years? Since you joined Crown Point Ballet?”

I shake my head.

“Continue with your theory,” Greyson says to Willow.

She raises her eyebrows. “You care what I think, Devereux?”

“I’m curious about your take on it,” he retorts.

Not the best comeback…

Still, my best friend accepts it. “Fine. Violet posts that, and whoever follows her career decided to look into it further. They find out you were responsible and were released without being charged.

“Then , just a few months later, you come to Crown Point and join the hockey team. You rise to infamy yet again.”

He snorts. “Sure.”

“Whoever leaked your story to the media obviously knows your name,” she points out.

“Wait.” I hold up my hands.

They both look at me.

“Who wrote the article? Those last lines felt personal, you know?”

Greyson pulls up the screenshots and shows me the name. Marcus Vindicta. The name isn’t at all familiar to me.

A quick search online doesn’t bring up anything else for his name either. Like, nothing . We search just the last name, and I immediately freeze. It’s Latin for revenge . At least, that’s what the online translation page says.

“A fake name?” I shiver. “This is getting creepy.”

“Let’s just assume that whoever wrote it was able to convince the editor to put it under a pen name,” Willow says. “I hate assuming, but we don’t have much to go off of right now. Whoever it is then witnesses Violet’s return. And your… interactions.”

“And they react poorly against both of us,” I finish. “God, now that you put it out there…”

I’ve got goosebumps. And without any idea of who to trust, everyone feels like an enemy. How am I supposed to go about my business after this?

I hop up and spin to face them. “I almost forgot!”

They both wait.

“I have an audition,” I blurt out. “For Sleeping Beauty . CPB is doing that next, and they’re casting in a few weeks. It’s perfect timing for me.” I can’t believe I forgot about it. In all the bustle of Knox and Willow moving her stuff in, and classes… Mia called me this morning to let me know I had a spot for an audition if I wanted it. Which would mean potentially re-signing with Crown Point Ballet for a year contract.

Those are a big deal. It’s security. It’s basically a full-time job that could launch my career. I had that—and I lost it in the snap of my fingers. Easy to go, hard to get back. So, yeah, a big fucking deal. A terrifying opportunity.

Greyson stands and cups my face. He kisses me soundly, his tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. Too soon, he pulls back slightly. “Fight for it, Vi.”

Willow practically shoves him out of the way and hugs me. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I hug her back. “Thank you.”

“And you’re coming to finals, right?”

“For the dance team?” I scoff. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

We’re only halfway through the semester, and it feels like our junior year is coming to a rapid end.

Knox breezes in and freezes when he sees Willow and me embracing. “Did I miss something?”

“Nope,” she says smoothly, releasing me and stepping away. “I don’t suppose you have a bedroom for me to stay in, Whiteshaw? Or are you taking the couch while I take your room…?”

She strides toward the stairs.

He gapes for a moment, then gives chase.

Greyson grabs my hips and pulls me close. “Promise me something,” he says in my ear.

“What?”

“That you won’t do anything stupid.”

I sigh. “I don’t think anything I do is stupid. But, sure, if you need that promise from me…”

“I do.”

I face him and loop mine around his neck. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

He grins. “We have a game tomorrow. Will you meet me in the locker room afterward?”

I mirror his expression. I feel… happy . Even with a stalker, who has yet to be found. Like everything is finally going right between Greyson and me. I tap his hand, which has slipped under the hem of my shirt to press against my bare back. His knuckles healed just fine after the last fight. No breaks, just a sprain that healed rather fast.

So I don’t feel particularly bad for saying, “Only if you get your knuckles bloody.”