Page 18 of Brutal Obsession

Those green eyes…

“Impossible.” The word slips from my mouth without my permission.

That smug grin. Those addictive lips…

The stranger is Cian Mahoney, come to ruin my life.

Fuck.

Chapter 5

Cian

I thought long and hard about what it would be like if and when I found Harper Brennan. In fact, it’s all I thought about on the eight-hour flight from NYC to Honolulu.

That said, the scene I put together in my head looked nothing like this.

No bar fight. No Harper standing there in a little black dress, gaping at me like I’m her worst nightmare come true.

When our eyes meet, my brain goes sideways, like a runny egg slipping off a slice of toast. I’m here in swim trunks and a Hawaiian shirt I bought at the airport after I walked off the plane this morning, engaging in a staring contest with the object of my obsession.

The woman who played me.

I’m exhausted. Pissed beyond all reason wouldn’t be an understatement. Gazing at Harper now, the full weight of the chaosshe unleashed on my psyche collapses on me all at once.

All those restless, lonely ass nights. All the worrying, and the horrible scenarios I cooked up in my brain, enraged and fucking petrified that unspeakable things were happening to her.

I’m so far past furious with her for putting me through this, my jaw wires itself shut. I can’t recall another time when ire consumed me in such a way, and my fury has a single cause.

She didn’t call.

I’m out here in the middle of the Pacific fucking Ocean, tracking her fine ass down to the ends of the earth, acting like she leftmeat the altar instead of my best friend…all because she didn’t have the human decency to let me know she was okay. And by me, I mean us. And by us, I mean the people who deserve to know where she is and if she’s all right, like her sister and her ex-fiancé.

Like me.

A fresh bolt of rage streaks through me. I open my mouth to speak, but my hothead brain can’t string together a coherent sentence. I know the only way I’ll be calm enough to talk to her is if I blow off some fucking steam. Luckily, I have multiple willing participants charging my way.

I tear my gaze from Harper’s beautiful, shocked face. We’re going to have a nice little chat once I’ve settled down enough to?—

A fist comes flying at me, and I grab the fucker’s wrist before it reaches my jaw.

The stocky guy grunts in surprise right before I bend his arm back far enough to feel the joint pop as it dislocates. A yell rips out of his throat. The sound is almost as ugly as that scraggly thing on his face that vaguely resembles a goatee.

Retaining my hold on his arm, I body check him into his companions. Shocked cries chorus around me as three of them fall into a table, dragging the tablecloth, steaming food, and icy beverages down with them.

I exhale a little. Most of the air in my lungs remains trapped there, held captive by the white-hot anger burning up my blood. It’s a miracle I even found Harper, all for our reunion tobe interrupted by Tweedle Dick, Tweedle Dumbass, and their douchebag entourage.

I pop my knuckles, striding toward the dogpile of rowdy patrons collapsed in a sputtering heap.

In the past, whenever I was granted the opportunity of occupying the same room with her, she always focused on a million other things besides me. Like her stupid club friends, or an upcoming party she was throwing, or the dipshit flavor of the week she flirted with.

And now I happen to have a solo mission that concerns her, andthese idiotsshow up out of nowhere to create an unwanted distraction.

I thrust my fist under the collar of the stocky guy, wrench him up from the ground, drag him toward the low, decorative fence separating this restaurant’s patio from the tourist-slogged sidewalks beyond, and heft him over.

Tourists jump, skirting back as I sling that motherfucker into the street. He shouts a protest, but I barely notice because I’ve jammed my hands under the collars of Stocky’s two friends and drag them over to join him.

When it’s done, I notice all the eyes and video cameras pointed at me.

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