Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
Falling Apart - Papa Roach
Ronan is drunk. He’s been stealing shots all morning and finding ways to wink at me after every one. Like it’s some kind of game. He puts on a good show for Logan, and if I didn’t physically watch him taking the shots, I wouldn’t believe he was drinking. Ronan also keeps looking up costumes for bearded dragons and showing them to me.
My stomach feels like it’s wrapped around itself three times. I feel dirty. Disgusting. It’s making me pull back into my own mind. I’m getting lost in the dark parts I try to avoid.
Logan realizes we’re out of food, and then he and Ronan fight about who’s going to go get more. It’s clear Logan doesn’t trust Ronan out on his own, nor does he trust him here with me. I don’t trust him here with me, either.
“C’mon, asshole.” Ronan throws his hands in the air. “You say we’re a team, and then you don’t trust me to fucking babysit? I was a cop, for fuck’s sake; I know how to fucking babysit.”
Logan points a finger at me. “That ‘baby’ will shoot you in the chest the second you turn your back.”
Ronan makes a show of giving me his back. “I can handle him.”
As much as I don’t trust Ronan, this is the best-case scenario for me. Splitting up resources and leaving me with the drunk guy could absolutely be a fatal flaw.
They argue for a bit about getting food delivered, but Logan isn’t happy about that idea either since it’ll look suspicious that food for three people is being delivered when it’s clear I ‘never have people over.’
Fuck him for that. He’s right, but fuck him.
Eventually, Ronan wins the argument on the condition that he’ll tie me up again. Logan doesn’t leave until I’m in the chair again, and then he helps himself to my car keys. Then, Ronan and I are left alone.
There’s a tense silence.
Ronan shakes his head. “Mother hen, mother fucker.” He stalks up to me, and instantly, I stiffen. Ronan flips a knife open, and fear rushes through me. Is this the end? Did he need me alone so he could kill me?
Then Ronan cuts me free. “Sorry about that.”
I stare at him in shock, and he goes to the kitchen, coming back with a full glass of amber liquid.
“For you, frecklesss.” His words slur just a bit, and his eyes are just slightly glassy.
I stare at him. He cuts me free and offers me a drink? Hell no. “I’m not drinking,” I say.
Ronan pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. “Come on. It’ll make you feel better.”
I cross my arms. “I’m fine.”
Ronan snorts. “Please. Everyone knows that means you’re not fine.” He shoves the glass at me. “Hurry up. You have to catch up.”
“No.” I try to shove the glass back, but suddenly, Ronan is on top of my lap, pushing me back into the couch. And then he sounds sober. “Drink it, freckles. Or I’ll drown you in it.” Ronan flashes me a blinding smile that’s not kind. It makes a shiver run through me. Part of me wants to make him follow through. The other part knows he’d enjoy it too much.
Slowly, I take the glass and take a sip. It fucking burns, and I cough.
Ronan laughs. “More.”
I glare at him but take a full sip. Did he poison this?
Ronan is watching me closely. “Finish it. It’s only like…four shots.”
“Four?” I choke. I don’t drink much. This will get me fucked up.
“You can take it.” Ronan traces a finger down the side of my face.
“Get off.” I jerk away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. Ronan is pressing into me, and it’s confusing my brain. Everything feels cloudy.
I steel myself, then down the glass. It hurts like a bitch, and my throat is on fire.
“There!” Ronan grins and takes the glass but doesn’t move. “You can take the stick out of your ass now.”
Ronan’s ass is pressing into my crotch, and it’s sending tingles throughout my whole body.
“Move.” I shove him—hard. Ronan yelps, clutching his arm as he falls to the side.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, cradling his arm. He looks like he’s in pain.
Ronan pulls the sleeve up his upper arm. “Oh shit, it’s swollen.” He turns his arm to me. “See?”
I stare but don’t see anything.
Ronan flexes, rubbing his trapezoid. “See? Fuck, it’s so swollen.” He looks into my eyes, and there’s a glint in his hazel gaze.
Suddenly, the alcohol hits me like a drunk driver to a mailbox: fucking hard. My head feels floaty and my body light.
“Jes-s-sus.” I shove away from Ronan. Did he really just fake being hurt to show off his muscle? All I want to do is laugh, because Ronan made a joke and it was kinda funny.
Ronan does laugh, throwing his head back and baring his neck. He has an Adam's Apple that stands out in stark contrast to the rest of his neck. I can’t help but stare. I always wanted a strong Adam’s Apple.
“Come back. You haven’t introduced yourself to Buffalo.” Ronan waves at the stuffed animal on the couch. The one he’s been talking to the whole time he’s been here.
I freeze. I’ve always been taught when dealing with crazy people not to play into their delusions. It pisses them off when you inevitably fuck up the ruse.
“Don’t be rude.” The dangerous tone is back in Ronan’s voice, and he’s looking at me with lethal focus.
“Oh, uh. I’m Dakota.” I wince at how awkward I sound.
Ronan’s face lights up again. “He says you’re hot and…” Ronan trails off like he’s listening to something. “Well, I’m not gonna tell him that .”
The alcohol in my body is whisking me up in a tiny cyclone of spinning.
“Whoa.” Hands are on me, keeping me steady, and I look up. Ronan is there. “Why don’t you sit?”
The living room feels like it’s in a boat, and fuck, maybe I do need to sit. I stumble to the couch before Ronan cries out, “Not on Buffalo!”
I glance down in time to avoid the stuffed animal.
“He’s not going to sit on you, you fucking whore,” Ronan mutters.
Ronan looks so serious looking at the cow on the couch that I can’t help it. I have to bite back a laugh.
Ronan glances at me, then his eyes light up, and he gives a triumphant bark, “I knew it! The ice king can smile.”
I school my features, but I feel warm and…buzzing. And the world feels a little less serious.
“Sooo freckles. Tell me about you.” Ronan leans back, one arm slung over where Buffalo is and also toward me.
“Uh…” I stare at him for a second. Why is it that I lose all interesting thoughts as soon as someone asks me that question?
Ronan doesn’t push; he just waits patiently.
“I’ve been a cop for over ten years.”
He lets out a puff of air. “Boo, boring. Tell me about you .”
About me? What the hell could he want to know about me? Is he trying to manipulate me?
“Stop thinking. What’s your favorite food? Do you have Mommy or Daddy issues? Or both? Also, when can I hold Sir Ellington?” He sits forward and grins.
My brain frantically tries to keep a hold of all the questions so I can answer them in order, and then I get pissed because it’s none of his business what issues I have. And he will absolutely not be holding Elli.
“Oh shit,” Ronan glances at Buffalo, his voice going quiet. “Sorry. Yeah, daddy issues.” Then his voice gets louder. “But I have guesses for the rest.”
“No holding Elli.” I cross my arms, trying to look stern. It takes me a second to catch on to what Ronan just said. He knows I have daddy issues? But then Ronan is pouting again, sticking out his lips. His plump lips. How did he get such plump lips? He's a man?
Then, there’s a sudden switch in Ronan’s behavior, and he straightens, locking his gaze on me. I sense the switch right before he pounces, shoving me back on the couch and hovering over me.
“I’ll spit a loogie over you until you say yes.”
“What?” I try to roll away, but the world is spinning, and Ronan is smirking, and it makes me want to laugh.
“Say yes.” He makes a show of getting spit into his mouth, and panic mixed with a thrill rushes through me.
“No, get off!”
Ronan gets a string of spit going over my face. I feel helpless pinned under him, but also so alive. I can’t help the rough chuckle. “Ronan.”
He quirks an eyebrow, letting the spit get longer.
“Okay.” My voice is high in panic. “Okay!”
Ronan slurps the spit back up in a loud noise. “Damn.” He gets off me, and suddenly, I can’t smell the whiskey as strongly. Also, the space he was in seems so empty. I sit up, the world tilting.
Ronan grins at me. “So…the rest?”
“None of your business,” I slur the end of the word. I haven’t been drunk in so long I forgot how good it feels.
“Playing tough to get.” Ronan shrugs. “How about I just look up your porn history? Get to know you a little better.”
Immediately, fear fills me. “No!”
Ronan just pulls my phone out of his pocket. He faces it at me, and I don’t realize in time that he’s using the face unlock to open it.
“Give that to me.” I scramble, but Ronan stiff-arms me back. “Down, cub. You’re so defensive.”
“None of your business-s-s-s!” My porn history isn’t something that I’ve ever shared. Ever. My tastes are a little…out there. And it’s not that they’re my tastes, but I happen to stumble on them when the regular videos aren’t quite hitting.
I try to get my phone, but Ronan is keeping it from me, typing.
“Ronan!”
Ronan mimics my cry, “ Ronan ! It’ll be fine. As long as you don’t have anything illegal on here.”
Illegal? Fuck, is he implying…? “Fuck you.” I bat at his head, but he just ducks and makes an excited noise. “Ah hah! Porn history.”
I’m fucked. Totally and completely. The helplessness washes over me, and a bit of numbness comes with it.
Ronan is quiet for a while while I succumb to the horrifying embarrassment. He’s going to judge me. He’s going to think that I’m disgusting.
Because you are .
All the good feelings are gone. “I don’t feel good,” I mutter, trying to get up off the couch.
“Oh, wait.” Ronan catches my wrist, yanking me back. He looks at me. “You feel sick?”
A little, yeah. But also, I just need to get away.
“Hey, I have Zofran.” Ronan rustles around in his pocket. “It’ll help.”
“No.” I don’t need that. I just need to get away. But Ronan hasn’t let go of my wrist.
“Take it.” Ronan’s voice gets bossy.
Ugh, fine. Anything to get him off my ass. I take the small pill he offers, trying to keep my red face from him.
“Is it the porn?” Ronan still hasn’t let go of me. “Dude, this shit is hot. Whipping and pain play and degradation.” He lets out a low whistle. “You’re kinky as fuck.”
I try to wave him off. This is stupid. But Ronan’s grip on me is fucking tight.
“Oh hell,” he keeps scrolling, “feet?”