16. Harper
Chapter 16
Harper
I’ve been a daughter of the mob long enough to know that strange men with guns means get the hell out of Dodge. That’s the only reason I don’t fling myself from the car when Cian says we’re heading back to New York.
Sweat saturates my clothes. My head throbs as the adrenaline starts to fade, though my heart still pounds like thunder in my chest. I dig my fingernails into my skin, clawing at my elbows.
Today has been insane.
Images of the gunmen haunt me whenever I close my eyes. Panic rolls through my body in sporadic waves. The only people I know who want to abduct me are the Irish Kings, and Cian represents them.
So, who the hell do those two attackers represent?
The iron stench of Cian’s blood, oozing down his right arm, dripping all over the white leather seats, twists my stomach into knots. I roll the window down as fast as I can and gulp humid air to prevent the bile from surging into my throat.
Why did I try to run? All I did was put innocent people in danger. Everyone at the restaurant could’ve easily been killed because of me.
Cian too. Even if his job puts him in situations like this all the time, he wouldn’t have been here , at that moment, outgunned and outnumbered, if not for my stupid, selfish, childish actions two months ago. If I’d just agreed to go back to New York yesterday, then he never would’ve been shot.
It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.
Even knowing that, I can’t go back. I won’t.
Running away may not have been my best decision, but returning to Manhattan would be even worse. Staying here isn’t an option. If whoever wants to snatch me already tracked me here, then Oahu isn’t safe.
Time to run someplace else. I just need to know all the facts so I can plan accordingly.
Only, jackass over here refuses to cooperate.
“Tell me who those men were.”
Despite his still-bleeding arm, Cian steers the wheel with his right hand and keeps silent.
Frustration pulverizes my insides. I dig my fingernails into my jean-covered thighs, but denim protects my legs from the pain required to fend off the flashbacks. Footage of my life flickers behind my eyes.
I ask my father a question, and he ignores me, barely even acknowledging my presence.
More often than not, he treated me like an inanimate object. A doll on a shelf incapable of real communication, speaking only when someone pulled my string.
Cian’s giving a dynamite impression of him right now. I would applaud if his performance didn’t trigger me to the point of homicide.
Always being kept in the dark and forced to meekly go along with the will of the nearest man both contribute to why I fled. And now Cian’s behavior takes me right back to that place where I suffocated beneath the weight of my father’s domineering thumb.
I want to scream. If Cian doesn’t cut the jackass routine in the next ninety seconds, I just might.
Ignorant or uncaring of my looming meltdown, his eyes remain fixed on the highway ahead.
I open my mouth to rip him to shreds but then examine him, bloody and stressed, and remember that he saved my life. I thought I was about to die, but he neutralized the threat in under five minutes.
The compulsion to thank him hovers on my tongue, until I remember that saving me is the most basic criteria of his job.
I shouldn’t find his actions heroic. Cian killed those bastards so they wouldn’t kidnap me, the person he “rightfully” kidnapped first on behalf of his employer.
He still views me as a possession. The sourness on my tongue is cell deep.
Up ahead, an accident clogs traffic. Red-and-blue lights create a perimeter, forcing four lanes of highway to merge down to two around the scene of the crash.
The congestion provides a perfect opportunity.
“Let’s try this one more time.” I fill my voice with as much strength as I can muster. “ Who were those guys back there?”
Through gritted teeth, Cian ends his silence at last. “Stop asking me.”
“Then start talking.”
“It’s not for you to know.”
That condescending shit is the last straw. I unbuckle my seat belt and pull the latch at the same time. The passenger door opens, and I’m seventy-five percent out of the car—seventy-five percent free— when Cian snags the waist of my jeans and hauls my ass back into the seat.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Cian erupts like a volcano.
“Help!” I yell out the window at the cops directing traffic a few feet away. Cian slaps a palm over my mouth, somehow getting my window up with his other fingers without crashing into the car ahead of us.
I bite down on the inside of his middle finger until I taste blood.
“Fucking— ow !” Digging my canines deeper compels him to rip his hand away from my face. “Would you stop?”
“I wish I’d never met you.” In spitting out the words, I finally get him to look at me properly.
Too bad for him, it’s too late now.
I grab for the door latch faster than Cian can engage the child lock.
Tires squeal beneath us. He swerves right, using centrifugal force to knock me back inside, but I?—
A loud pop punctures the night air.
We both flinch hard enough to smack our heads on the ceiling.
Cian maneuvers the Porsche into the shoulder, an ominous, rhythmic thumping on the road beneath us. My guess? He rolled over some shrapnel from the accident trying to stop me, and now his poor little rental needs a tow.
The Porsche hobbles to a stop. One of the tires is out, for sure. Maybe two.
But that’s a him problem.
I hop out of the car the moment Cian shifts into park. He climbs out, too, probably to check the damage, but I’m already scaling over the railing that lines the shoulder. A short hike down the grassy embankment will put me out on the street below. Lucky for me, Oahu highways cut through neighborhoods and not the middle of nowhere.
Cian doesn’t notice I’m gone until I’m halfway down the slope.
“Harper!” he barks from above.
I don’t so much as glance back.
Let’s see how he likes my silence.
My feet hit the pavement as streetlights flicker on. Like a shadow, Cian materializes right behind me. He cuffs his hand around my wrist like a shackle, yanking me around to face him.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice is rough, chaotic.
I tug on my arm, but his fingers might as well be concrete. “Anywhere you won’t be.”
“ Harper ,” he grates, like I’ve pushed him too far.
He can join the damn club.
“ Let me go .” My demand falls between us, sharp enough to cut but flat as paper. I resent the ease with which he intimidates people. Even when I’m battling murderous tendencies, I must still seem as meek as a mouse to him.
His grip tightens. “Will you just shut up and let me protect you for once?”
“I never asked you to protect me!”
A vein throbs in his neck. “I wasn’t just going to let you die.”
“Of course not!” I scoff. “You won’t get paid if something happens to me.”
Rage mottles Cian’s skin, and his entire demeanor darkens like the sky.
But I’m not about to back down.
“This is not about money.” Cian’s even scarier when his voice drops like this. “Can’t you see that?”
“Yes, your silence was very informative.”
Cian flings my arm back at me with such ferocity, I stumble back a step to maintain my balance.
“Don’t give me that, Harper,” he snaps. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I resist the urge to stamp my foot like a toddler. “Then maybe you should tell me what the hell is going on!”
He shoves a hand through his curls and then snatches my wrist again. “Come on,” he says while he starts pulling me forward.
“Let go of me.” I dig my heels in as much as I can without stumbling. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
He jerks my arm once, hard, pulling a surprised gasp from my lips. “You weren’t saying that in the closet earlier.”
My chest tightens, and my whole body must glow red with shame.
He couldn’t have the human decency to just pretend that never happened?
What an asshole.
My nose stings.
So pathetic. And foolish , down to the marrow in my bones.
I should have expected this from him.
To distract myself, I attempt to orient myself to my surroundings. I have no idea where we are. Parked cars line either side of the one-way neighborhood street, trees and quiet houses the only witnesses to my shame. The lights of local businesses twinkle up ahead at the intersection.
As Cian drags me forward, my eyes fix on a colorful sea turtle swimming above the words Blue Hawaii Motel . He’s heading right for it, so I guess Cian’s decided we’re going to hole up for the night.
Lovely.
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 is blue . 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.
“All right, I’ve got you two in Room 415. That’ll be outside and to your left, at the end of the path.”
“Thank you.” Cian manages to sound civil.
“Do you or Mrs. Mahoney need any information on local attractions or restaurants?”
That question causes Cian to tense. If I weren’t already frozen in place, mummified by misery, I would have stopped on a dime too.
A strange heat swirls in my stomach like wine.
Mrs. Mahoney?
Could I really pass for Cian Mahoney’s wife?
The idea unsettles me so much, I stumble out the office door, leaving the men inside.
“We’re okay, thanks,” is the last thing I hear Cian say before I’m back in the parking lot, wandering aimlessly.
“The room’s this way.” Cian’s voice is too close for comfort.
And even with an arm covered in dried blood, he’s still too handsome for words. Must be nice, always having the upper hand. Always keeping his cool, even when everything’s falling apart.
I’m not dealing with this.
Without acknowledging him, I head toward the road. He moves with frightening speed and blocks my path within seconds.
When our eyes lock, for the first time ever, I spy an emotion resembling panic on his face.
“De Lucas.” He spits the name like a curse.
My eyebrows knit together. “Huh?”
“Those men today.”
Something cold drips down the back of my neck. “What are you talking about?”
“De Luca operatives are after you, Harper.” He sets his jaw. “So, if you want to live, I suggest you stop trying to get away from me.”
Ice slithers through my body, freezing my muscles solid and creating a mini-Arctic Sea in my gut.
The De Lucas hate the Kings, and vice versa.
If they want me, that means my freedom—and life—are even more at risk than I thought.