Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 77

What You Do For Love.

Conner

& 76

The stairwell was narrow, concrete echo chamber that could betray me with a single wrong step. My boots barely kissed the edge of each rise, weight distributed the way I’d seen her move, fluid, deliberate, like the world itself bent to her silence.

On the twelfth floor I eased the door open a fraction, letting the hallway breathe against me before I committed. Fluorescent lights hummed above the stained carpet, too bright, too sterile. The kind of place people thought was safe because it was boring.

“Left. Four doors down,” Sage’s voice murmured, threading straight into my bloodstream. “He’s working at his desk. He always forgets to close his blinds, sloppy.”

I slid into the corridor, shoulders brushing the wall. My breathing matched hers in my ear, slow, steady, controlled.

“Wait,” she whispered.

I froze.

Her pause was surgical, letting the silence stretch until I almost doubted my footing. Then…

“Camera in the ceiling, twenty feet ahead. It cycles every nine seconds. You’ve got three to pass. Go on my mark… Now.”

I crossed the dead zone smooth as a shadow, pulse ticking but hands steady.

Closer now. The light leaking under the office door was thin, sharp, steady. A lamp glow. The scrape of paper faint beyond it.

“Stop.”

Her tone changed, softer, slower, dangerous. “Breathe. Think like me. You’re not Conner tonight. You’re me. Ghost, not muscle. He never even sees you coming.”

I let the words settle in my bones, tried to wear them like a second skin. Every nerve alive, every muscle ready, I wrapped my hand around

the handle.

Behind me the hallway was empty. Ahead of me, the mark was alone, already dead, he just didn’t know it yet.

I pushed the door.

The door whispered shut behind me, sealing the world out.

The banker sat hunched over his desk, papers scattered, pen scratching. Oblivious. He didn’t hear the door, Didn’t feel the shift in the air.

“Slow,” Sage murmured in my ear. “Let him bury himself in his work. Don’t rush.”

I ghosted across the carpet, every step measured, my shadow falling over him before my presence did. The blinds rattled faintly with the night wind. His breathing was steady, unbothered, like a man convinced his sins were buried deep enough in shell companies and false ledgers.

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12:49 Mon, Oct 20

What You Do For Love.

“Closer,” she whispered. “Make him feel it.”

I slipped behind his chair. The knife Sage had given me sat warm in my palm; the little sage leaf etched into its spine catching the lamplight. His pen paused mid–line. Maybe instinct finally woke him.

I leaned down, close enough that my breath brushed his ear.

“This one’s from my girl.”

He froze. That was the only second he got.

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The blade slid quick, clean, across his throat. No hesitation. No flourish. Just steel and silence. Blood welled fast, spilling down his collar, pooling onto the ledgers he thought would protect him. His hands scrambled for his neck, his chair kicking back, but the fight was already

gone.

“Good,” Sage’s voice said in my ear, calm, approving, almost proud. “Quiet. Efficient. That’s how you do it.”

I eased him to the floor, wiped the blade once on his sleeve, and left the room without looking back.

The night air hit like a slap, cold, sharp, cutting through the warmth of the mark’s office. I clicked off my comms, silence swallowing Sage’s voice from my ear. For a second, it felt wrong, like pulling away from something I’d grown addicted to. Then I saw him. Liam leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed, smirk faint in the streetlight. He looked like he’d been waiting there a while, casual as ever, but the set of his jaw told me different.

“Well?” he asked.

“Clean,” I said, sliding the knife back into its sheath. “Quiet. Just the way she wanted it.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Naomi wanted loud. Messy. Said subtlety was for boring bastards.”

I arched a brow. “And you gave her what she wanted?”

“Damn right I did. Almost set the place on fire too.” He grinned like that wasn’t a joke.

We stood there a beat, the weight of what we’d done settling into the quiet between us. Two big Irish bastards pretending this wasn’t the strangest twist life had thrown our way, living as ghosts for the women who’d owned us from the start.

Liam clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got one more job tonight.”

I frowned. “Another hit?”

“Nah,” he said, pushing off the hood. “Something scarier. Shopping.”

We drove a few blocks, engines low, the city unfolding into quieter streets. A boutique sat lit up on the corner, windows dark but door unlocked, a favor from an old friend.

“Let’s do it right,” I muttered as we climbed out, the absurdity finally dragging a smirk out of me. “They’ve bled for us. They’ve nearly died for us. Least we can do is get them something better than wearing our shirts every day.”

Liam grinned wide. “Though I do like Naomi in mine.”

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75

What You Do For Love.

I shook my head and pushed open the door. The bell above the boutique door gave a faint jingle as we stepped inside.

The racks were neat, colors arranged like rainbows, mannequins frozen in poses that would’ve made Sage roll her eyes. I’d never felt more out of my element.

Liam shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. “Christ. Where do we even start?”

“Sizes,” I muttered, scanning the displays. Dresses, blouses, jeans… nothing tactical, nothing meant to carry knives or hide scars. Just normal clothes for normal women. Our women deserved this, but hell if I knew how to pick it.

“You know Naomi’s size?” I asked.

He grinned. “Every damn inch.”

“Too much information.”

He barked a laugh and wandered toward a rack of dresses, holding one up against himself with a waggle of his brows. “What do you think? Naomi’d kill me in this one, literally kill me.”

I shook my head, but my lips twitched. My feet carried me to a display of button–downs in deep jewel tones. My hand lingered on a green silk one, close to the shade Sage always stole from me. My chest tightened. She’d look dangerous and perfect in it.

“Pick it,” Liam called, tossing a leather jacket over his arm. “That’s her color. Don’t overthink it.”

I grabbed it, then a pair of dark jeans, softer than anything she owned. Boots, too sturdy but sleek. Something she could fight in, something she could just… live in.

We worked our way around the store, two big bastards pretending to know what we were doing, loading the counter with choices. The girl at the register didn’t even blink, just rang it up, like two men buying half a wardrobe at midnight was the most natural thing in the world.

On the way out, Liam glanced at the bags in my hands, smirking. “Think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll tear us apart if they don’t,” I said.

And yet, for the first time in days, I felt like I was bringing something home that wasn’t blood or bad news,

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