Page 21 of Brutal Obsession

Fear vibrates beneath the surface of my skin.

Even though he takes care not to hurt me, the angry fingers latched onto my forearm tell me how rough he could be. How he could break weak things with a snap of his wrist.

Weak things like me.

His eyes glow in the dusk, alight with speechless rage. Despite that, he keeps a tight leash on his anger. I never once get the sense that he’s close to losing control.

Something else shimmers in his gaze, almost like hurt, but that’s ridiculous. I’m clearly seeing things that aren’t there.

The few seconds that pass feel like hours as we stand still, the moment brittle and tense. We both know Cian’s here to drag me back to hell.

Pedestrians pass us, minding their business as if we’re just a normal couple having a tense moment. I should scream.Kidnapper! Rapist! Criminal on the loose!

Instead, my mouth refuses to form words. My attention remains riveted to his frustrated face.

The heat radiating off my neck and cheeks grows strong enough to light one of the torches on the side of the footpath. This is not how a runaway captive being tracked down by their captor should act, right? I should be plucky, strong, determined, and just as defiant as I was during those weeks I spent planning this.

In reality, I experience this awful,almost overwhelming urge to apologize, which is absurd. Cian’s the one who’s here to ruin my life, not the other way around.

Even if I could talk my way out of this, what would I say?

Please let me go, Cian. I promise, if you never tell anyone you found me, I’ll…

What, exactly? Groveling only works if the person I grovel to actually gives a shit about me.

To Cian, I’m just an assignment. There’s nothing I can offer that’s more valuable to him than his responsibility to the Irish Kings.

Which means I’m imagining the warm glow hidden in his eyes. I’m imagining the way he pulls my arm forward just a little, almost like he’s guiding me into his embrace, like he wants to hug me close.

The grip on my arm loosens and falls away altogether, leaving my skin cold where his hot palm used to be.

Why does the sight of him clad in a basic, patterned Hawaiian shirt and board shorts set my body on fire? He’s dressed like a groom on his honeymoon, not a guy who’s usually packing two guns in a holster against his chest.

His Hawaiian Romeo vibe gives off the impression that my pursuer is a regular guy instead of a trained killer.

Before running away on the eve of my wedding, I’d never so much as stood a man up on a date.

Being a woman in the world today is still terrible sometimes. We’re socialized to behave politely and consider a man’s emotional well-being, even if he’s in the middle of committing a crime against us. That brainwashing is so deeply ingrained that guilt puddles in my belly when I take a step back from Cian.

Then I bolt into the street.

“Harper!” Cian roars my name.

Blaring horns deafen me, headlights heat my flesh, and cars swerve to avoid me. I dart across a five-lane road, eyes fixed on the opposite sidewalk. My heart is pumping so fast I can’t even feel it.

I don’t realize how badly my legs are shaking until I reach the other side.

When I glance over my shoulder, traffic’s still flowing. Cian stands on the curb where I left him, fuming so hard his shoulders rise and fall with the effort.

Even with several lines of moving cars between us, the fire of his wrath burns my skin. He was already upset with me, and now I’ve made him even angrier.

If that guy gets his hands on me again, my life as I know it is over. My freedom too.

I cannot let that happen. I won’t.

After my crazy-ass traffic stunt, losing Cian comes easy. I double back to an ugly public parking lot on a Waikiki backstreet. A white pickup truck with the Fukuoka Farmslogo on one side waits between a red jalopy and a new Lexus. Jean and Tony let me borrow this truck to get to and from work at Dish.

I throw myself into the cab and almost kiss the seats. Still shaking, I turn the engine over, whip out of the lot, and get the hell out of Waikiki.

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