Chapter 5 Ronan
Ronan
The man opened the door already sweating, his lecherous grin showcasing teeth yellowed by cigars.
“Wow. You’re even prettier in person, baby,” he said, looking me up and down like I was an expensive meal he couldn’t wait to devour. His hand brushed the doorway as he stepped aside, making a show of how much space he was giving me. “Come in.”
I entered, the sway of my hips mesmerizing him. My high-heeled boots made no sound on the polished floor, though his ears were probably too clogged with bourbon to notice either way.
He shut the door, and the click of the lock behind me made his smile turn filthy. “Just look at you,” he said, eyes roaming the length of my scantily clad body. “An exotic treasure like you is worth every penny.”
“Thank you, handsome. I feel so lucky to be of service to someone of your… stature tonight,” I said, pretending to admire his lavish living space.
“Do you drink?” he asked, reaching for a crystal decanter. His eyes never left me as he poured, glass trembling in his hand—from his closeted homosexual tendencies or Parkinson’s, I couldn’t be sure.
I smiled faintly, tilting my head just enough to catch the light on my hair. He stared like a man starving, caught between lust and hunger for something he thought he controlled.
“No, thank you. I like to stay clear-headed for my clients.”
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him. “I can see why they all say you’re the best, sweetheart. Not only do you have your looks, but you’re so polite and eager to serve. Now… why don’t you get a bit more comfortable?”
I let him touch me—a hand at my waist, another fumbling higher, fingertips clumsy on my shirt as his shaking hands worked to get me naked.
His breath stank when he leaned close, whispering something obscene that I didn’t bother processing.
I pressed my lips to his jawline and felt his wrinkly skin shiver under the softness of it.
“What would you like me to do first, Daddy?” I purred into his ear, taking a gamble that he’d like being called that—even if he were probably more in the realm of Granddaddy or Great-Granddaddy.
He let out a moan that made me want to gag as he groped every part of me he could get a hold of. “You’re going to be Daddy’s slut for the night.”
Barf.
“You gonna fuck me real good, Daddy?” I whispered breathily, biting kisses into his neck. I briefly glanced down, catching a glimpse of his tented pants and licking my lips.
“Oh, yeah, baby. I’m going to make sure you get your fill,” he crooned, going in for a kiss. I let him have it, the feeling of his tongue fucking into my mouth being downright disgusting. Cringe-worthy, even. Still, I kissed him back, moaning against his lips like a whore.
With his eyes closed, it was the perfect moment.
I slid my knife from my sleeve.
The edge kissed his throat as I leaned in like a lover, and then I pulled.
The sound he made was wet and startled, a man betrayed by his own body. His hands clawed at me, but his strength was draining fast, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
I guided him down into the armchair behind him, lowering him gently as his blood ran down his shirt, soaking into the upholstery. His eyes were wide, confused, and then glassy.
I watched silently until his chest stilled.
Then I straightened, tore off my shirt, and slipped the knife back into its sheath that sat strapped to my forearm. My phone was already in my hand before the body had cooled. I hit speed dial as I pulled on the thin shirt I’d brought with me in my glittery handbag.
“Done,” I said when Elias answered.
There was no praise for me. That had stopped years ago. “Stay put. Cleaners are on the way.”
I ended the call and sat on the edge of the side table, waiting while staring at the now dead man beside me. I didn’t wonder what he’d done to have a hit taken out on him or how his family would take the news of his death—that too had stopped years ago.
A few minutes later, I heard the quiet bustle of the cleaners’ arrival, their presence as efficient and clinical as my own.
We nodded at each other in acknowledgment as I slipped out the front door, heading down to the private garage. They’d scrub the scene, take care to destroy my bloodied shirt, then discreetly dispose of the body.
A black luxury sedan waited for me in the far corner of the garage, sleek and polished, engine purring softly. Elias was in the driver’s seat, window down, one hand resting lazily on the wheel.
I opened the passenger-side door and slid in, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me instantly. My pulse, steady through the kill, ticked once in my throat at the shift of atmosphere.
“Have fun?” he asked without looking at me.
“A blast,” I muttered.
His lips curved in amusement as he put the car into gear and drove us out of the garage. I watched out the window, cheek pressed against the glass, as the city began to blur past us.
A few minutes into the drive, Elias broke the silence that I’d been enjoying. “You’ve proven you can still handle a blade. I wasn’t sure after your last failure.” His tone was smooth and conversational, as if we were discussing the weather.
I turned my head just enough to study his profile. “Cohen.”
He smirked in that subtle, knowing way that always made me feel like I’d been dancing to a song only he could hear. “Precisely. You need to complete the job, Ronan.”
He didn’t know about my little visit the other night. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure what compelled me to break-in, just to tease him and leave. Elias would have a field day with that.
My brows furrowed, and I shifted against the leather seat. “You really want me to try again? That’s not going to work.”
“Oh?” He finally glanced at me, eyes sharp even in the dim light of the dash.
“He’s not an idiot,” I said simply. “There’s no way I can get close enough again, not without him seeing it coming. He’ll never let me near enough.”
Elias chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. He’ll let you close. In fact, he’ll want you close.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And how do you figure that?”
“You’re going to make him believe you need saving,” Elias said, his voice silk over steel. “You’ll spin him a story about wanting out, about being trapped under my thumb. You’ll let him see cracks—tiny fractures that make him think he’s the only one who can rescue you.”
I scoffed, though quietly. “You want me to play the victim?”
Elias smiled, explaining, “You’ve played the seducer all your life, Ronan.
Now you’ll be both. Fragile in the right places, irresistible in others.
You’ll pull at his heartstrings until he can’t tell the difference between pity and desire.
Then, once you’ve gained his trust, you’ll turn the knife on him. ”
I let my gaze drop to my hands in my lap, fingers flexing against the leather. “And if he doesn’t fall for it?”
“Everyone falls for you eventually,” Elias murmured, eyes back on the road. “I designed you that way, my beautiful black widow.”
I wanted to say that he hadn’t—that I was designed in my mother’s womb. I didn’t; instead, I chose to stay quiet. It wasn’t worth the effort.
The city slid by in streaks of gold and neon, reflected in the glass as I went back to staring out at the passing streets. Elias’s words looped in my head, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Make him believe you need saving.
It was laughable, really. The idea of anyone saving me. I almost smirked at the thought, though the humor was bitter at best. If anyone could drag me out of this pit, wouldn’t they have done it already? It’d been two decades.
My hope had slowly dwindled over the first couple of years, barely there for my teen years, then extinguishing completely on top of a soiled billiards table the night he’d decided I needed to learn the hard way how to be an adult. I was seventeen.
Still… there was a flicker of something tonight. A strange, treacherous part of me whispered how nice it might be—just for a moment—to be seen as worth saving. To be touched by someone who cared.
Wesley Cohen.
He seemed like the type to take care of his lovers.
I wasn’t his lover, though.
Definitely not. I wasn’t that delusional.
Even so, the truth sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t want to kill him.
That knowledge had been simmering under my skin since the night of his birthday party, sharp and inconvenient, growing bit by bit as my mind categorized his kindness as something far more important.
If Elias saw it, he’d cut it out of me without hesitation.
But there was another angle, the one I’d thought of after the first night. If Wesley believed I needed saving, maybe he’d do the only real saving I deserved—end me before I ended him. It would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it? To kill before you’re killed?
I swallowed down the dark thought and pulled my gaze from the blur outside. My reflection stared back, a faint smear of blood still painted against my throat. Who would ever waste their time pulling me out of this?
Elias’s voice tugged me back. “Do you understand your assignment?”
I forced a slow inhale, then let it out through a smile that wasn’t real. “Of course. I’ll make him want me. I’ll make him believe I want out.”
“You won’t fail this time, will you?”
“No,” I answered resolutely. My eyes drifted back to the window, and I let the silence return, knowing he’d mistake it for obedience.
Inside, though, the echo of that ridiculous fantasy clung like smoke. Saved. As if I’d ever let myself believe in something so stupid.
But put out of my misery?
That could be arranged.
* * *
The apartment greeted me with silence as Elias dropped me off. I didn’t bother with the lights. My body moved on instinct, straight for the bathroom, still feeling the unwanted touches against my skin.
The toothbrush scraped against my teeth again and again, harder each time.
Mint foam spilled over my lips, tinged faintly pink from where I’d torn open my gums, but the taste of that gross man still wouldn’t leave.
I pressed the bristles against my tongue, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until it ached, as if I could scrape it away entirely.
I stripped down and stepped under the shower, twisting the knob until steam filled the air.
The scalding heat beat down on me like a punishment.
I took the loofah to my skin, dragging it across my arms, my chest, my throat, over and over until my flesh was raw.
It wasn’t cleansing. It never was. But it helped—kept my hands moving, kept me from standing still long enough to think too hard.
The steam from the shower blurred the mirror, sparing me from the sight of myself. Good. I didn’t want to see.
I leaned into the spray, eyes closed, wishing it would just wash everything away—the job, Elias’s voice still in my ear, the plan he’d set in motion. Pretend to be someone who wants to be saved; pretend to be someone who deserves to be saved.
It was almost funny.
Almost.
Because if anyone needed rescuing, it was me. But I didn’t believe in that kind of story. Not for someone like me, at least.
By the time I dried off and pulled on sweats, exhaustion had crept in, heavy and inevitable.
I walked from the bathroom to my bed and reached for the small amber bottle on my nightstand, shaking a few tablets into my palm.
They clicked against my teeth before sliding down with a swallow of water.
My body knew the ritual by heart; sleep never came easily otherwise.
I lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling while the weight spread through me. My skin stung, my jaw throbbed, my tongue still tasted wrong. I told myself I should’ve been grateful that the job didn’t go beyond a kiss and some groping. It could’ve been a lot worse.
If I were lucky, tonight, my exhaustion combined with the pills would keep the nightmares at bay.
The medication tugged me down, the mattress pulling at my bones until I couldn’t tell where I ended and the bed began.
My mind flickered, stubborn even against the chemical weight.
I saw Wesley, and his face at the party.
He was so… well, I wasn’t sure, exactly.
The memory lodged in my chest. I hadn’t needed to clean myself raw from his touches.
I’d liked how he touched me—how sure he was of his movements, how dominating he was without being violent.
I’d never liked it before.
I hated that Elias wanted me to carve my way closer now, to twist the knife in slow motion by pretending to need saving. Betrayal like that—it would tear him open. And God help me, I didn’t want to be the one to do it.
But what did it matter what I wanted?
I stared at the dark ceiling, lids too heavy to lift. If I could pull this off, if I could make him believe… then maybe he would be the one to end it. He was strong enough, fierce enough, and perhaps he’d even feel justified when the time came.
The thought almost soothed me.
Almost.
My life was a cruel cycle of almosts.
I rolled onto my side with effort, the room tilting slightly, and let the darkness close in.