Page 44 of Twisted Obsession

Twenty

DOMINIC

Watching Roisin is both a torment and a blessing. The latter because no one from the LCN can question my motives, it’s orders. The former… I don’t know what’s gotten into me when it comes to my little pocket dynamo, but I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. Stalking her doesn’t help with that.

A couple of times I’ve been so distracted by the woman herself, wondering how she’s really doing behind the facade, if she’s acclimatizing after her ordeal, whether she thinks of me as much as I think of her, that I’ve come close to being made. Talk about a sure-fire way to get myself killed. Giving her my number was probably the single, most idiotic thing I could have done–after sleeping with her, of course. Taking her virginity.

The thought of her sweet, tight clasp, unknown to any man before me, still haunts my dreams.

Fuck! I really need to find a willing woman and screw Roisin out of my brain with someone else.

Except after watching her, day after day, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not sure what that says about my state of mind.

I watch from my elevated position as Roisin emerges from the Bratva compound–just another complication that makes everything I feel for her a very bad idea. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun and oversized sunglasses hide her eyes. She's dressed casually in leggings and a loose sweater, but even in something so simple and with the lenses of my binoculars between us, she still takes my breath away.

She walks briskly to the car waiting for her, offering the driver a small smile before she gets in.

That smile. It haunts me, reminding me of the way she looked at me that night, her eyes filled with trust and desire. I clench my fists, forcing the memory away. It won’t do either of us any good.

There’s nothing to report. Nothing out of the ordinary. Roisin’s brothers were both out of town last night, yet to return, and other people are following them. But so far, it seems like whatever urge to retaliate might have existed, died with Vito.

And that’s the way Mika wants to keep it, so reconnecting with Roisin is definitelynoton the cards.

That’s what I thought, anyway. Fate, it seems, has other ideas.

Barely ten minutes pass after she’s dropped back at the Ár n-áit compound before my phone rings with an unknown number. That in itself isn’t an unusual thing, but what is, is the voice on the other end of the line.

“Dominic?” Her throaty tone burns through me, the soft burr of her accent even more beguiling. She doesn’t name herself, but then, she doesn’t need to. Her voice is burned into my subconscious. “I need to see you. It’s important.”

I frown and check my watch. The last update told me her brothers were still out of state, so this is probably as safe as it’ll ever get.

“Dominic?” The uncertainty in her voice tears at me and I realize I’ve not uttered a word throughout the entire call.

“Can you get to me undetected?” I finally ask by way of a greeting, not knowing how I actually feel about any of this. It’s likely suicide, after all. But I don’t think Roisin would risk everything if there wasn’t a damned good reason, so I’ll humor her, for now.

“Where?” she asks, keeping the conversation short.

I consider all the options. I don’t want her out on the street without protection. There are still too many of Vito’s old cronies who blame her for his death and their expulsion from LCN. We already know some of them have been selling information to anyone who’s interested. “Meet me outside the rear gates in fifteen minutes, exactly,” I tell her, not wanting her to know I’m already there, parked up and watching like some stalker with a twisted obsession.

“I’ll be there,” she agrees, and the line goes dead.

That gives me ten minutes to come up with a plan. Where the hell do I take her?

I spend those minutes warring with myself, debating whether to call everything off. Nothing good can come of it.

But something in Roisin's voice already has my gut telling me this isn't a social call. She sounded worried, maybe even scared. I can't turn my back on her, not when she might genuinely need help.

At precisely fifteen minutes after our call, I see her slip out of the rear gate, glancing furtively over her shoulder. She's changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, the hood pulled up to obscure her face. Smart girl.

I pull up beside her and she slides into the passenger seat without a word. Up close, I can see the tension in her jaw, the slight tremble of her hands.

"Drive," she says tersely. "Anywhere. Just get us away from here."

I comply, merging into traffic and heading away from both the Irish and LCN territories. We drive in tense silence for several minutes before I can't take it anymore.

"What's going on, Roisin? What’s so urgent?"

“We need to go somewhere we can talk. Where I have your undivided attention.”

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