Chapter 13 Ronan #3
“I’d like to start with my new toys,” I proclaimed. “If that’s okay?”
The stylist looked offended, but Elias’s soft chuckle diffused the moment. “Stubborn and single-minded, as always. That’s all right—you’ll humor him later, won’t you?” His eyes glinted at me, more command than question.
I smiled, the picture of obedience. “Of course.”
The weapons dealer spoke then, his voice full of gravel and smoke. “I’ve brought three pieces you won’t find anywhere else. All clean, all unregistered. One’s a blade, one’s a pistol, one’s… let’s call it experimental.”
Something flickered in my chest—interest, despite myself.
Elias caught it instantly, of course. He always did. “I’d place bets on the experimental one,” he chuckled.
This house was a showcase—a cage disguised as luxury. And tonight, Elias was parading both chains he thought he owned me with.
The dealer crouched, the metal case groaning as he unlatched it. The firelight caught the steel corners, then the inside gleam as the lid cracked open.
I stepped closer, eager to see.
He moved with slow reverence, like a priest unveiling holy relics. “First—your blade.”
He drew it out carefully, the length of a short sword but slim and balanced. The steel had a faint dark sheen, almost black, and the handle was wrapped in something that looked like leather but wasn’t.
“Carbon-infused. Won’t shatter, won’t dull for years. Cuts like it’s hungry.”
My hand itched, but I didn’t reach for it. Not yet.
He set it down, pulling out the second: a pistol, compact but sleek, no markings. Black matte finish, muzzle threaded for a suppressor. “Polymer frame. Modified for recoil. Swaps calibers with just a chamber change.”
He glanced at Elias before adding, “No one will trace it.”
Elias’s lips twitched. “How convenient for my boy.”
And then the last. The “experimental.”
The dealer lifted it with both hands, carefully. It was a knife, but not like any I’d seen. The blade was curved, serrated near the hilt but smooth toward the tip. Along the spine, a faint blue shimmer pulsed—like veins of light under glass.
“It’s built with a conduction system,” the man explained proudly. “Tiny battery in the handle. You strike deep, press here—” he tapped a recessed switch near the grip, “—and it sends a current through the blade. Shock strong enough to lock a body’s muscles, stop their heart if you’re lucky.”
My breath stalled.
Elias smiled, stepping closer, like he could sense the curiosity sparking in me. His hand brushed my shoulder, light, familiar, poisonous. “You deserve the best. Choose whichever calls to you.”
I kept my face blank, though the curved blade sang to me, every nerve in my body wanting to feel its weight. But I forced my eyes to flick toward the pistol instead, then back to the blade.
All three men watched me closely as I bent over the case.
My fingers closed around the shocking blade. The handle was smooth, deceptively light, but the pulse in it felt alive, like a weapon with a heartbeat.
Elias’s smile widened like he’d given me a gift no one else deserved. “Yes, that suits you. Lethal, but elegant. And so rare. Coveted the moment it’s seen.”
I forced myself not to flinch at his words.
I was so tired of being rare, exotic, one-of-a-kind.
I wasn’t an object.
I was a person.
The dealer packed the others away, latching the case shut with a heavy snap. Elias clapped his hands once, and as if on cue, the stylist swept in. His rolling rack followed, burdened with hangers of shimmering fabrics, sequins, silks, and lace.
“Now to get you into something that accentuates your beauty,” Elias crooned, sliding an arm lightly around my shoulders.
I nodded.
“Let’s get those clothes off of you then,” the stylist said smoothly, already reaching for a slip of shiny silver fabric.
I tensed. “No. I want to change in my old room. Alone.”
The weapons dealer smirked, amused. Elias’s eyes narrowed, sharp as glass. “Alone?” he echoed, tilting his head like a predator sniffing a lie. “You’ve never been shy about letting others see. Half of this continent could tell you what you look like naked, Ro.”
Heat prickled across my neck, but I kept my voice calm, quiet. “It’s not about being shy.” I leaned in close, lips almost brushing his ear, letting only him hear. “I have a small rash on my back. I didn’t think you’d want anyone to see.”
He stiffened. His vanity was a blade sharper than anything in that case.
Did I have a rash? Course not, but he didn’t need to know that.
For a moment, silence hung. Then he hummed low, stroking a hand down my hair. “Very well. Go.”
The stylist seemed to want to protest. Elias cut him off with a snap of his fingers. “He’ll come down when he’s ready.”
“Wait, take these with you then,” the stylist insisted, shoving a pair of sparkling, strappy heels into my arms.
I inclined my head, careful not to look too eager as I left the room, clutching the garment draped over one arm, and shoes in the other.
Every step toward my old bedroom felt like a countdown.
Because I wasn’t going there.
Not when Elias’s study was just down the hall, behind a door I’d once been told was “never for me.”
And I’d always been the kind of child who wanted most what I wasn’t allowed to touch.