Total Destruction: A Game Of Fatal Obsession

The consequences.

The word echoed in Francesca's head as she sat on the edge of her lumpy mattress in her cramped Brooklyn apartment. The radiator clanked loudly in the corner, but she could not stop shivering.

She stared at the glowing screen of her phone. The wallpaper was a photo taken last summer. Hayden was laughing, her head thrown back, while Julian, Francesca's older brother, had his arms wrapped tightly around Hayden's waist. They looked perfect. They were engaged.

Anton wanted to tear that apart, and he wanted Francesca to hand him the crowbar.

Her stomach churned with acid. She tossed the phone onto the worn blanket and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She had to stop him. But telling Anton that Hayden was engaged to Julian felt like throwing her brother to a wolf. Anton did not respect boundaries. If he knew Julian was in the way, he would crush Julian without a second thought.

The next day at the hospital was a blur of anxiety. Her hands shook while holding a scalpel during a minor suturing procedure. Dr. Ignatius Sallow, her attending physician, had to clear his throat sharply to snap her out of her daze.

During her lunch break, she hid in a bathroom stall. Her fingers trembled as she typed out a text message to Anton.

Hayden is in a serious, committed relationship. Please leave her alone. You are wasting your time.

She hit send. She watched the little bubble indicate the message was delivered.

She waited. One hour. Two hours. Her shift ended, and still, her screen remained blank. The silence was worse than his anger. It felt like a heavy blanket pressing down on her chest, suffocating her slowly. She tried to convince herself that he had given up. A man like Anton Corbett did not chase women who were unavailable. He would move on.

By ten o'clock that night, her muscles ached from exhaustion. She walked out of the hospital's rear exit, pulling her thin coat tighter around her body against the biting wind. The employee parking lot was poorly lit. Several overhead bulbs were burned out, leaving large pools of black asphalt in deep shadow.

She walked toward her beat-up Toyota Corolla, fishing her keys out of her pocket.

Two massive figures stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, blocking her path.

Francesca stopped dead. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

They wore identical black suits. Small, coiled earpieces rested behind their ears. They stood with their feet apart, hands clasped in front of them, looking like two brick walls. The danger rolling off them was a physical weight in the air.

She knew instantly who they belonged to. The Corbett family security detail.

Bile rose in the back of her throat. She gripped her car keys so tightly the jagged metal bit into her palm. She tried to step to the right to walk around them, but the man on the right mirrored her movement perfectly.

"Ms. Meyers," the man on the left said. His voice was entirely devoid of emotion. "Mr. Corbett would like to see you."

Francesca swallowed hard. Her throat was bone dry. "Tell him I am busy. I do not have time."

"Sir said you would say that," the guard replied smoothly.

The second guard stepped forward. He did not touch her, but he extended his arm in a rigid, polite gesture pointing toward the far end of the lot.

Parked in the deepest shadow of the lot was a black Cadillac Escalade. Its tinted windows made it look like a hearse. The engine was running, a low, predatory purr that vibrated through the soles of her shoes.

Francesca looked at the guards. Their faces were blank. They would not let her leave. If she ran, they would catch her. If she screamed, they would muffle her. She had no choice.

"I can walk myself," she said, her voice shaking despite her attempt to sound cold.

She walked toward the Escalade. Every step felt like walking toward an execution block. Her legs were heavy, her knees threatening to buckle.

The guard reached the vehicle first and pulled the heavy rear door open.

Francesca looked inside. A single reading light was on in the back. Anton sat in the spacious leather seat. He was looking down at a tablet resting on his lap. The dim light illuminated the sharp bridge of his nose and the hard line of his jaw. He did not look up when the door opened. He acted as if she were nothing more than a gust of wind.

The guard stood waiting. Francesca bent down and climbed into the back seat, pressing herself as far against the opposite door as possible.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her. The sound sealed her inside. The noise of the city vanished, replaced by the thick, suffocating silence of the car. The air inside smelled of expensive leather and Anton's cedar cologne. It invaded her lungs, making her dizzy. She was trapped in his space, completely at his mercy.