Page 61 of Brutal Obsession

Bullets shatter glass and scar the walls. Bozo’s voice moves farther away as he intimidates some shitless servers, likely cowering under a family-sized booth on the other side of the room.

“Was ityou?”

The growl in his voice tempts me to drive a hot poker down his throat. I can’t see his face, but I can see his partner’s gun. Nearby, the fallen idiot groans and grouses, a bloody gash on the back of his bald head.

I doubted that table would do the whole job. That’s what I’m here for.

Lurching for the gun, my fingers snatch the grip. The noise alerts Bozo. Still crouched low, I fire at his legs just as he swings around.

Bozo unleashes a wounded snarl, the pain forcing him to his knees.

I put three bullets in his partner’s back. Blood pounds hard in my own ears as I watchhisspill out onto the hard floor like red ink. My roaring pulse drowns out Bozo’s returning fire.

The searing, biting pain of a bullet grazing my bicep snatches my focus.

Quick as lightning, I take aim at Bozo and yank the trigger back.

Bullets hail at him. Two to the chest, three to the head.

Sobs of delirious panic wade into my ears.

As I get to the bar, I find a huddled Harper shaking. The sight of her fear rekindles my fury. I drop the gun, and when I grab her hand, she doesn’t fight me.

We’re down the hall to the kitchen and through the back door in seconds, speed walking toward Waikiki’s busiest, bustling main street.

Neither one of us speak as I drag her through the crowds, making a beeline for where I parked the car.

Police sirens wail around us as anxious energy swells inside me.

Holy fuck, we are in trouble.

People gawk as we hurry past. I have no idea what that’s about until we’re back in the Porsche and Harper gasps.

“What is it?” My eyes rake her over from head to toe as terror crawls along my skin. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, eyes glistening, with one hand folded around the base of her own throat. “You’re hurt! You’re bleeding.”

Her rasp is like a death rattle.

I wince when the pain in my arm finally announces itself. The adrenaline in my system must be crashing. My arm hurts like fuck, even though the wound is shallow.

The blood dripping and crisscrossing down my arm like red veins gives off major crime-scene victim vibes.

“I’m fine.” Turning the engine over, I allow myself one last glimpse of Harper’s face.

“No, you’re not.”

She challenges me without an ounce of strength in her voice. Her ragged breathing has slowed, but she’s holding herself like she’ll fall to pieces otherwise.

Maybe she will. Just because she grew up around this kind of violence doesn’t mean she stomachs it well.

This is my job, one I haven’t been afraid to perform since I fucking started. Before that, even. I’m trying to keep my brain at bay, but the reality that I could have lost Harper back there torments me.

My stomach cramps, and bile burns my throat. I haven’t been this terrified of losing someone since I was teenager.

The fear hits hard, like a freight train bearing down on my chest.

My desire to spend more time with her was at the expense of her own safety.

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