Page 45 of Risky Obsession

Still no news about that bitch cop, Lacey Brooks.

Beyond the window, my ginger cat, Tiger, stalked something in the line of shrubs that shielded my house from the western sun. Tiger was freer than I was. He had full access to this house and could come and go as he pleased through the cat door I’d installed for him.

He launched into the air, pouncing onto something. His tail sashayed back and forth, then he reversed out of the bushes with a mouse in his mouth. He was a skilled predator, and I never had to worry about him starving when I wasn’t here.

In the distance, a large paddock was dotted with cows and a tractor farmed another paddock. Some said it was peaceful out here. The silence drove me nuts. I needed distractions. Without them, my mind tumbled down a game of ‘if only’ that drove me fucking crazy.

If only I hadn’t seen Frank’s brother, Mason Cole, beat that kid to within an inch of his life all those years ago.

If only I’d gone to the cops instead of taking that bribe.

I was a decent man once, with dreams of a normal life, a family, a successful career, and my own business built on honest work.

But those fucking brothers used me.

Now I couldn’t go back and undo what I’d done. I couldn’t go forward either.

I had probably been the richest prisoner on the planet who wasn’t contained in four walls. I was a walking contradiction. Free but trapped. Rich but so fucking guilty I was scared to do anything with my money.

I pressed my hands to the glass. What good was wealth when I couldn’t be me?

My noose tightened more with each passing year. I wanted to go back to the man I was before I was sucked into a life of corruption. I wanted to be the man named on the Bachelor of Business Accounting certificate I had stupidly displayed on my wall. He was a good son to proud parents, a loyal brother . . . and an innocent man.

But that name was a ghost from the life I’d abandoned. My family believed I was a financial director for Virunga Wildlife Alliance. They believed I was a good Samaritan, working to save the gorillas in the Congo jungle.

I chuckled, and it came out so broken, I barely recognized myself.

The last time I’d seen my parents was twelve years ago. I hadn’t seen my brother since I’d gotten him involved in shit that he would never walk away from.

My parents had looked at me with so much pride when I’d visited them for Dad’s fiftieth birthday that I’d vomited after I left them. Over the years, I’d deposited money into their bank account and sent them electronic birthday cards and letters full of lies about my fake life. But seeing them in person and witnessing their love crushed me. They thought I was across the globe, living rough so I could save the animals.

But I lived in the same state as them. Achingly close, but so fucking distant I wanted to scream.

I missed my family. Especially my brother. But he was at the top of Australia’s Most Wanted List, and he would never be able to return home, let alone see Mom and Dad who had been devastated when they’d been informed of my brother’s crimes. I wanted to tell them it wasn’t his fault, and that he’d been blackmailed into doing what he did.

But it wouldn’t help. He would be on the run forever because of his crimes.

At least I’d been smart enough to change my name before I got involved in Chui and Frank’s criminal empire. Now that they were dead, I couldfinally kill off Grant Hughes and return to the real me and be the son my parents deserved.

But there was one person who stood in the way of that: Lacey Brooks.

I pulled away from the glass and as I crossed the living room, Tiger darted back and forth across the shag carpet like he had a panther chasing him.

Stupid cat.

Seated at my computer, I once again scanned the top stories for a mention of Lacey Brooks. I’d hacked the hospital records and found her admission form. Severe bruising, cut to her leg that required four stitches, and two dislocated fingers.

I still couldn’t believe how hard she’d fought. She had some serious defense skills.

Bitch.

I’d found her records in the Queensland Police database, but there was very little about her career, giving me the impression that whole sections had been removed.

That was what worried me. She could be working for anyone. I had firsthand experience with enough cops and politicians to know that paperwork couldn’t be trusted. Nobody could be trusted. Someone always had someone in their pocket.

I was fucking sick of being used.

The reporters had been like vultures feasting on reports of my mansion explosion. And the island residents shared their lies about me.