Page 65 of Risky Obsession

Creepy fucker.

Was he just a random thief? Or did he know who we were?

He lifted my duffle bag onto the table, and when he reached inside, I decided he was looking for something.

It had to be the maps. Fuck. That meant he knew exactly who we were.

He rifled deeper into my duffle bag, turned slightly away from us.

Peeling back the bed covers, I charged at the intruder and tackled himaround the waist onto the floor. We shattered a chair, and the contents of my duffle bag scattered around us.

Tory’s scream echoed through the chaos as I fought to control the big bastard. He punched my ribs. I rammed sharp jabs into his kidneys.

Adrenaline surged through me, fueled by years of Navy training as I hit him, blow after blow.

The world spun around us as I punched his sides and back, aiming for his kidneys. It was like punching a brick wall. His strength was unworldly.

He hurled a punch at me. I rolled to the side, grabbed the leg of the broken chair, and swung it at his head. The timber connected with the side of his face, and he growled as the wood broke into pieces.

He charged at me like a cage fighter. We crashed into the side table, knocking the lamp flying. My head hit the oil heater, and the bars clanged. Stars darted across my eyes as his enormous hands squeezed my throat.

I tried to buck him off. I tried to breathe.

Tory jumped onto his back, wrapped her arm around his neck, and wrestled him like she was a cowgirl wrangling a steer.

He clawed at her arm, but she put him in a chokehold worthy of a medal.

Fighting a wave of dizziness, I punched his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles.

Roaring, he jerked forward. Tory flipped off his back, dragging his balaclava from his face as she crashed onto the table, smashing it to pieces.

He was in his early thirties, scruffy red beard and hair, and his pale blue eyes radiated with hatred. I jumped to my feet. Tory launched herself upright like a gymnast. She favored her broken hand, and pain radiated in her expression.

“Run!” I yelled at her.

Her eyes darkened as she shook her head.

Fuck! She’s not leaving.

Bracing for another attack, I raised my fists at the intruder. “Who are you?”

His eyes flared with absolute rage. He grabbed a leg off the broken chair and swung it at my head.

I dodged the blow, and he pegged the chair leg at me. I slapped it away and it bounced off the window and fell at Tory’s feet.

She grabbed the timber and waved it like a baton.

The bastard stepped toward her.

“Get away from her!” I snarled, glaring at him.

“What do you want?” Tory yelled.

Spinning on his heel, in a lightning-quick move, the bastard launched both feet into my chest, catapulting me backward into the map frame. The glass exploded into shards and clawed my back as I hit the floor hard. Pain seared through my flesh.

Tory gripped the chair leg, shifting from foot to foot, ready to fight.

The bastard kicked Tory in the stomach. Screaming, she flew backward onto the bed.