Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 65

Her Obsession.

Didn’t Let Her Bleed.

I eased the bedroom door shut with my shoulder and stepped into the hall. Halfway down the corridor, under the pool of a recessed light, Naomi leaned against the wainscoting like the wall was the only thing keeping her upright. One eye was going to bruise a spectacular violet, her bottom lip was split, and there was dried blood at her hairline that Liam had definitely missed. Across from her stood the blonde in the suit.

…deliverables are non–negotiable,” the blonde was saying, crisp as a scalpel. She held out a slim folder.”

Naomi squinted up at her, deadpan. “Love the bedside manner, bitch.”

The blonde didn’t blink. “Ari,” she said, like a correction and an introduction at once. “And you’ll love not being on a termination list more.”

A name. Finally. Ari. I was still closing the distance when a familiar menace barreled out of the guest room in sweats and a grin. Liam plucked the folder from Ari’s hand midair, flipped it open, and whistled low.

“Absolutely not,” he said, tucking it under his arm. Then he gave Naomi a quick, light swat on the backside, more punctuation than pain. “Back to bed, crazy.”

Naomi snapped her teeth at him like a feral cat and tried for a glare that the swelling ruined. “Buy me dinner first, Irish.”

“Done,” he said, already steering her by the elbow. “And breakfast. And twelve gallons of water.”

Ari’s gaze flicked to me, cool, measuring. No apology for the timing, no ceremony. Just business. It was almost comforting, the way a clean blade is comforting, you always know what it’s going to do.

Liam paused long enough to look over his shoulder at me. We both had a hand full of someone else’s chaos and a folder full of theirs.

“Looks like we’re ghosts for the week,” he said, mouth crooked.

I couldn’t help it; the corner of my mouth lifted. “Temporary hauntings,” I said. “Try not to get slimed.”

“Please don’t get sloppy,” Ari cut in, which was as close to humor as I was going to get out of her. “Proofs must read as theirs. Naomi prefers misdirection and noise, she stages the room loud, exits clean. She favors right–side approaches, inside wrist cuts, and she doesn’t souvenir anything sentimental.” Her eyes drifted to me. “Specter is precise. Minimal blood. Left–hand bias on close work, no signatures beyond the requested token. Metadata must mirror their patterns. If I see your tell, Yakov will, too.”

Liam made a show of patting his pockets. “What’s my tell?”

“Cologne and sentimentality,” Ari said without mercy. “Don’t bring either.”

Naomi snorted, then winced, hand flying to her ribs. Liam softened, the bravado slipping for a breath. “Alright, sweetheart. Bed.”

She rolled her eyes, but let him guide her. As they started down the hall, she lifted two fingers at Ari without looking back. “This isn’t over, Power Suit.”

“I’m counting on it,” Ari said.

They disappeared into the guest room. The hallway fell quiet again, just the soft tick of the thermostat and the distant clink of Matteo’s instruments. Ari offered me a second card, identical to the one already burning a square in my pocket.

“For Naomi,” she said. “Dead–drop credentials, Same windows. If you miss them… don’t.”

“I won’t,” I said.

She studied me for a beat, something like fatigue ghosting across her features before the ice re–formed. “You’ll need to stagger your timelines,” she added. “Don’t let both “ghosts‘ clock in the same quadrant. Even idiots notice patterns.”

“Noted.”

7:27 pm D

Didn’t Let Her Bleed.

Ari shifted like she was already leaving, then paused. “They chose you,” she said, tone almost neutral. “Make sure that wasn’t an error.”

“They didn’t make one,” I said, and I meant all three of them, Sage, Naomi, and whatever piece of Ari still believed in anything outside the compound’s

walls

A single, almost imperceptible nod. Then she turned, heels whisper quiet on marble, and was gone. I stood there a second longer, listening to the house breathe Liam’s low murmur filtered under the guest room door, answered by Naomi’s muffled sass. From my bedroom came the faint, steady rhythm of Sage’s monitors and Matteo’s soft directives. Nico’s voice drifted from the surveillance room, giving the server a pep talk like it would answer back. I looked down at the folder under my arm, then back at Liam’s door. He caught me looking, cracked it open, and stuck his head out, hair wild, eyes bright with

trouble.

“Boss,” he said, lifting Naomi’s folder in a mirror of mine, “Ghost School’s in session.”

I huffed a laugh. “Try not to fail out on day one.”

He grinned. “You kidding? I’m aiming for valedictorian.”

“Just pass,” I said, already turning back toward my room. “We’ve got enough funerals on our calendar.”

The joke faded as quickly as it came. I palmed the doorknob to my bedroom, the weight of the file heavier than paper had any right to be.

“Alright, little ghost,” I murmured to the wood, to the blood, to the week ahead. “Let’s make some monsters disappear.”

Matteo’s hands moved with that quiet, competent rhythm I’d come to trust, gauze, tape, a last pass with saline. The room smelled like antiseptic and iron. Sage didn’t stir. Her lashes lay dark against skin gone too pale, the monitor at her bedside ticking out a steady, stubborn rhythm.

“Dressings are clean. Sutures look good,” Matteo murmured, more to himself than to me. He checked cap refill at her fingertips, pressed two fingers to the pulse in her wrist, nodded once. “She’s holding.”

He peeled his gloves off with a snap and finally looked up. “What did the blonde want?”

“She dropped work to Naomi too,” I said, jaw tight. “Contracts for the week.”

He grimaced. “Of course she did.” He tossed the gloves, dried his hands. “She got a name?”

“Ari,” I said.

Matteo went very still. He tried the name like he was testing a stitch for give. “Ari,” he repeated softly, mouth shaping it once, twice, as if the syllables had weight.

“You know her,” I said. Not a question.

His eyes didn’t leave Sage. “Not really.” A beat. “Once. Different continent. Wrong weather. Right time.” The corner of his mouth flicked without becoming a smile. “She bled. I didn’t let her.”

I waited. He shook his head, back to business. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Feels like it might.”

He exhaled. “She’s the kind that survives because she plans to.” He tapped the edge of the monitor, checking the numbers again. “If she says weekly contracts keep them off a kill list, then we finish the work and we don’t miss a window.”

I looked down at Sage’s hand in mine. “We won’t.”

Matteo gathered his kit, paused in the doorway. “She’ll hate you doing her jobs.”

“I’ll take the heat,” I said, thumb brushing her knuckles. “She can yell at me when she wakes up.”

7:27 pm D

Didn’t Let Her Bleed.

He nodded once. “Good. Means she’s breathing.” Then he left me with the beeps, the hush, and the girl who turned monsters into ash.

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