Unhinged (Deranged and Obsessed #1)

Chapter 3

3

ISLA

I always controlled myself. It came naturally, but it was also for survival. In this shitty world I lived in, starting crap with someone could get a person killed.

Dammit , I thought, taking a breather in the alley at the back of the diner. This might actually get me fired.

I could handle rude customers, handle the long hours, and my douchebag of a boss. I’d been doing it for years. I dealt with assholes daily, smiling through the frustration of it all, because I needed this job.

But tonight...something in me snapped. I hadn’t even given it a thought. I just reacted, and before I knew it, I felt all that anger rise to the surface as my hand connected with the pig’s face .

And God… that had felt incredible.

I leaned back against the cold brick wall, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. The world around me was dark and quiet—literally and figuratively.

City life wasn’t for everyone. You had to be built a certain way to live in the slums covered in dirt and grime.

The wind rushed through the narrow passage, carrying the faint smell of garbage from the dumpster a few feet away. God… my life was filthy in so many ways.

I lifted a hand and undid my messy bun before running my fingers through the strands, finger-combing them. My scalp throbbed where I’d tied the ponytail holder too tight, and it had finally gotten to me, giving me a headache.

The backdoor opened, and the light from inside cut into the darkness of the alley. Dale, the cook for tonight, came out and immediately lodged the door open with an old brick lying on the ground. He leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the doorway and lit up a cigarette, staring at me.

“Lyle’s gonna fire you for this,” he stated matter-of-factly.

I didn’t respond verbally, just nodded and then stared up at the sky. Dale and I got along. He kept the grabby fuckers at bay most of the time but not tonight because I’d taken matters into my own hands. And he spoke the truth right now.

I didn’t care about the diner. And I sure as hell didn’t care about Lyle. But I cared about this fucking job because it wasn’t like this shitty city offered anything else one would consider “respectable.”

This place—the city and the businesses within it—took advantage of people like me, people who worked for tips, people who couldn't move away and find anything better because the paycheck barely covered rent. Much less anything left over to save up.

People who had no one else to lean on and relied on pennies on the dollar to survive.

I pushed off the wall, shoving my hands into my apron pockets, and started walking down the alley.

“Where are you going?” Dale called out, but I could tell in his voice that he already knew I was leaving and didn’t give a fuck.

I should have felt bad for leaving him high and dry, but there had only been one customer left before I took a breather, and Dale wouldn't be shy—he’d lock up and say fuck this place, too.

The lone streetlight at the end of the alleyway flickered, casting a weak, yellow glow onto the cracked pavement. It was early enough that the sun wasn’t up yet, but within the next hour, it would make the sky a hazy shade of pink and orange.

I should have gone home, but that was the last place I wanted to be. So I just walked. I needed to move, to get away from the diner, the frustration of the moment, and everything else that came with being in a shitty situation.

As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to my life and how I got to where I was. It seemed this was a recurring moment in my world, when things turned upside down.

I thought about my parents and my childhood. I’d spent my entire life trying to outrun my memories. I pushed them down until they were nothing more than distant echoes. But they were always there. Always with me.

And tonight, those memories came rushing back with a vengeance.

No one would ever call my parents good or loving. They’d never cared about me, not in the way parents were supposed to when it came to their own child. I’d been an accident who two broken people had created.

I could still hear my parents' voices ringing in my ears. My father’s tone was sharp and cutting, and I could hear him right now, telling me I fucked up yet again.

And then there was my mother. The woman who birthed me had always been silent and cold toward me. It was abundantly clear she wished she had gotten rid of me.

But for whatever reason, they’d decided to keep me, and I had to live with their regret every day of my life.

I worried my lip as I thought about how my upbringing caused this butterfly effect on my whole world. I hadn’t ever been able to connect with people. I’d been unable to have any emotional stability with anyone around me.

I found it hard to form lasting relationships—with both men and women. Whenever I made friends, I always seemed to sabotage myself. Not to mention I had severe trust issues that went well beyond what a person normally had. Even my shitty jobs didn’t last… case in point, me getting fired because I hadn’t been able to control myself with an asshole who crossed my path. It didn’t matter I’d been the one assaulted first.

Plus, slapping that fucker felt so good it was almost worth the impending job hunt .

And although I loathed this city, it offered and promised freedom I couldn’t explain.

“I’m not a victim,” I whispered to myself, allowing the silver-lining thoughts to seep in through the ever-present dark ones as I walked.

The wind picked up, blowing at the ties of my apron. I turned the corner, heading toward my apartment complex, but I was unable to shake the strange sensation that prickled at the back of my neck.

I knew this feeling. I was being watched.

But I had enough survival instincts to know not to slow or let it be known I was fully aware I wasn't alone any longer. I rounded another corner and picked up my pace before taking another turn. Only then did I glance over my shoulder.

The alley behind me was empty with just shadows and silence as my companion. I didn't see anyone ahead, either. Not yet, at least.

I shifted to look behind me one last time, my entire body buzzing with awareness, and every instinct told me to keep moving and get into the safety of my apartment. And when I finally turned, then picked up my speed, that’s when I heard footsteps behind me.

And although I told myself to play it cool, my flight instinct kicked in, and I really started hurrying then. The streets were empty—that I could see, at least—and too quiet, so there was no hiding the fact that I was breathing harder, faster, and felt beads of sweat lining my temples.

Something deep inside me took control, and I went against my better judgment and looked over my shoulder once again.

And that’s when I saw him.

Show no fear.

My anger rose, not just from tonight but also from being so fucking tired of living in fear, afraid some male would try to take advantage of me.

So I stopped. I turned. And I faced him.

Whoever he was, he stood at the edge of the alley, just behind the glow of the flickering streetlamp. His silhouette told me he was massive in height and width. And even though his face was hidden by the shadows, there was no doubt he had menace and darkness spilling from him, as I could feel it slam into me.

I felt that darkness wrap around me. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and although he was shrouded in shadows and I couldn't see his face, I knew he watched me with an intensity that was terrifying.

His presence was unsettling, yet...I was intrigued .

Neither of us moved, like we were locked in some kind of silent standoff. And I felt like we were. He thought I was his prey, but maybe the roles were reversed.

My heart hammered in my chest, but it wasn’t fear that gripped me. It was something else. Something ominous and dangerous. Something deranged and unhinged.

The way he stood there, his very stance and presence made it seem like he was waiting for me to make the first move.

“Who are you?” I called out, my voice steady despite the anxiety that gnawed at me.

He didn’t answer, but I knew he wouldn't. True predators didn’t lower themselves to the level of their prey.

I should have walked away. Ran. That was what everything inside me was screaming. But instead of turning and leaving—which was what a smart person would have done who wanted to survive—I took a step closer.

Something in me was drawn to him. I was pulled toward the evil that surrounded him. Once again, I was sabotaging my life.

I wasn’t sure why I thought or felt like this, but I knew one thing.

This wasn't the last time I’d see him.