Page 8 of Brutal Obsession

In Oahu, thousands of tourists snap photos every day. I’m sure the annoying guy in the colorful shirt is just another one of them.

Chapter 2

Cian

“Fuck.” I spit the curse, knuckles and arms straining as I drag myself up the rope.

The hot evening breeze ruffles my hair. Four stories below me, flashes of light punctuate the darkness.

Running footsteps.

Grunts. Shouts.

Alarms.

I can’t afford to get distracted.

Muscles coiled tight, I hoist myself up the last section and propel my body onto the rooftop with one final heft.

I’m on my feet before I even catch my breath. There’s no time to lose.

There. Fifteen paces away from me is the skylight.

According to the blueprints of this building I stole and studied, and what I know about the soon-to-be-dead motherfucker known as Enzo De Luca, that skylight should be directly above his office. If I’m right about that sick, twisted bastard, both he and Harper Brennan will be in there when I cable down, guns blazing, in about forty-five seconds.

I dart forward, taking care to quiet the strike of my combat boots on the cement rooftop. Ripping the cable equipment from my grappling belt, I ready myself to crash a party.

It’s only been two months since Harper’s disappearance, but somehow, it seems like we’ve been searching for her and her kidnapper for far longer.

Morbid excitement chants inside me like a vicious, blood-hungry crowd. The last man I was this eager to kill was my father. But the satisfaction of standing over my father’s bloody, lifeless corpse will be nothing compared to the victory of wiping Enzo De Luca off the face of this planet.

At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

If I’m still miserable after I’ve sent him to the morgue, I don’t know what I’ll do to myself.

I ease the skylight open. The cable’s set.

Submachine gun in hand, I drop down into Enzo’s private study, my boots landing on a Persian rug sprawled wide across a hardwood floor.

Surprise crashes into me.

The place is…empty.

The pristine bookshelves carved into every wall give the illusion that this room has no entrance or exit. A large hearth sits dark and cold. An oil painting hangs on the wall straight ahead, likely covering Enzo’s personal safe.

All the usual clichés are present.

But Enzo De Luca is not. Neither is the woman we’ve been trying to save for the past two months.

A bomb-like urge to tear this place apart goes off inside me, but I hold myself back.

If that fucker was smart enough to evade the little raid we’re throwing in his honor tonight, he may also be smart enough to booby trap his office.

A quick scan reveals no trip wires.

I do spy four hidden cameras, but thanks to the glitch Rory unleashed on their computer systems, those won’t be an issue.

The problem is that after tracking Enzo’s whereabouts for weeks, he duped us again.

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