Title: Obsession
Author: Theophilia St. Claire
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: December 4, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: No Romance, Male/Male
Length: 59000
Genre: Contemporary Thriller, contemporary, genre fiction, thriller, gangs, drugs, gay, mental illness
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Synopsis
Nick has a hard life. Not only is he
working at an East Harlem bar to make ends meet and pay for his sister’s medical
expenses, he’s also on the run from a shady past that’s surely catching up to
him.
Most people think Claude has it easy due
to the money and luxury surrounding him. But they would be wrong. Firmly
trapped beneath his stern father’s thumb, Claude’s pre-determined life took a
nosedive when his lover, Christian, left him a year ago.
When the two meet, sparks do not
instantly fly between them. Claude thinks Nick is his ex-lover returned to him.
Nick thinks Claude is crazy.
However, circumstances bring these two
men together. And despite Claude’s jealousy and possessive nature, Nick is
falling for him. Sick of being mistaken for Claude’s ex, Nick is willing to
find out what happened to him—the real Christian. He’ll have to if he wants a
stable relationship with Claude. How Claude takes the truth, however, is the
only thing that scares him.
Excerpt
Obsession
Theophilia St. Claire © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
“Christian?”
Nick glared at the fingers on his arm,
the grip tight enough to be offensive. His gaze crawled its way up to the
owner’s face. Handsome guy. Tall. European-looking with stylish dark-blond hair
and piercing hazel eyes. He stared at Nick expectantly, waiting for his
response. His full mouth parted slightly.
I’m at work, Nick reminded himself. He
couldn’t go off on a rude customer again. Not if he wanted to keep his job.
Nick shrugged off the stranger’s grip. “Sorry, no.” He carried the empty water
pitcher through the lively crowd toward the bar.
His best friend, Eric Ruiz, raised a
brow at him. “What was that about?”
“No clue. He called me Christian.”
Eric frowned, stroking his goatee.
“Christian? What? The name or the religion?”
“Do I care?”
“Sounds like a poor attempt at hollering
at you, hermano.” Eric sneered as he took in the customer’s appearance. “Upper
East Side boys ain’t got no game.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder, back at
the table he’d just walked by. Even though he had company, the stranger focused
on Nick. His expression hardened, dangerously so. “What the hell is his
problem?”
“Don’t worry about it, yo. Let’s get
back to work before Phil sees us slacking.”
Nick agreed. Taking his thoughts away
from the man, Nick headed off to check on his tables.
It was Valentine’s Day, so Jenkins’ Jazz
Bar was busier than usual. Loving couples and groups of friends celebrating
their singleness occupied every table and booth. Food and drinks flew from the
kitchen at a rate almost too quickly to comprehend. Hell, Nick wasn’t even sure
the house band had taken a break yet. Since the bar opened that evening, it’d
been one fast-paced blur.
Nick checked on a stylish older couple
who should have been dining on Madison Avenue, not a basement joint in East
Harlem.
That guy too, Nick thought. He stole a
glance at table nine, which Mercedes tended. The stranger wasn’t looking his
way anymore, so Nick studied him a moment. The guy was groomed and decked out
in top-notch designer clothes. Everything about him—from the way he sat to the
way he sipped his cocktail—screamed money. He probably owned a penthouse on
Fifth Avenue too. Nick gave a wry smile at the thought.
“We’ll take two rum cakes. And I’d love
another glass of this wine, if you don’t mind.”
Nick brought his attention back to the
smiling woman. “Sure thing.” He headed to the brand-new station to key in their
orders.
The front door opened.
A young man wearing a black hoodie
paired with loose-fit jeans stepped inside.
Nick sucked in a deep breath, inhaling
the mingled scents of soul food. The visible tattoos on the guy’s knuckles and
neck did not bode well for Nick. Had they found him already? After only a year?
“Shit.” Nick needed to check on two
tables, but he didn’t care about anything other than staying out of the guy’s
sight. He rushed into the kitchen, glad for the safety of the steel double
doors.
“You okay? Look like you saw a ghost.”
Mercedes Shaw was the eighteen-year-old niece of Phil Jenkins, the bar’s owner.
“Yeah,” Nick replied. “Actually, you
mind taking these rolls to table seven for me? I need a breather.”
Mercedes’s brown eyes softened with
understanding. “Yeah, I got you. It’s been like this all day, huh?”
Nick nodded, even though the fast pace
wasn’t the problem. He hurried out the back door with a sigh of relief.
The temperature had dropped into the low
twenties, but the cold air soothed his flustered skin. Nick leaned against the
building, raking a hand through his hair while trying not to think about the
tattooed newcomer inside. Instead, he focused on his immediate surroundings,
though there wasn’t much to look at. The back door led to an alley that smelled
like trash and piss. Police sirens and the occasional gunshot created life’s
soundtrack there in his corner of Manhattan. That, he was used to. He didn’t
want to give up the life he’d found there. Not yet. More than anything, he
dreaded being back on the streets.
Nick didn’t stay outside long. He wasn’t
looking to give Mr. Jenkins any reason to fire him. He just hoped the asshole
had left already.
Nick’s shift ended at one in the
morning. Fortunately for him, the night flew by without further incident. Only
the staff remained, bussing tables and cleaning floors, while the band put away
their instruments and wiped sweat from their foreheads.
“Good job, everyone,” Phil called out.
He draped the towel onto his graying ‘fro and glanced about the space with a
hearty smile. “Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve played back-to-back like
that. Stamina ain’t what it used to be. I’m getting too old for this.”
Nick nodded in agreement as he took a
seat at the bar. He was only twenty-four, but all the running around had him
feeling like a middle-aged man.
Eric set a shot of something in front of
him. “You wanna stay at my place tonight?”
Nick barely peered up. He sifted through
his tip money, calculating how much he needed for Amy’s medical expenses and to
get caught up on his rent. The night had been packed, but his tips were only
marginally better than what he usually made on a good night. Most of the
couples had probably bought expensive gifts first, then came out to dinner.
Nick inwardly groaned. He was still short a few hundred dollars.
“Yo, Nicky. You ignoring me?”
“My bad.” Nick grabbed the shot glass
and downed the alcohol in one go. Tequila. He stuffed the money back into his
pocket. “I’m just gonna go home. Coming with me to the bus stop?”
“Naw, I’m here ’til two. Inventory and
shit. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that.” Nick gathered his
things and left the bar.
Outside, the temperature had dropped
from earlier, but the cold didn’t faze Nick as he slid into his worn puffer
coat. The bus stop was a half mile away on East 116th Street.
The darkness seemed heavy whenever Nick
left work alone around that time. Sometimes, listening to music helped him not
to notice the lack of streetlights in the area or imagine what lurked in the
shadows, waiting to jump out at any moment. But he wouldn’t be listening to
anything, not after earlier. He pulled the hood of his coat on top of his head
and tucked his hands into the pockets like he clenched something other than his
MP3 player. He looked menacing, no doubt about it. The defense mechanism surprisingly
kept him from being bothered most times.
Nick quickened his pace to the bus stop.
He didn’t enjoy being alone out there. Heavy footsteps followed closely behind
Nick, noticeable without the sound of traffic. Nick glimpsed over his shoulder.
There, following a few feet behind him,
was the tattooed gangster from earlier.
Nick’s heart pounded. He almost stumbled
as he continued to move forward, even while gazing backward.
The guy reached into his coat pocket.
Nick ran.
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