His Dark Obsession

Chapter 4 – Ghosts & Knives

Lily’s POV

I COULDN’T sleep.

The compound always carried a low thrum of menace—the hum of engines left to idle, the faint clink of bottles somewhere in the distance, the constant shuffle of men who pretended the walls made us untouchable. Tonight it pressed down on me like a coffin lid. Ronan’s lecture still burned in my skull, every word a reminder of the chains I thought I’d broken when I left this family behind.

So I did the one thing I’ve always done when the fire under my skin grew too much to bear. I slipped out.

Bare feet padded softly over the cold wooden floors until I reached the back corridor. A half-open door spilled dim light into the hall. Not enough to give me pause—until I caught the metallic tang in the air.

Blood.

I should’ve turned back. Any sane person would’ve. But I’ve never been accused of sanity when it comes to curiosity. Or men like Jeremiah.

Inside, he was bent over the steel sink, water running red as it swirled down the drain. His knuckles were split open, skin raw, and blood streaked across his chest in thick, dark smears. No shirt. No armor. Just muscle and scars carved into him like scripture.

My breath caught, too loud. His head lifted instantly, predator-fast, and those dark eyes found me.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he drawled, voice low, edged with mockery.

I swallowed, trying to steady my pulse. “I didn’t realize the Brooks kept their attack dogs off the leash after midnight.”

His mouth curved, humorless. He reached for a towel, dragging it over his jaw, down his chest, slow enough that it was a taunt. “Careful, princess. Keep calling me Ronan’s dog, and I might decide to show you how sharp my teeth are.”

Heat flared low in my belly—unwanted, infuriating. I folded my arms. “Is this supposed to impress me? Bloody hands and a bad attitude?”

“No,” he said simply, stepping toward me. Water still dripped from his knuckles. “But it unsettles you. That’s better.”

I backed up until my shoulders brushed the wall, cursing myself for the way my body reacted. He was all coiled violence and smoke, the scent of leather clinging to him even beneath the copper tang of blood. His presence filled the space until there was no air left.

“You think you scare me?” I forced my voice steady. “I grew up in this family, Jeremiah. I know monsters.”

He braced one hand against the wall beside my head, leaning close. His breath was warm against my cheek, laced with something dark—whiskey or rage, maybe both. “Monsters, sweetheart, don’t bleed for your family. They just take. You don’t know half of what I’ve done to keep your name clean.”

The words struck harder than I wanted them to. Guilt tried to creep in, but I shoved it away. “So what? You expect me to thank you? Drop to my knees and worship the loyal hound?”

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. He dipped his head closer, lips nearly brushing mine. “You have no idea how close you are to getting on your knees, Lily.”

My pulse skittered. Fury and heat tangled, impossible to separate. I hated him for the smugness, hated myself more for the way my body arched toward his without permission. His bare chest hovered inches from mine, the towel sliding forgotten to the floor.

I lifted my chin, forcing words through the haze. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His mouth ghosted over my ear, a whisper that scraped like gravel. “Test me and find out.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fists curling at my sides. “You think because Ronan lets you off your leash, you can corner me like this? You’re nothing but his weapon.”

That broke something in him. He slammed his other palm against the wall, caging me fully. “You think I’m here because of Ronan? I bleed because of him, sure. But I fight—” His eyes seared into mine. “—because of you.”

The words stunned me silent.

He must’ve seen it—the flicker in my expression, the crack in my armor. His mouth curved, slow and cruel. “There it is. You don’t know whether to slap me or kiss me. I can see it all over your face.”

I shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing against stone. He didn’t move. He only leaned in, close enough that our noses brushed, our lips a whisper away. The tension stretched tight as a wire, humming with everything unsaid, everything forbidden.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to taste him.

And then—

“Lily!”

Ronan’s voice cracked the air like a whip.

Jeremiah didn’t move. His body stayed pressed close, his eyes locked on mine, but the smirk faded, replaced by something harder. Possessive. Reluctant.

Only when Ronan’s footsteps thundered closer did Jeremiah finally peel himself back, slow, deliberate, as though letting me breathe again was his choice and not necessity. He bent, scooped the fallen towel, and dragged it over his knuckles.

Ronan stormed into the doorway, his gaze flicking between us. His face darkened instantly. “What the hell is going on here?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Jeremiah just smirked, the bastard, and tossed the towel onto the counter.

“Ghosts and knives,” he said calmly, as if that explained everything. “She went wandering. I reminded her that this place has sharp edges.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed on me, suspicion crackling like static. “Lily—”

But I was already slipping past Jeremiah, spine rigid, fury and shame burning under my skin. I couldn’t let Ronan see how rattled I was. Not by him. Not by Jeremiah.

Especially not by the fact that, for one impossible heartbeat, I almost wanted Jeremiah to close the distance between us.