Chapter 11 Ronan #2
Elias chuckled softly, indulgent. “Very well. There’s a man in the city I’ve been keeping an eye on. A nuisance. You’ll find his photo in your messages.”
My phone buzzed in my hand as the file came through.
“Kill him,” Elias went on, voice low and certain, “and when you do, remember what you are. Remember who made you.”
The line clicked dead.
I stared down at the picture, heart thudding so hard it hurt. Killing was simple. Killing didn’t lie.
And if I drowned myself in it, maybe—just maybe—I could carve Wes out of me before he took over completely.
* * *
The city always looked different when I was hunting. Sharper and colder, almost as if the world were cut out of glass, waiting to slice open anyone dumb enough to stumble into the wrong alley.
The photo Elias sent burned in my pocket, the man’s smug face seared into my mind. I didn’t have any details, just the face. That was fine. I didn’t need a backstory. I didn’t want it.
I wanted blood.
I prowled through the streets, hood up, cap pulled low.
The target wasn’t hard to track. Elias had a way of making things convenient when he wanted. I followed the man from the back entrance of a bar to his car, then from the car to a row of apartments with shitty exterior lighting. He didn’t look around even once.
By the time he reached the stairwell, I had already caught up to him. The knife felt like an extension of my hand.
For a second—just a second—I saw Wes instead.
The hesitation made my stomach churn, but it only lasted a heartbeat.
I grabbed the man by the collar, slammed him into the concrete wall hard enough to rattle his teeth and break his nose, and shoved the blade up beneath his ribs before he could suck in more than half a breath.
His eyes went wide with shock. There was a flicker of pain, then… nothing.
Warmth spilled over my hand as I lowered him to the ground. His body convulsed once, twice, then stilled.
It should’ve been enough, and usually it was.
But as I stood over him, my chest heaving from exertion, my knife dripping, I somehow felt even emptier than before.
The echo of Wes’s voice threaded through my head, unshakable. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?
I hated it. I hated Elias. I hated Wes. I hated myself most of all.
Wiping the blade on the dead man’s jacket, I turned on my heel and slipped back into the night, the city swallowing me whole.
The blood was barely dry on my hands when I called Elias again.
“I need another.” I didn’t bother pretending it was for the mission. Elias would know better anyway.
He chuckled, low and pleased, like he’d been waiting for me to ask. “Greedy boy. I thought one would settle you.”
“Well, it didn’t.”
Silence stretched on the line, long enough that my pulse started to pound with something ugly. Then he finally spoke, “Fine. There’s a private gathering tonight. Small. You’ll like it. Consider it… a gift. I’m sure you’ll give them a good show.”
The address hit my phone a second later, and I ended the call.
By the time I found the place—a strip club that looked like it hadn’t seen a health inspection in at least two decades—the bass was already rattling through the walls.
Smoke clung to the doorway, smelling of cheap perfume layered over sweat and liquor.
The bouncer at the front didn’t even stop me.
Elias must’ve called ahead or some shit, because the man just opened the velvet rope and let me inside with a grin that made my stomach turn.
I took a short detour to the grimy bathrooms to get ready before going to find my prey.
The “gathering” was in the back, in a low-lit private room thick with cigar haze. A handful of men sat sprawled around a small stage at the center of the room. Their eyes were glazed from booze, from greed, maybe even from whatever lines they’d snorted before I walked in.
They thought I was the entertainment. Elias had made sure of it.
I felt the mask slip over my face—the one that let me survive, the one that wasn’t me at all.
My steps became fluid, deliberate, sexual—predatory but enticing.
I knew how to use my body to distract, to bait.
They all leaned forward on the couches, jeering, hungry for boys and girls who had no choice but to serve them.
I let the music guide me onto the stage, dressed only in a tiny black thong and bralette, a silky red robe, and red-bottomed heels.
Every eye was on me—every laugh sounded grating.
The music pulsed through the walls and into my bones, loud enough to drown out my thoughts if I let it.
I wrapped my fingers around the cold steel of the pole, let my body sway with the rhythm—a practiced curve of my back, a calculated roll of my hips.
I let my robe fall open, a splash of red against the dim, smoke-hazed lights.
They whooped and whistled, some already fumbling at their belts. I smiled—the smile Elias had trained into me, the one that promised submission even while I planned their deaths.
I twined around the pole, heels clicking sharply against the stage, every movement deliberate.
They wanted to believe they were in control, that I was their toy for the night.
They didn’t see the knife hidden under my robe, tucked into the back of the bralette.
They didn’t see the tension in my muscles, coiled and ready to strike.
I hated every second of it—the way their eyes stripped me bare, the way their leers clawed at my skin. But I was good at this. Too good. Elias had made sure of that.
Elias always made sure of everything.
My fingers slid up the pole, body arching, head tipping back, throat bared in mock surrender as my hair swayed. Their cheers rose louder. I kept moving—swinging low, slow, spreading my legs just enough to draw them in closer.
One of them stumbled forward, too drunk to wait for the show to end, his hand reaching out like he had a right to me. My smile sharpened, and in the same breath that I dropped to my knees in time with the beat of the song, I slipped the blade free.
The music masked the first wet sound of the cut. His body jerked, blood spraying across the stage lights like some grotesque strobe effect. For a split second, the others didn’t even notice.
Then I stood, their companion’s blood dripping down my arm, and they realized.
The mask fell away, and my face went blissfully blank.
My movements weren’t teasing anymore—they were vicious, precise, each strike honed by years of practice. The screams drowned out the music, but my body moved with the rhythm anyway.
They tried to run, but didn’t make it far.
By the time the music cut out, the room was painted red.
I stood in the center, robe hanging open, my skin and lingerie splattered with blood.
It should’ve been enough.
It wasn’t.
I pressed my wet palms over my face and laughed, the sound a little too high-pitched, too close to breaking.
I hated Elias. I hated these men. I hated being alive.
The bodies were cooling when the door opened.
I didn’t even flinch. I knew it would be him.
Elias strolled in, a handful of his men slipping past him with bags, gloves, and bleach. They got to work without a word, practiced and efficient, while he stopped a few feet away from me. His shoes didn’t quite crunch in the blood, but they could’ve.
“Messy,” he said finally, lips curving in something that wasn’t a smile. “But at least you look nice.”
My pulse hammered. I knew better than to answer, so I just stared back at him in silence.
He studied me before saying, “You burn hotter every time. I’m almost afraid of what you’ll become when you finally run out of fuel.”
“I won’t,” I murmured.
That earned me the faintest laugh. He stepped close enough that I could smell his cologne beneath the iron tang in the air, warm spice over rot. His hand rose like he might touch my face, and my body stiffened on instinct. But instead, he clapped me lightly on the shoulder, like a father might.
He did that sometimes—tried to replace my father.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I followed him out of the club, ignoring the curious looks at my appearance.
The car ride was quiet at first, city lights strobing across the tinted windows. My hands still smelled of copper. My body still itched with the need to destroy.
Elias broke the silence. “You’ve been wound tight lately.” His tone was low, cajoling, almost indulgent. “You know I could help you… relax. Just like old times. We used to have so much fun together.”
My gut turned to ice. Rage spiked up before I could stop it. “No.” The word tore out of me, harsh and louder than I meant, like a blade slicing the air.
He went still, head tilting just slightly toward me, that serpent’s curiosity sparking in his eyes. Suspicion. He was too good at reading me.
I forced my breathing even, tried to rein it back in. “I don’t need that,” I said, quieter this time. “I just need to work. Give me some more work, and I’ll be fine.”
The car was suffocating with silence. I waited for the punishment—for his hand, his voice, something painful, a needle against skin, something. Instead, Elias smiled thinly.
“You did well tonight, so I’ll ignore that,” he said finally, voice tight. “For now.”
Relief loosened my shoulders, but only slightly. He wasn’t letting it go. He was filing it away and keeping it, waiting for the right time to use it against me.
When the car finally stopped in front of my building, I was already halfway out the door before it rolled to a complete stop.
“Sleep well, my Ro,” Elias called after me, his voice smooth and venomous. “You’ve earned it.”
The car door shut behind me, but I still felt his gaze burning into me all the way up the stairs.
I slammed my apartment door behind me and leaned against it, my chest heaving as if I’d run a marathon instead of just climbing some steps. My fingers wouldn’t stop twitching.
The apartment was dark and silent, just the way I usually liked it. But tonight it felt suffocating.
I stumbled into the bathroom, turned the tap, and scrubbed until my hands turned raw. The water swirling down the drain looked pink at first, then clear. Even then, I still didn’t feel clean. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me like a ghost.
Usually, after a job, there’s a clarity—a sense of calm. The noise in my head goes quiet, at least for a while. Tonight… it was worse. My body still trembled with adrenaline, but underneath it was something else, something that didn’t fade with the wash of blood down the sink.
What the hell was wrong with me?!
I shoved away from the mirror, tearing off my robe and slutty underwear. I threw them across the room, then collapsed onto the couch naked, pulling my knees up to my chest in an attempt to ground myself.
I hated this feeling.
I knew what Elias had made of me. I knew what my body was supposed to be for, what sex was supposed to mean—control, degradation, pain wrapped in someone else’s pleasure. That was the script I’d been given, the only one I’d ever learned.
But Wes had torn it apart. He’d made me feel something I didn’t have a name for. Something too soft, too dangerous.
And the worst part?
I wanted it again.
I buried my face against my knees, nails digging crescents into my shins, trying to drown it out. If I could just be numb again, just be sharp and lethal and empty, maybe I’d survive this.
But all I could feel was him.