Page 22 of Framed Obsession

Once we get over this hump, I’ll see to it happening. My girl is strong, resilient, and smart. I believe she can overcome this, whether she wants to do it on her own, or if she needs me to lie in her bed beside her.

Did I also install a tracker in her car? Yes. I knew she would be back at work as soon as she felt she could. I also made sure that I was seeing her today as a client. Deep within me, like another version of myself, feels right when I’m with her. All these fucking feelings are colliding inside me and I’m unsure how to deal with them.

Between Zane crying like a fucking baby for breaks, and me going completely unhinged, we spent the rest of the week hunting down every store that sold the type of mask that scumbag was wearing. We narrowed it down to three locations. One in town at a local mom-and-pop toy shop, which won’t be difficult to look into. Another in the next city over, about a thirty-minute drive from my Little Flower. The last is way the fuck out on the outskirts of town.

We tracked every camera in the surrounding areas, looking for the same attire, assuming he bought it the same day. If not we would search for someone with the same build. My god, playing detective is fucking hard. Who would’ve thought? Zane makes it all look so damn easy. Too bad listening to him bitching and moaning all week was anything but.

Let me see my girl this and let me see my girl that.

He acts like if he doesn’t get his dick wet for one fucking second, the world is going to end. I forgot about the Zane before this version of him; it’s like he’s a whole new person. Am I turning into another person, too? Who fucking knows and who fucking cares? All I care about is seeing this bastard pay while I fuck around with my Little Flower some more. Which reminds me, I have to get going.

I shut the TV off that has multiple cameras of my girl's whereabouts on the screen. Giving my hair one last comb back, I grab my helmet off the bench by my front door and leave. I went with my bike this time. My ZX-10RR is a fucking beauty. Other than Dahlia, this girl has my heart. She's never strayed me away. I have her decked out in custom black chrome all the way around. Baby can go sixty-three miles in ten seconds. Back when I used to race, finishing first was a piece of cake.

I had her decked out with custom attachments and exhaust back then. Now those aren't needed, with me hosting and all. This perfect body of mine isn’t what it used to be. I mean, it’s perfect still ‌but aging fucking sucks. You gotta worry about fragile bones now. The fuck? I’ve had to incorporate omegas and vitamin C, D, and a bunch of other shit into my daily routine. Never thought I’d be here, but here I am.

I zoom through the city traffic, not wanting to be late. A few lights and irritated middle fingers later, I arrive at Parker Raines Therapy Center. I get off my bike and pick at my crotch, pulling down the tightness of the jeans that rises a little too high when I ride, and sigh in relief. I unbuckle and remove my helmet, holding it under my arm for security. Checking myself one last time in my small rearview mirror, I comb back any wispy strands of hair that may have fallen out of place before heading into the building.

I open the clear doors and notice the girl behind the desk already looking in my direction. I can’t tell if she is trying to be good at her job by staring at the door all day or if my presence intimidates her. Once I enter, she lets me know she will mark that I arrived. It’s kind of nice not needing to speak to anyone besides my girl. I could get used to it.

I pull my phone out and click on the cameras I have placed in here. Nothing like a little stalking to pass the time. I sneakily placed the camera on her office doorframe, when I was here last. My Little Flower is still in session with a client. God, she is fucking beautiful. She could wear a trash bag and I’d still get rock hard. I flip through the other two surveillances, curiosity piquing my interest.

There is an older, ungroomed, disheveled man eating a poor excuse of a lunch in the break room. My face turns in disdain at the sight, instantly put off by the unprofessionalism of his look. I flip through to the next video and, oh look, it's my jeans. I’m already bored, and I have a whopping two more minutes until I see the most beautiful woman that's ever been on this earth.

I twiddle my thumbs and my leg gets restless. I’ve never been fond of waiting. I'm quite an impatient person, actually. Punctuality has always been my thing. Why waste time sitting around when there are more important things to do? Like stalking my girl.

I check my wrist for the time and notice she hasn't come out yet. We are now running five over, and I’m already uncomfortable being alone in a room with an awkward girl who keeps peeking over her computer with “here comes Johnny” eyes.

Not being able to wait any longer, I stand and head toward the restroom. I might as well use it since I obviously have the time. I make it nearly halfway before I’m greeted with a face that I already want to cave in. He is passing me in the other direction, and I can’t help but ‌give his shoulder a little nudge.

“Is there a problem?” he says, whirling around and sizing me up. This guy would be better off running a circus; he behaves more like a clown than anything else. The corner of my mouth perks up in amusement. I have about five inches on him, forcing him to look upward.

“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with women saying no?” I ask, sarcastically knowing damn well there is truth behind it. His brows furrow in confusion, and I want to wipe that look straight off. But I refrain.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” Oh, he's angry now, and it only amuses me more.

“I think—” I’m cut off unexpectedly.

“Axel?” I turn, seeing a magnificent woman with white-blonde hair peering at the two of us in concern. If she hadn’t interrupted, I think people would wonder why the walls were all the sudden painted red. I peer down at her and give her a playful smile. The apples of her cheeks turn pink, and I can't help but feel pleased inside.

“I’m ready for your session, if you are,” she says politely, unaware of the confrontation taking place in front of her. I gesture to the door and bow, letting her know I’m ready. I turn around and give Parker a wink before following her inside.

Chapter 20

The Flower

Scars - I Prevail

The tension in the air is thick when I open the door from my office. Axel and my boss are having a heated conversation and the last thing I want is for him to ask me to terminate Axel as my patient. Parker has issues with people asserting ‌dominance over him. He thinks everyone should bow down to him like he is some ethereal being. He definitely has some sort of god complex, and it's comical. No one should be subjected to that kind of idiocy.

“Is everything okay?” I ask curiously, not entirely sure if I want to know the answer.

“Peachy,” Axel answers calmly. The look he gives me is devious, as if he is trying to get under Parker's skin. The only thing that will cause is more headaches. He follows me in with an eyebrow raised, already knowing the routine, and plopping onto the cushioned sofa. I shut the door and sit across from him. He eyes my coffee table with a look I can't quite put my finger on.

“Nice flowers.” He points at them, removing his black leather jacket, placing it on the arm of the couch, and shifting to get more comfortable. I glance down at them, instantly reminded of the sentiment behind them. I can feel warmth creeping its way up my neck and onto the peaks of my cheeks.

“Thank you.” I say, tottering in my seat, trying to make the rosiness of them less noticeable. I had been so focused on my clients this morning, I had forgotten they were even there. Still as beautifully bloomed as when I got them.

“Well, whoever got them for you has good taste, and I can see that you agree with the way your face is tomato red right now.” He smirks. Oh fuck. Is it that obvious? I clear my throat and take a sip of water from my bottle on the floor, trying to wash down my embarrassment.