Page 7 of Risky Obsession

The words tattooed on Lacey’s wrist echoed through my mind:I am not what I have done . . . I am what I have overcome.

I was going to overcome this fucking mess. Just like all the other disasters I’d had in my life.

This was my chance to start afresh. To be the man I should’ve always been.

Not a man who was owned by ruthless bastards who had fucked with me since I saw something I should never have seen decades ago.

I skidded to a halt at the cabinet twenty feet from the exit.

Three gold bars were stacked in a priceless display. Frank Morgan, Aria’s father, had paid me with these bars of gold. I shouldn’t have taken them, but I did, and it sealed a pact that embedded me in corruption forever.

But he was dead now and our connection was broken.

And those bars were worth a fortune. Reality hit me like a wrecking ball. I’m about to destroy my luxury home and all my priceless artwork. And with just about all my cash trapped in frozen bank accounts, I need this gold. I grabbed a bar.

“Fuck.” The bullion was damned heavy, too heavy to take all three. Clutching one bar in each hand, I trudged toward the escape chute that I’d prayed I would never need.

The silent ticking of the clock in my head grew louder.

I gripped the cold, steel handle of the secret door and as I yanked it open, a gold bar slipped from my hand and landed on my foot. The weighted door snapped shut.

I howled at the pain streaking across my toes.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Wincing, I hobbled back to the exit hatch. Clutching the final bar to my chest, I opened the spring-loaded door again and dove headfirst into the narrow tube.

The door snapped shut behind me. As darkness swallowed all visibility, I slid down the chute with adrenaline igniting my veins.

I burst through the thin concealed exit hatch that had been painted to blend in with the rocks surrounding it and crashed onto the plexiglass helicopter landing pad I’d paid a fortune to have built years ago. My hands and knees took the brunt of my impact, scraping skin from my palms and my gold bar skidded across the glass.

The eastern side of the island bore the force of nature and wind howled in my ears, adding to the urgent ticking in my head.

My legs trembled as I picked up the gold and sprinted to my chopper. Each step felt like an eternity. I had no idea how long I had before the entire top of this hill, and my precious home, were blown to smithereens.

I yanked open the chopper door, tossed in the gold bar and backpack, and hauled myself into the pilot seat.

Trying to steady my trembling fingers, I fumbled with the controls. Sweat beaded my forehead as I frantically tried to remember every lesson from my flight training. The knowledge seemed slippery, evading my grasp as panic clawed at my brain.

Forcing my mind to focus, I flicked the necessary switches. The chopper roared to life.

“Come on. Come on!”

The silent ticking bomb in my head matched the beat of the chopper blades as I gripped the controls tighter. The chopper lifted off the ground and as the blades cut through the air with increasing urgency, the stick vibrated in my clammy palms.

The helicopter shuddered, and I wrestled with the controls, trying to find the perfect balance between speed and stability to counter the buffeting wind. My mind raced with images of the island exploding, and the destruction that would consume everything—including me if I didn’t get the fuck out of there.

The deafening ticking intensified, fueling my desperation. I wrenched the controls to the side and the helicopter lurched, banking sharply as I fought to keep it steady.

Sweat poured down my face as the glass helipad below receded. But the image of Lacey’s determined eyes blazed in my mind, tormenting me with the knowledge that, despite what that bitch had done to me, I’d just crossed the line from murderer to cop killer.

No amount of bribery was going to save me from that.

CHAPTER 3

Lacey

Pain radiated through the wounded fingers, and the cut on my calf oozed blood down my jeans. My battered body screamed at me to stop trying to break into the room where Grant had escaped and get my wounds looked at, but I couldn’t. He had escaped through a secret door, and I had to catch that bastard before he got away.

I checked my bullets. Just four left. “Son of a bitch.”