Page 52 of Brutal Obsession

“Snack run?” He lifts his eyebrows when he sees me because he already knows.

It’s our ritual.

I just nod, grabbing my bag with all the money off a hook on the wall. Behind me, Paul speaks again in a more melancholic tone.

“Mom and Dad told me you’re headed out of town for a while?”

I’ve all but forgotten about that frantic, cryptic text message I sent his parents last night, seconds before Cian chucked my phone out the window like a jackass.

“Yeah, family stuff.” I force the words out. My heart is dying, that dull ache beneath my ribs intensifying by the moment.

“If you don’t mind my asking…” Paul nods toward the back door. I’m three steps ahead of him. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” For a seasoned actress, I sound fake as hell.

“You ran off last night after things got rowdy on the patio, and we were worried someone had given you trouble.”

Cian’s fight flashes through my mind. The way our eyes met during that brawl with those dumb patrons. Yesterday, he was the devil’s messenger. And now when I think of him, it’s like he’s got his gigantic fist clenched tight around my cold, dead little heart.

“No trouble,” I lie with a tight smile before changing the subject. “Damn, I could go for some M&Ms about now.”

I want to shove Paul out the door and into his truck, but he’s taking his sweet time. And when I hear an enormous clatter coming from the hallway outside the kitchen door, I know my eight minutes are up. Big time.

“What was that?” Paul mutters, gravitating to the kitchen exit. The saloon door explodes open, nearly clipping him right in the face. Cian appears, red-faced and enraged. He spies me with the bag over my shoulder and Paul with the keys still jangling from his fingers and performs the math in moments.

In the three seconds we stand there, with Cian’s pissed-off, knife-like glare slicing into my face, I remember every dangerous thing I’ve witnessed Cian do in my life.

Including that night I hate to think about, the one when Dad’s operation went wrong. The man I was supposed todistract wound up dragging me down a hallway into an empty room and pinning me to a wall, muffling by screams with his hand. By the time he had my dress hiked up to my waist and was unzipping his pants, I was starting to dissociate. I floated above my body, detached yet spiraling into a dark pit of despair, when the door crashed open, and the room shook with an enraged roar.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

Somone plucked my would-be rapist off me as easily as one might pull a toddler away from a dog. The air cracked, and my attacker’s head flew to the side. Blood sprayed in all directions as he fell to the floor.

The next thing I knew, Cian was racing up to me. “Harper, are you okay?”

I remember trying to answer but choking on a sob instead. I also recall the exact moment when Cian registered my appearance. The wicked, playful light that usually sparkled from his green eyes extinguished, leaving them glittering and sharp like faceted gems as he gently pulled my skirt back down to cover me and readjusted my bodice. Then he zeroed in on the red marks around my upper arms and neck, and I watched his entire body still like a predator’s.

Finally, I managed to speak. “Not okay yet, but I will be.”

His fingers grazed my cheek. “Brave girl. Now don’t move.” He whirled as my attacker stumbled to his feet. “You’re a dead man.”

His next punch knocked the man back to the ground. Cian jumped him, straddling his torso while his fist repeatedly crunched the other guy’s face, until his shrieks eventually stopped.

Cian rose and spit on his body. That was about the time my father found us. After cursing Cian out, he called for reinforcements.

While he dealt with logistics, I noticed the raw and swollen state of Cian’s knuckles and insisted on finding him an ice pack, ignoring the bewildered glance he kept sneaking my way.

Cian seems almost as angry now as he did then. And I know that if I don’t get him out of here, he’s going to make an example of Paul.

I couldn’t bear that.

“You’re not allowed back here—” Paul begins to say as I shove past him, my hands flying to Cian’s prodigious shoulders.

“Sorry!” I throw the word over my shoulder without looking back. “My boyfriend didn’t know.”

Putting force into my hands, I push Cian back the way he came, and I’m nothing short of amazed when his body actually shifts. Me trying to move Cian’s body without his consent would be as easy as me trying to push a double-wide Ford pickup down a street.

Unrealistic, useless, and an exercise in foolishness.

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