Page 65 of Brutal Obsession

He releases me at the door. “Get us a room.” He turns and stomps into the parking lot before I can argue.

I take a moment to wipe my face and inhale a few breaths. I guess there aren’t many other alternatives. And I could really use a shower.

The Blue Hawaii Motel’s office really isblue.Blue patterned wallpaper, blue carpet, blue cushions on bright wicker furniture. Generic photos of Oahu decorate the walls, interspersed with signed headshots of famous people who I highly doubt ever stayed here.

Stepping up to the front desk, I find myself face-to-face with a jolly giant whose name tag reads Chris. He has long, wavy hair to his waist, ancestral tattoo sleeves, and a smile that would have cheered me up on any other dismal night.

“Welcome to the Blue Hawaii.” He beams at me. “Reservation name?”

“Hi. No reservation, but I’d like a room, please.”

Chris types hard on a keyboard I can’t see, scanning the hotel booking system while anxiety drips inside me like a leaky faucet.

“You’re in luck! We’re pretty full tonight, but there’s one room left.”

Of course there is. Though I guess one room is better than none. “Two beds?” I ask in a hopeful tone.

His smile never wavers. “Just one, sorry.”

Wondering who I pissed off in a past life, I sigh. “I’ll take it, please.”

“How many nights will you be with us?”

What a great question. I shift from one foot to the other.

“Two nights?”

“Sounds good. Give me just a second here.”

More typing. Chris gets the reservation started, and that’s when I realize I’m screwed.

I have the money to stay in a motel for two nights.

Only, all my funds are in my crossbody bag.

The one currently hanging in the employee break room at Dish Waikiki.

And Cian is who-the hell-knows-where.

Which means that along with no phone, I have no money. No ride. And no place to sleep tonight.

Exhaustion seeps into my muscles, and I’m about two minutes away sinking into a heap on the motel lobby floor and calling it a day.

The only good news is I still have my passport.

“Last name?” Chris chirps.

To prevent him from watching me lose it, I turn away, right into someone’s broad chest.

“Mahoney.”

I would’ve recognized Cian’s scent, but my nose is congested from crying.

As much as I want and need to get away from Cian Mahoney, his bed is the only bed available to me at this moment in time. I either suck it up and stay with him or sleep on the streets.

I stand defeated and motionless as Cian sets a credit card down on the counter and Chris keeps typing away. He must have found something to clean up with outside, because his arm no longer resembles a prop from a horror flick. Though, if I look closely enough, I can still spot traces of blood.

Keys jangle over my shoulder.

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