Unhinged Desires : A Dark Romance (Sick Love Duet Book 1)
Unhinged Desires: Chapter 1

Conflicted. That’s how Lucy Christianson makes me feel as I watch her from the shadows of the farthest corner of the lecture hall. She walks with a huge smile that lights up her face. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Little does she know the danger lurking in the shadows. Me. Nor is she aware that she’s evoked something within me no one else has ever managed to stir to life.

She has no idea that she’s mine.

Her fate was sealed the moment I saw her. I felt like I’d taken a bullet to the chest. I patted myself down while searching the room for the sniper. It wasn’t until I was making my way through the cafeteria, in her direction, that I realised the origin.

Lucy was the one behind the scope. I was trying to get to her. To protect her. Even though my heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins, the need to inflict damage stronger than it had ever been.

I stopped in my tracks. I didn’t want to cause pain to just anyone. No, I wanted to hurt her. Because it was at that moment that I realised if she could evoke that tidal wave of foreign feelings within me—feelings a man like me has no business having—then the pain she could cause would be the most cathartic thing I could experience.

Pain. I crave it. It’s the only sensation that’s ever made me feel alive, and seeing Lucy hurting is the ultimate agony. That’s a dangerous thing. For her.

Conflicting thoughts continued to run through my head. Thoughts like wanting to shield her from whatever danger was in that room while also having the urge to wrap my hand around her throat and watch her take her last breath,

But I did the one thing I’ve never done. I walked away. Somehow, I turned around and walked out that door.

After that day, though, she’s been everywhere. I can’t enter a room without instantly seeking her out. I can’t stop myself from watching her, trying to figure out what fucking magical curse she sprinkled on me with that damn smile of hers.

It’s been two months since that first time I saw her, and as often as she looks in my direction, she never sees me. I make sure I’m invisible to her, choosing to stick to the shadows rather than draw her attention.

You see, I’m not sure I’d be able to restrain myself if she were to show me the slightest bit of interest. I pull my phone up and snap a photo of her. She’s looking in my direction, almost like she knows I’m here. Like she knows I’m watching. She doesn’t. She turns her head around to listen to whatever her friend is saying from the seat beside her.

Throughout the class, my gaze never deviates from its target. I can see her profile from where I’ve positioned myself, and to say she’s fucking perfection wrapped up in a shiny package would be an understatement. Her long blonde locks curl down her back. When she tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck, my fingers grip the armrests of my chair. Visions of that neck stained with bruises mirroring my palm make my cock hard. Again, fucking conflicting emotions ricochet through my mind. As much as I want to hurt her, to hurt myself, I want to fucking save her. I want to lock her in a tower and never let the world touch her.

She’s wearing a pair of denim cutoffs and a white sheer blouse that I want to tear at and listen as the buttons hit the hardwood floor of my bedroom. My eyes travel down her toned legs, landing on her feet, which are presently wrapped in a pair of Chucks. She looks every bit the girl next door. She tries to play down who she really is here. She thinks she blends in with the masses. She doesn’t. She was never meant to blend in.

People like Lucy Christianson were born to be seen. And seen she’s been. Being seen by me isn’t something people want though. It never ends well for them.

The fact I’ve refrained from touching her, from taking her, from keeping her for the past two months is a goddamn miracle. Growing up a McKinley, I’ve never wanted for anything in life. She’s the one thing I want desperately but won’t allow myself to have. That doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone else have her either, and when the douchebag who fills the seat next to her says something that makes her laugh, he labels himself my next victim.

Her laughs aren’t theirs. Her smiles aren’t fucking theirs. They’re mine. She’s mine. I pick up my phone again, take a photo of the douche, and email it to myself. I can only see his profile, but that’s all I need. I upload the image to the facial recognition software I use. It takes two minutes before I have his whole student file in front of me.

Logan Morgan. I embed his face into my memory. This punk is about to replace out the consequences for his actions.

As soon as class is over, I jump up from my seat and push through the door. I wait outside the building for her to walk out. She’s whispering something to that guy. It’s the same one from her class. The fucker who’s now number one on my shit list. I had plans of following my busy bee back to her apartment. I know she’s going home to shower before she heads to the library for a few hours.

Instead, I slide up next to Logan. “Let’s take a walk,” I tell him. It’s not a question.

His face pales as he looks at me. He knows who I am. Everyone around here knows who I fucking am. It’s hard to stay anonymous when your name is on plaques all over the fucking school. It’s the curse of being born a McKinley. You’re constantly under the limelight. Everyone is always watching, waiting for a glimpse into the prestige that is old money.

“I have a class to get to,” he says.

“It wasn’t a fucking option. Walk with me,” I tell him again. And I don’t like repeating myself.

He nods his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He knows he’s fucked up. Everyone on this campus knows not to touch her. Every guy knows she’s un-fucking-touchable. Although he’s not the first to try, and he won’t be the last either. Which is why I’m always watching, always ready to pounce.

Logan follows me around the building and out the back. There’s no one around. I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. I don’t give him a chance to speak before my right fist connects with his face. I hear the crunch of bone breaking right before a stream of blood starts running from his nose. My left fist comes up and hooks him in the ribs. The fucker falls to the ground like the sack of shit he is. I look down at him, his body squirming as he tries to create distance between us.

Pain. Fear. It radiates off him and I soak it in. This is what I live for. Pain caused by me. My hands. The fear in their eyes at the knowledge of who—what I am.

I lean down close to his ear. “Next time you see her, look the other fucking way.” I spit at him before my fist connects with his face again, and I knock the fucker out cold.

Rising to my full height, I jog around the building to where my car is parked. I slide in, pull out my laptop, and bring up the camera feed I’ve set up in her apartment. It looks like she just got home. I watch as she opens every fucking cabinet, every cupboard with caution, like she thinks something is about to jump out at her. It’s a new habit she’s developed over the past couple of weeks.

It’s almost like Lucy Christianson knows I’m coming for her.