Bound By Obsession

The door to Whitman’s Bookshop creaked open, spilling a ribbon of warm light onto the cool night. Gracie stepped out, balancing a small paper bag against her chest. At just five feet tall, she moved with a presence that demanded more space than her frame suggested. Confident strides, chin tilted upward, a hint of fire flickering in her dark eyes. Her kinky, breast-length hair caught the glow of the streetlamp, haloing her sun kissed golden brown skin. She wasn’t smiling. One look at her, you could tell she was emotionally and mentally scarred. _______________________________ The world blurred behind tinted glass as he sat in the passenger seat of a black Escalade, one arm resting on the window frame. When she appeared, it felt as if someone had sharpened the edges of the night. His eyes locked on her. Sharp, assessing, and hungry. There was something about her... not just beauty, though she had that in spades. It was the way she carried herself. Untouchable. Guarded. Like she knew too much of pain but dared the world to try and break her again. Jeremiah’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. Gracie adjusted the strap of her worn leather bag and muttered to herself, “Another Friday night alone. How romantic.” Her own sarcasm made her smile. Though it didn’t erase the hollow ache underneath. She’d sworn off men. Permanently. At least that’s what she told herself after the last one carved himself in her heart like a dagger. Only to have another woman come along and pick that same dagger up using it to rip her heart right out of her chest. Walking down the street, there was a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. That uncanny weight of being watched. Gracie stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Just a row of parked cars, shadows stretching long across the sidewalk. She blew out a sharp breath. “Paranoia looks good on you, Matthews,” she muttered. ______________________________ “Jefe,” Oldo, his second-in-command, broke the silence from the driver’s seat. “You’re staring.” Jeremiah didn’t answer. He simply flicked ash from his cigar, eyes still pinned on the figure retreating down the street. Her sway wasn’t meant to entice, but to him, it was a dare. He let out a low chuckle, dark and rough. “Find her.” Oldo glanced at him. “Find her…?” Jeremiah’s gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. “Every detail. Name, family, where she sleeps at night. I want to know everything on her." Oldo shifted uncomfortably but nodded. “Sí, señor.” Back on the sidewalk, Gracie disappeared into the crowd at the end of the block. She thought she was just another woman carrying books home, safe in her own solitude. She didn’t know she had just been claimed.