His Dark Obsession

Chapter 2 – The Ride Back

Lily’s POV

THE RUMBLE of the motorcycle echoed in my chest like a second heartbeat, louder than the adrenaline still coursing through me. Jeremiah straddled the machine like it was an extension of his body, black leather jacket catching the glow of the streetlamps. He didn’t even look at me when he jerked his chin at the bike.

“Get on,” he said. Not a question. Not a request.

I bristled, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

His head tilted, just enough for me to catch the glint of his dark eyes beneath his lashes. “You’re bleeding pride all over the street, Lily. That’s an invitation to vultures. You don’t want to go back to Hale, do you?”

The name sliced through me sharper than broken glass. Robert. I’d left him behind in that bedroom with his pants around his knees and his smirk carved into my humiliation. My throat ached, but the Brook fire burned hotter than the shame.

“Don’t you dare say his name.” My voice cracked like a whip.

For a moment, the corner of his mouth curved—half-smirk, half-threat. Then it was gone. “Then get on.”

God help me, I hated him. I hated his arrogance, his iron command, the way he spoke as if resistance wasn’t even an option. But the street was still humming with danger—shadows that lurked, drunks staggering too close, eyes watching from the alley. I swallowed hard, glaring at him as if that would erase the truth: Jeremiah Veyne was the lesser evil tonight.

“You’re not dragging me back there,” I said, even as I swung my leg over the bike.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. My dress hiked indecently high as I settled behind him, my knees brushing the hard edges of the seat. The moment I wrapped my arms around his torso for balance, I knew I’d made a mistake.

He was all solid muscle and leather, his body heat searing through the thin fabric of my ruined dress. He smelled of smoke and gasoline, of blood still sharp from the brawl I’d watched him tear through minutes ago. My pulse jumped, traitorous.

The engine roared to life beneath us, the vibration traveling up my thighs until it lodged low in my belly. I bit back a gasp, clutching him tighter than I meant to as he shot forward into the night.

Wind whipped through my hair, tearing at the pins Robert’s mistress hadn’t managed to pull free. My cheeks stung from the cold, my throat raw from unshed screams. But worse than all of it was the feel of him—Jeremiah—beneath my hands.

I remembered being sixteen, sneaking looks at him across the yard when Ronan and the others were busy. He was already dangerous then, already the boy who looked at me like I was trouble wrapped in lace. Back then, I thought it was innocent, girlish curiosity. Tonight, pressed against him with the city lights streaking past, it felt like something far darker.

“Loosen your grip, princess,” he shouted over the wind. “I need to breathe.”

I dug my nails into his jacket instead. “Call me that again and I’ll throw myself off this thing.”

He laughed, low and rough, and the sound rolled through me like thunder.

The bike veered sharply, cutting through a curve. My body betrayed me, clinging tighter, chest flush against his back, thighs braced around him. I cursed under my breath. The bastard tilted his head just enough that I caught the edge of his smirk.

“You always did like danger,” he said.

“I didn’t like you,” I snapped.

His shoulders shook, not from cold, but from laughter. That infuriating restraint of his—always in control, always two steps ahead. He didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t spit the venom back like Robert would have. Jeremiah’s silence was worse. It meant he’d already won.

The ride stretched on, every second thick with unspoken words. I noticed everything I shouldn’t—the scar tracing along the side of his neck, just visible above the collar of his jacket. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the handles like he was strangling the road itself.

I hated that I wanted to ask how he’d gotten those scars. Hated that my chest ached with something that wasn’t just fury or grief.

Another sharp turn sent me gasping, my arms locking around him. The scent of leather and smoke filled my lungs, intoxicating, suffocating. The vibration of the engine rattled through my bones until it felt like I was vibrating with him.

I pressed my lips together, fighting the heat curling low in my stomach. No. This is wrong. He’s wrong. He’s Brook blood, and I left that world behind.

But my body didn’t care. It hummed with every bump of the road, every shift of his hips, every growl of the engine.

Finally, the bike slowed, crunching over gravel. My heart plummeted before my eyes even registered where we were.

The gates loomed like black iron teeth, familiar and menacing. Brook territory. Home and hell all at once.

I shoved at Jeremiah’s back before the bike fully stopped. “I told you—I’m not coming back here.”

He killed the engine, the sudden silence deafening. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “You don’t get a choice tonight.”

I swung off the bike, the gravel biting through the thin soles of my heels. My legs trembled, half from adrenaline, half from fury. “You don’t get to decide for me anymore. You never did.”

He stood then, towering, the night making a shadow of him. His eyes burned, but not with cruelty like Robert’s. With something heavier. Something I couldn’t name.

“You think Hale would’ve let you walk away?” His voice was a knife. “You think betrayal doesn’t come with consequences in this city? I kept you alive tonight, Lily. Don’t spit on it.”

I opened my mouth, ready to lash out, ready to burn the bridge completely. But the gates creaked open, and every muscle in my body went rigid.

Because standing there, fury carved into every line of his face, was my brother.

Ronan Brook.

His gaze locked on me, then flicked to Jeremiah with something darker than rage.

“Well,” Ronan drawled, his voice like gravel dragged across stone. “Look what the devil dragged back.”

The night cracked around us, thick with the promise of war.