Chapter 19
NINETEEN
KEEP EM SCREAMING - Pyrrhic
That riled Ronan up.
Good. It’s about time he suffers just as much as I am. I meant to cover the tattoo on my wrist a long time ago. I just…couldn’t. And now my weakness is getting me hurt all over again. It’s like Ronan is digging his fingers into my wound and ripping it open.
Ronan glares at me. “Be a man, you say? Does it make you feel like a man to tie people down so it’s not a fair fight?” His whole body is tense, his muscles coiled. Like he wants to get up and deck me. But the handcuff is holding him still. “Oh, I bet it makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it? Is this the only way you can get any action?”
My gut clenches. I get action. I can get any guy I want on his knees in front of me, begging me to do more. I may never let them do more, but they always want it.
Any guy except Greyson .
I drop my hand to Ronan’s neck, squeezing. “You want to talk about the action I don’t get, hmmm? When’s the last time you fucked someone?”
Ronan’s face is twisted in disgust. “Never against their will, fucker. I can see why no one wants you, you twisted fuck.”
It cuts straight to the gut. It’s like Ronan knows. I know he knows how weak I am. His hazel eyes bore into me, and his face is getting red. I yank my hand away from his neck like it’s burning me.
The hatred that’s already rolling around in my gut stirs up. “You’re acting awful judgmental for someone who kills people for a living.”
“I have my reasons,” Ronan spits.
“Tell me.” It shouldn’t matter to me why Ronan kills. None of this should matter to me. Why the hell does it matter to me?
“Not unless you get me a drink, fucker.” He fists the pillowcase.
“You’ll tell me now or so help me, I’ll end you right fucking now.”
“So help me?” Ronan gives a crazed laugh. “Who’s Shakespeare now? You’re already going to end me, so what do I care? I don’t want to die thirsty.”
I balance on the edge of killing him now and being done with it. But what does it hurt me to get him a drink? He’ll tell me why he kills, then I’ll kill him and be done with it. End of story.
I march to the kitchen, banging around and trying to find a cup. Where the hell does he keep his cups? There’s empty cabinet after empty cabinet before I finally find the one that has exactly one cup, two bowls, a plate, and a fork.
Jesus.
I snatch it up, fill it with sink water, and go back to the room. Shoving the cup at him, I snarl, “Talk.”
He struggles to prop himself up, ending up half-propped and still completely attached to the bed. At first, he guzzles the water like he’s dying. Then, after a few gulps, he eyes me and slows down.
I hate the tiny twinge of guilt I feel watching him. Immediately, I clench my jaw to ignore the feeling, hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Talk.”
“Tap water? That’s my final meal?”
“You don’t have to drink it. I could waterboard you with it.”
Ronan’s nostrils flair, and oddly, his pupils widen. Suddenly, he looks around, then at the floor, and hisses, “No.”
What the hell? I look where he’s looking. That stuffed animal is there, lying face down.
Oookay . I cross my arms. “You have till the count of three.”
“Oh, cool, I’m a kid again.” Ronan narrows his eyes.
“One.” My knife—or rather his knife—is still in my pocket. I could kill him right here. Although I’d prefer not to. It’s too hard to move a body once it’s already dead.
“Two.”
“Okay!” Ronan grips the glass so hard his fingers are white. “I kill pedos. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Suddenly, all I can focus on is Ronan. His hazel eyes and pale skin. The ring of green and brown immediately looks so serious.
“Kiddie lovers, chomos, pastors, grandpas, dads, brothers...”
He’s rattling on, but the ringing in my ears gets too loud to hear him.
He kills pedophiles. The same people I kill.
No he doesn’t. That can’t be true. He’s just saying that. He stalked me and found out about me. He’s just trying to get under my skin.
Anger boils through me. How dare he make a mockery of this? Snatching the knife out of my pocket, I put it against Ronan’s neck. “What are their names?”
“What?” His eyes widen, and he freezes.
“The victims.” There’s no way he can know that. He can’t know who wrote those letters to Santa to save them from Summerman.
“Why? So you can find them?” Ronan’s eyes narrow. “You’ll have to kill me, motherfucker, ‘cause I’ll never tell you.”
“Your wish is my command.” I snarl. “Get up. We’re going for a drive.”
Suddenly, Ronan throws the rest of the water in the glass on me. For a second, I’m stunned. Ronan is too, just staring at me with wide eyes.
Then, that gives me an idea. I storm to the kitchen and pour him a shot of laced tequila. I don’t want him completely out. Just a little bit. Ronan’s a big guy, and wrestling him out of this fucking apartment won’t go well for me.
I bring it back for him, and he eyes me with that hazel gaze.
I glare at him. “A real drink. One last hurrah.”
Ronan’s eyes bounce between mine, searching. I just stare at him, feeling dead inside. This has to happen. There’s no other way.
“Fine,” I move as if I’m taking the shot away.
“No.” He reaches out and downs the shot.
Suddenly, there’s knocking. Wait, knocking? I drop down over Ronan, instinctively getting low. The knocking continues. Coming from…the front door?
Christ . Before he can fight, I grab Ronan’s free arm and re-cuff it to the bed. Then, I gag him again. Ronan fights, but there’s only so much he can do with both hands restrained.
Then, I grab my gun and head for the door.
Just as I get there, there’s another knock. I walk up softly, peeking through the peephole, and my world slows. Outside stand two cops. One is a woman, clearly gay, with short cropped dark hair, and objectively attractive, I guess—if you’re into that kind of thing. The other—Christ. I’m not sure he’s real for a second. He’s the most stunning man I’ve ever seen. He looks delicate and feminine and stunning . Not like a pig at all.
Both cops look at each other. Pretty Boy looks over his shoulder and the woman shrugs. Her voice comes muffled. “Must not be home.” She starts to walk away.
Pretty Boy looks at the door, and for a second, it feels like he looks right at me with those amber eyes. My heart stands still, the gun heavy in my hand.
Don’t make me shoot you. Please.
Finally, he also steps away, following after the first officer.
I let out a tiny breath, and a confusing flood of emotions fills me. What the hell is going on? I’m going from fucking around with my enemy to praying to not have to shoot a cop? I’m getting weak.
Anger flows through me. I storm back to the bedroom, finding Ronan just lying there. The drugs must be kicking in already, considering he had an empty stomach.
“You called them,” I hiss, stuffing the gun back into my waistband and shoving Ronan around to look for the phone. “You fucking called them.”
His words come out muffled. I yank the gag off.
“Who was it?” His eyes are wide, his pupils unnaturally big.
“Fucking cops.” I throw the gag across the room. This makes my life a million times harder. I want to hurt something. Anything. I didn’t ask for any of this. I just wanted to mourn the loss of?—
I clench my teeth. This isn’t helping anything. I peek outside the window. The cops are getting into an unmarked, white vehicle.
“Cops?” A hint of panic comes through Ronan’s lethargic slur.
“Yes, cops.” I whirl.
Ronan struggles weakly. “What did they want?”
“You, I presume.” I glare at him.
“Untie me. What did they look like?” He yanks his hands slowly. “Logan, untie me.”
“I don’t know.” I cross my arms. “One was a girl, the other a guy around your age.”
“No, I mean,” he yanks comically slowly, “what uniforms did they have on? Dumbass.”
I glance outside again. “Casual. Just a belt and a badge.”
Ronan’s voice gets a tiny hint of a shrill tone. “Detectives? Fuck…Fuck, fuck, fuck. Let me go, Logan.”
“You need to chill,” I snap.
He doesn’t. I wait until the car has pulled away, watching it go down the street and around the corner. And still, I wait some more. Ronan protests for a little bit until the drugs fully hit his system, and he falls silent. Finally, after nervously pacing back and forth and back and forth, I move to untie Ronan.
This place isn’t safe for me. I can’t leave his body here, alive or dead. I don’t have great options. It’s kill Ronan here and leave his body and my DNA in a place the cops are already sniffing around, or take him somewhere secluded and do it there.
I know the perfect place.
But that would mean I’d have to do something I swore I would never do again: bring someone home.