Page 22 of Brutal Obsession

After an eternity of painstaking stoplights and congested surface streets, I merge onto the highway. I’m too amped toswitch on the radio. Listening to highway noise as the light dies into humid, starry darkness, I try to calm down.

My brain is trapped in a wild free fall. Uneasiness digs at me like a knifepoint dragging across the surface of my skin.

What the hell do I do now?

Oahu is a small island. Cian’s here, and he already knows where I work. I got away from him today, but he won’t give up.

He’s about as likely to stop searching for me as I am to hand myself over to him on a silver platter. We’re equally serious about our respective motivations, which means keeping my freedom will come down to outsmarting him.

But how am I going to dothat?

I still have enough money to buy a plane ticket and start over someplace else. But where? How will I even leave the island without getting caught?

I beat the steering wheel with the palm of my hand and debate copying the action with my face.

Why must follow-through be my Achilles’ heel? I never think anything through to the end. My brain plays through seventy-five percent of a scenario and then goes fishing.

I figured out all the logistical details of escaping my family in New York and coming to Hawaii, but I didn’t consider what I would do if they found me.

Stupid mistake on my part.

The Kings have more power, reach, and influence than most mafia families along the Eastern Seaboard. Shane Gallagher even has a tech department where Rory develops gadgets to help the family do better business, which essentially means committing crime in increasingly clever ways.

I could have fled to outer space, and they still would have found me. The fact that I believed I could build a life for myself away from it all seems so incredibly foolish now.

My throat constricts, and I swipe tears as they line the rims of my eyes.

Even if I could sneak off the island, where would I go? The anxiety that accompanies the thought of packing up my meager belongings and flying off to a strange new destination threatens to overwhelm me. I just began settling into a new life here, with people I care about. I don’t want to start all over again.

But if I stay here on the island, it’s only a matter of time before Cian and the others catch up with me.

What about the Fukuokas? I can still picture the confusion on Mike and Paul’s faces when I ran out on them earlier.

And Jean and Tony… Ugh, they’ve treated me with so much kindness. They gave me a job and a place to stay. I don’t want to get them mixed up in any of my shit.

The best course of action is to get out of work for a few weeks and go into hiding. I’ll find some roadside motel and stay inside for fourteen days straight. Hopefully, I’ll conceal myself so well that Cian and the others will either get tired of hunting for me or believe I slipped through their fingers and escaped someplace else.

Once they’re gone, I can return to my life here. There’s just one problem with this plan… How am I supposed to know when my would-be captors are gone? It’s not like Cian’s going to shoot me a text telling me he’s given up and that he’s headed home.

Even if I discovered a way to recognize when it was safe to stop hiding, how would I explain my actions to the Fukuokas?

With all this erratic behavior, they’ll probably think I’m a vagabond with a criminal history or a recovering addict who just suffered a relapse and disappeared on a bender for a few weeks.

And how could I possibly explain?

No, I swear. I’m just the runaway daughter of a high-ranking member of a powerful and dangerous mafia family on the East Coast. My dad sent some trained killers here to get me,but I ditched them and everything’s okay now, so I’m ready to get back to work.

As I navigate the road, dread and despair claw at me.

I’m doomed.

After the hundredth look with nothing nefarious in sight, I let my back relax against the seat as the sun sinks below the horizon.

The only thing I don’t love about my work commute is the occasional nighttime drive. Usually, I do the morning shift, and I head home in the mid-afternoon hours and arrive by or before sundown.

In New York City, it never gets dark. Yes, the sun goes down, but there are streetlights every five feet. There are city lights twinkling above and around, every night, every week, every month of the year.

Oahu isn’t like that. There aren’t enough city lights to recreate a solar system. Especially out on the North Shore. This is where the island gets remote the fastest. Here, it gets dark.Darkdark. Pitch-black, meaning only the two short, bright corridors created by my headlights pierce the surrounding twilight.

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