Chapter 20
TWENTY
Fight Fire With Gasoline - Self Deception
Ronan is compliant and loopy. He leans heavily on me when I uncuff him from the bed, his warm, hard body draping over me. The contact immediately makes me hard, which just pisses me off more. Thankfully, Ronan is too out of it to notice. I cuff him behind his back, find some sweats, and throw them on him, then pull a hoodie over him so it’s not obvious. He’s chill during, giving a soft laugh once that makes his abs clench. Which makes me clench. Why in the hell did this fucker have to be so hot?
But once we get out of the bedroom, Ronan stiffens. “Buffalo.”
“C’mon.” I try to shoulder him towards the front door, but he just digs his heels in. “Buffalo.”
Christ, if the man isn’t fucking heavy, dropping his weight back into me.
“You know what, fucking fine.” I let him push back, but he stumbles into the room, barely staying upright.
“No, stay up.” I grab the stuffed animal, handing it to his cuffed hands before he falls down and can’t get back up. Ronan’s face lights up with a soft smile, and it stops me in my tracks. He looks vulnerable.
Shaking my head, I nudge him back to the front door, and he’s pliable again. I make sure I have his meds, and then I wrangle Ronan downstairs and into my car.
He’s quiet for the drive. In fact, the farther we go, the less he reacts.
The closer we get to my place, the more tense I get. My place is secluded. It’s a trailer out in the country, on the ‘mother-in-law’ plot of land next to the old farmhouse. I used to have neighbors, but both were elderly and moved to a nursing home. So now it’s just me, out in the isolated, empty farmland. A perfect place for a kill.
When we roll up, Ronan stays silent, just sitting there in his sweats with the hoodie over his shoulders. I can see his fucking abs creeping down into his Adonis belt.
“Get out.”
He doesn’t even look around. I stare at him. “Get the fuck out, Ronan.”
He barely shifts. “Gonna shoot me inside or outside?”
I blink. The man who was once so full of fire and hatred just stares at the glove box in front of him. It’s fucking unsettling. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to fucking fight me. Plus, I don’t know the answer to his question.
I get out, slamming my door and coming around to his. Yanking it open, I grab Ronan by the arm and pull him out. He somehow manages to keep a grip on the stuffed animal, taking it with him, which oddly makes a twinge run through me. He looks like an overgrown kid clinging to his toy.
Fuck. Why am I being soft?
“Ronan.” I jerk him roughly. “Wake up.”
This is wrong. He’s not acting right. I need him to fight me. To make me mad so I can pull the goddamn, motherfucking trigger.
The spring air whips around us, making goosebumps shiver across my skin. “Come on.” I yank Ronan toward my house. I want to be warm when I do this.
Fumbling with the keys, I get Ronan yanked up on the tiny porch beside me. He just waits. Oddly, fear enters my gut. The last time I had someone over, it ended horribly. It ended in my heart crashing and burning. It ended in the death of a piece of me.
But Ronan isn’t Greyson. Not even close. Even still, I can’t get the odd feeling to go away.
“Get inside.” Once the door is open, I shove Ronan in. He stumbles a bit but barely glances around. My trailer isn’t new by any means. But I’ve spent a lot of time renovating it and making it mine. There’s an open-concept floor plan as soon as you come in, with the living room off to the left and a kitchen right beyond it. The floors are all gray hardwood, and I have all kinds of plants in pots around the ground and hanging from the ceiling. I’ve put lamps and overhead lighting everywhere there isn’t natural light. The place practically sparkles, but I can’t help but notice the shoes on the floor and the hoodie I left strewn out on the couch. It looks messy.
“Sit.” I shove Ronan down on the couch. He obeys, and it gets under my skin even more.
“Inside then, huh?” Ronan closes his eyes. “Just, do me a favor…yeah?” He’s still talking slowly, but he’s not slurring. So I know he’s not that fucked up. He says, “Don’t get any blood on Buffalo. He doesn’t like it.”
I stare at him. Ronan just adjusts the stuffie so he’s on the couch next to him. My skin feels hot. Why is he so chill about this? Does he want to die?
“You so eager to go, Carter?”
He just shifts his shoulders. “I figured I’d go sometime in the next few months anyway.”
He doesn’t care if he dies. He doesn’t care .
My heart races and my skin gets clammy. Why does he not care? What about his family? Friends? The people who care about him? Does he not care how this will impact them ?
“Fuck you, Ronan.” My words come out low and full of hatred.
He chuckles, not even opening his eyes. “You sound like my ex.”
“Take this seriously.” I stalk toward him, grabbing his jaw and yanking his face up so that when his eyes open, he’s looking at me.
“You have a pretty face, you know that?” Ronan blinks slowly, one eye closing before the other. “Buffalo wanted you to know that.”
“You’re fucked up.” I throw him back, stepping back away from him. It’s happening again. It’s all happening again.
And it’ll all be my fault. Again.