Chapter 13 Ronan
Ronan
The cafe was too bright for my liking. It made me feel exposed. Couples and friends crowded the tables, sipping their coffees like they had no idea what it meant to look over their shoulder.
I put in a drink order with the human golden retriever working the counter, then slid into the restroom. I ignored the other patrons coming and going from the stalls and stared at my reflection in the large mirror above the sinks.
Look at me, just about to casually back-stab the man who’d raised me.
Not that he doesn’t deserve it, though.
I picked a loose thread off the hem of my old R.E.M. t-shirt, smiling a bit at how I was dressed. Elias preferred a more feminine look from me—glam, high-end escort vibes with sequins, silk, glossy lips, and dresses molded to my body—a fantasy, curated by him.
But this? This was real.
The shirt was worn thin in spots, the print cracked with age, but it reminded me of basement nights when my father would disappear into his man cave for hours on end, much to the amusement of my mother, who said he’d turned into a true American man.
They’d emigrated from Germany when I was two. My mom had flown against medical advice, refusing to disrupt the plans she and my father had made. Just short of a month later, she’d given birth to a healthy baby boy—my little brother, Henri.
Three years later, we’d grown to a family of five with the addition of Lia, my little sister.
The walls of our unfinished basement had been covered in posters: Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Bowie—his holy trinity.
Guitars leaned against amps, and records were stacked like bricks.
He’d play those old alt-rock albums loud enough that the house seemed to hum with it, and I’d sit at the top of the stairs listening, waiting for the moment he’d beckon me down to join him.
Just me.
My siblings would be upstairs getting ready for bed with our mom, while I got to share those basement memories with just him.
He’d hand me a Coke, crack open his beer, and tell me what the songs meant—to him, to the world. He had a way of talking like music was gospel—like riffs and lyrics could keep a man alive longer than air.
That was before he was gone.
Before all of them were gone.
Now, whenever I pulled on one of the thrifted band tees in my closet, I felt like a younger, truer version of myself. Not Elias’s ornament, not a weapon someone else pointed.
Just me—the boy in the basement who knew that guitars sometimes sounded better when they weren’t perfectly tuned.
I tugged the shirt straight, raked my pale hair back with my fingers, and let my eyes settle back on the reflection in the mirror.
If he could see me now, would he recognize me? Would he be able to see past all that I’d done?
I gritted my teeth, swallowing back my emotions. It didn’t matter.
I pushed away from the sink and slipped out of the restroom. The cafe buzzed with chatter, too warm, too alive, and for a moment, I felt the weight of eyes on me—people always stared, though they pretended not to.
“Cafe mocha for Ro,” the too-happy guy at the counter called, voice cheerful as a bell.
I crossed the room at an easy pace, weaving between tables without hurry. My boots scuffed against the old wood floors, and I brushed a strand of white hair behind my ear. I slid up to the counter and took the warm cup from his hand.
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom,” I said lightly, taking the cup from his hand. The first sip burned, and I let it, but then the flavor came through, surprising me. “Oh, wow. This is so good.”
The man smiled widely, polite and open, before moving on to the next customer. I didn’t linger, just shifted out of the way and leaned against the wall. A stranger complimented my boots on his way past. I offered a smile, slow and lazy, without a word in return.
Most people, I’d learned, wanted more than I ever gave them. They wanted chatter, sparks, a little tug-of-war for attention. I wasn’t interested. I let my gaze move through the cafe instead, cataloging the details: wood floors, exposed brick walls, and a ton of greenery.
And then—him.
Sharp edges, dark eyes—watching me the way no one else was. He sat by the window, not moving, and not pretending he wasn’t staring. He was a man who seemed to belong to the shadows, but had chosen to step into the light, just to make sure I noticed.
I did notice.
Our eyes met.
I didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Just curved my lips into the kind of smile that meant: I see you too.
The barista’s voice called another order, breaking the moment between me and the stranger. But I still felt the weight of it, lingering on my skin.
This wasn’t the kind of attention I usually invited. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of interest curl in my chest.
I found an empty table on the other side of the cafe and sat down, keeping my eye on the man in black leather.
Then Wes walked in, and it was like the atmosphere shifted around him. His shoulders filled the doorway, his gaze steady, unflinching. He found me instantly, not noticing the other predator in the room.
“Hey,” he said as he sat down across from me.
“Hey, yourself,” I said, leaning back in my chair. My pulse betrayed me, jumping higher than it should have.
“How do you like this place?” he asked, scanning the crowd. “My nephews recommended it. Seems a bit too hipster for their tastes, but I guess that means the coffee’s good.”
“It’s fine—good place to blend in. And yeah, my drink’s pretty damn good. Are you going to get anything?”
He drummed his fingers against the edge of our table and shot me a smile. “Maybe in a bit. I had a heavy breakfast.”
“Did you want to just jump right into it, then?” I asked, my eyes catching movement behind him. The stranger had gotten up from his table and was at the counter, seemingly flirting with the barista. Wes looked over his shoulder to see what I was looking at.
“Do you know them?” he asked, returning his gaze to me.
I watched as the stranger disappeared into the back. “No.”
Wes’s eyes lingered on me, probing. “You seem a little jumpy today. Is everything all right?”
“I’m not jumpy,” I said flatly, blowing on the surface of my drink. “Just observant like I should be. And like you should be.”
Wes shrugged. “I’m observant where it counts.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m sure you are. Now what did you want to talk about? I don’t have all day, old man.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice so it barely cut through the ambient buzz of clinking mugs and chatter. “I’m concerned there may be others like you. Preferably, we’d like to locate and get them out before things get… messy.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Others like me?” I shook my head firmly.
“That’s not possible. I’m with Elias almost constantly.
I only stopped living with him a few years ago.
If there were others like me, I’d know. I’ve never worked with someone else, and the number of jobs I get wouldn’t make sense if there were more of me. I’m his only assassin.”
Wes’s lips tightened, and he was quiet for a beat. “That’s… not what I meant.” His tone was soft, careful, which only made it worse. “I’m not talking about assassins, Ro. I’m talking about trafficking victims.”
The word slammed into me like a fist. My jaw locked, heat prickling under my skin. “Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t call me that.”
“Ro—”
“That’s not what this is,” I hissed. “I just do his work. I’m not some—” I broke off, teeth grinding together. People at the next table glanced over, whispering, and I realized I was shaking. My hands curled into fists on the tabletop.
I pushed my chair back, the legs screeching against the floor. “This was a mistake.”
Wes’s voice cut through before I could stand.
“Sit back down, doll.” I glared at him, but lowered my ass back down the few inches it’d risen.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. I’ll rephrase it.
I believe Elias is actively participating in human trafficking, among many other things.
I need your help to find any holding locations, buyers, or anything that can lead us to these people.
We can also potentially use what you find as evidence for the police. ”
“You’d need access to his place for that.”
Wes held my stare, unrelenting. “Which you have.”
For a moment, all I could hear was my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
The words landed like a weight on my chest.
Elias’s place.
Nothing good ever happened to me there.
I could already see it if I closed my eyes—the gleam of expensive marble floors, the sterile scent of his cologne sunk into the furniture, my old room, full of pain and pretty things. The billiards room…
My body remembered the static hum of being prey, of the never-ending darkness that swallowed up any hope along with light.
I swallowed hard, holding back bile and keeping my face smooth even though my skin felt like it was crawling.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.
” My voice was steady, but I hated how thin it sounded in my own ears.
“And for what? I’m not a martyr, Wes. I will not sacrifice myself to save people I don’t even know exist.”
“Please, Ro. You’d only have to be there long enough to search his office or wherever he keeps his work.”
I wanted to laugh, but it would’ve come out jagged. “And what happens when he catches me? What do you think he does to traitors?”
“He won’t kill you—you’re too important to him. But that’s beside the point. You won’t get caught.”
The simplicity of it made me want to throw my coffee at his face. Instead, I tipped my head back and let out a humorless chuckle. “Wow. You make it sound so fucking easy.”
“I know it’s not,” he said quietly, a hint of pity in his eyes.
“And you’re right, he wouldn’t kill me. No. But he’d do something I consider to be much worse,” I muttered.
“We’ll have surveillance on you at all times. We won’t let him do anything. We can even have a team on standby in case things go south,” he promised.