Manhattan Memory: An Amnesia Romance (From Manhattan)
CHAPTER 1
Kian
Obsession isn’t for the weak-minded.
It starts with growing fantasies.
But then it becomes clawing, unfocused thoughts.
A burning temptation turns into an addictive, unquenchable hunger.
And a biting compulsion to overpower.
To own.
I’ve been controlled by an unyielding obsession that has lasted for a long time.
I sound like a damn poet. I’m far from poetic, but my obsession is real.
It’s eaten through me like a sickness, making me more extreme than my Irish granny during Easter weekend with a houseful of rowdy relatives.
A level-headed, unlawfully motivated man with a fascination for one woman could be called unstable.
If nothing else, I’m coiled tight and determined, more than ever.
There’s no other choice.
When I think of the options before me, they cause a dull ache in my sternum.
Without even questioning it, I know this is the only thing I will do.
Is it right? Not even close.
What I’m going to do goes against decency from every angle, and still, I have contemplated nothing else.
My values are strong—warped, but strong, and I’ve always been governed by my own rules, which don’t always tally with righteousness.
And as I remain seated in a waiting area, surrounded by worried people talking too fucking loudly and without pausing for breath, I have only one thought.
I care little about what I’m about to set in motion.
Rules, principles, and everyday morality are meant to be broken if I get what I want.
And there is nothing on this earth now to impede claiming my cranky queen.
My lies came quickly. Of fucking course they did. A man with a purpose doesn’t play around.
The image of her pain only hours ago is seared into my brain.
The blank look she’d given me. Unseeing of my obsession, my fucking devotion to her. Uncaring that she’d broken me in half.
MacNamaras are unlawful, resourceful folks when we need to be.
Memories have been stolen from my beautiful obsession, and I’m the one to give her everything.
I’ve structured my life since I was seventeen. Running within criminally charged circles. Nothing fazed me. Adrenaline is my drug of choice. Why else would I be the man I am today?
The trouble-seeking Kian MacNamara. That’s what people have called me.
But for the first time in my life, I’m concerned down to the fucking marrow.
Worry stains every breath as I drag both hands through my hair. And I wait for any good news about my girl.
Several more easy lies are given to raise my status in that medical room, and I don’t care; I’ll say as many as I need to stay right here.
My obsession needs me, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
I need to be close.
It takes days for me to be alone with her finally once her family has left. They thought I’d gone, too, as if I would.
My obsession draws me into her orbit like a magnet, and while she sleeps, her body recovering from the trauma, I stand sentinel because I can’t not be near her.
It’s the only thing holding my sanity in check.
Her unreasonable guardian devil.
I’m not the good guy in this scenario.
That will become clear eventually.
But who said love had to be played fairly, huh?