Chapter 7 Ronan
Ronan
The cool air hit me the second I shoved through the restaurant doors, and I gulped it down like I’d been drowning in there. My skin felt hot, clammy, crawling with the weight of his voice still echoing in my ears.
Good boy.
Good fucking boy.
Christ. I hated him. My hands shook as I fumbled my phone out of my pocket before I even realized what I was doing.
I’d call the only one I could call. Elias would talk me down, remind me who the enemy was, remind me who the fuck I was.
I hit his number. Listened to the line ring and ring until it clicked over.
Voicemail.
Grinding my teeth, I hung up and tried again, only to get the same. A second later, a text blinked onto my screen.
Elias:
Busy. I’ll stop by later.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath, shoving the phone back in my pocket hard enough that it nearly cracked. “Fucking great.”
The walk back toward my apartment blurred, and my head just wouldn’t shut up. Wes’s face lingered in every thought—those calm, steady eyes, the tone of his voice when he told me to sit up like I was a fucking schoolboy, the way he ordered food for me without a flicker of hesitation.
I’d sat there like some puppet, letting him tug the strings. And every time he said something—every time he dropped one of those goddamn nicknames—it was as if he were tugging something in me that I didn’t even want to admit existed.
Pervy old man. That’s all it was. Power games, some weird kink where he thought he could control me. But it worked, and I hated that it worked. I hated the shiver it sent down my spine, the way it made my chest feel too tight and too light at the same time.
He wasn’t supposed to be the one in control. I was the one who was sent to kill him. The only control I had in my life was with my marks, but now he’d gone and taken that away from me, too.
My laugh came out bitter. “Fucking pathetic,” I told myself, raking a hand through my hair as I walked faster.
By the time I made it back to my building, my nerves felt raw, ready to snap. The front door stuck on its hinges the way it always did, and I shoved it open hard enough that it banged against the wall. The sound echoed in the silence.
I kicked my shoes off and paced across the small living room. My hands wouldn’t stay still—first raking through my hair, then balling into fists, then pulling at the collar of my shirt like it was choking me.
I wanted to scream, or break something, or—hell, maybe even laugh, because what the fuck was happening to me?
I should’ve felt triumphant. I’d walked into enemy territory in a way, sat across from the man I was supposed to kill, and walked back out. He’d even taken me out to eat, for god’s sake.
But all I felt was small.
It was like he’d cut me open with a single look, like he’d read all of my tells, my secrets, and left me bleeding out from the wound.
“Because there’s no need,” I mocked scathingly, flopping down onto the couch. “You haven’t actually tried yet.” My body couldn’t settle—I stretched out, sat up again, pressed my palms into my eyes until little sparks danced behind them.
I snatched up my phone again, thumb hovering over Elias’s contact. Half of me wanted to call him again, to scream until he listened. The other half wanted to throw the damn phone across the room.
What would really even be the use in ranting to him? It always felt like it’d help, but it never actually did. Sure, he usually got me refocused on the task at hand, but he was never a shoulder to lean on or a friend who’d join in on my ranting.
My head thunked back against the couch cushions. I closed my eyes tightly, heart pounding too loud in the quiet of my solitary home.
Fuck.
In my haze of aggravation, I’d somehow ignored the fact that Elias was going to be mad, considering I’d missed yet another chance to finish the job.
* * *
The sound of my lock clicking open had my whole body lurching up from where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I fumbled for my phone, which had slipped underneath me at some point during my nap. A tap at the screen showed that I’d been asleep for about three hours.
“Why do you even bother with locks?” Elias muttered as he shut the door behind him. His tailored coat fell open as he moved toward me, his every motion as polished and practiced as ever. “Anyone who wants in here is either me or someone who a deadbolt won’t slow down.”
I sighed, nails digging into my palms. “You could just knock, you know.”
He arched a brow at me like I’d just told the punchline to a bad joke. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
That look, that tone, made my skin itch. My words shrank back into my throat as he crossed the room, setting his phone and keys neatly on the counter like he’d done a thousand times before.
“So how did your little playdate go, hm?”
My mouth went dry, and I picked at my nail beds. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t the right time.”
At that, Elias finally turned his head toward me, lips curving into a thin, condescending smile. “Not the right time.” He let the words roll in his mouth like they amused him. “Ronan, Ronan, Ronan. You sound like a child making excuses for forgetting his homework.”
Heat crept up my neck, anger and shame twisting in my gut. “I’m not making excuses—”
“Then what are you doing?” He cut in smoothly, voice sharp but quiet, like a parent scolding a kid in public. I looked away, jaw tight. I didn’t trust my voice not to crack.
Elias sighed, as if he were the one being inconvenienced, as if this were all just tedious housekeeping.
He came closer, his hand brushing across the back of the couch behind me as he leaned down just enough that his cologne filled my lungs.
“You do remember the plan, don’t you?” His tone dripped with condescension.
My teeth clenched. “Of course I remember.”
“Then remind me.”
My stomach twisted. “Seduce him and kill him.”
Elias let out an exasperated groan, then grabbed my hair, using his grip on the strands to yank my face back so I could look up at him.
“We literally just went over this, boy.”
My chest tightened, fury prickling at the edges of my skin, but I forced myself still. I didn’t want him to see how easily he got under my skin.
“Elias,” I muttered, the name catching in my throat. “I—”
“You’re to ask him for help escaping me, remember?
It’s going to take some time after that to earn his trust and get closer to him.
Fuck him a few times, maybe. Get him to let down his guard, then make the kill.
” He shook my head around harshly before letting go of my hair and backhanding me.
“Do I need to help you remember? Or can I trust that you’ll stick to the plan moving forward? ”
I sat frozen, fists pressed into my knees, pulse racing. The “help” he was talking about was something I’d rather die than experience again.
I answered quietly, “I’ll remember. I’m sorry. I won’t forget again.”
“You better not,” he hissed.
His words landed heavy in the small apartment, pressing down until I felt like the air itself was thinner. My cheek burned from the slap, the sting throbbing under my skin.
Elias’s expression softened in that patronizing way that always made my stomach twist. “There now,” he said smoothly, as if I were a misbehaving child who had finally quieted down. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing my eyes to stay low. If I looked at him, he’d see too much—my shame, my anger, the way Wes’s voice echoed louder than his inside my head.
Elias crouched in front of me, perfectly balanced even in his expensive shoes, tilting his head like a patient parent.
“You let yourself get… distracted. By what, hm? His age? His act? Or was it just the thrill of someone finally paying attention to you?” His smile was sharp, smug.
“I can see why you’d be tempted. He’s exactly the type to scoop up strays and pretend it makes him noble. ”
A flush crawled up my neck. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie.” His voice dropped low, cold enough to freeze the words in my throat.
“I don’t even need to ask what happened.
I already know.” He reached out, brushing his thumb over the edge of my jaw, the touch gentle in a way that felt worse than the slap.
“He said something, didn’t he? Something that made you feel special. That it?”
I flinched back from his hand, shoulders tense. “N-no, it’s not like that.”
“Of course it is,” Elias said with a laugh that lacked warmth.
“But don’t worry, that’s exactly what we want.
Let him dangle his leash in front of you.
Pretend to slip it around your neck. Let him think you belong to him.
That’s how you’ll get close enough.” His voice went syrupy, coaxing, as if he were explaining a simple rule to a toddler. “You can manage that much, can’t you?”
My mouth was dry. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
My throat closed, but I forced the word out. “…Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Elias’s smile widened, as if he’d reclaimed something Wes had stolen from him without even knowing it. He patted my cheek once, light but degrading, before straightening to his full height.
“Get some rest,” he said, already walking toward the door, his voice clipped and dismissive. “Tomorrow, you’ll be better. Tomorrow, you’ll remember who you answer to.”
The door shut with quiet finality.
I sat there, my cheek still faintly burning, my stomach churning, my chest feeling like it was caving in on itself. His words should’ve settled me, grounded me, reminded me of my place—they always used to.
I pressed my palm against my cheek, leaning into it. Good boy.
The echo wasn’t Elias’s.
It was Wes’s.
I tried to shove the thought away, but it clung stubbornly. Wes had said it once—soft, steady, not mocking—not like Elias. It wasn’t a threat disguised as praise, it was… something else, something I couldn’t exactly pin down. It was something… nice.