Chapter 14 Ronan
Ronan
The door handle to his study turned under my palm. It was unlocked. It’d never been unlocked while I was living here. Did he really trust his staff more than me? Or was it more along the lines of feeling threatened by me?
I slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind me.
The room was filled with wood paneling, shelves stocked with books, and a massive desk at its center. The computer sat waiting, its screen asleep. I draped the silver scrap of fabric the stylist had given me over the desk, tugged my t-shirt off and pants off, and then shrugged into it.
I slid into Elias’s desk chair, removed my boots, and strapped my feet into the heels I was given.
The computer came to life under my touch, glowing across my skin. There was no password, so he’d either guessed my true motive for the visit and set a trap, or he was just genuinely egotistical enough that he couldn’t believe someone would ever try to pull one over on him.
Either way, I needed to get in and out as quickly as possible.
I moved quickly, clicking through folder after folder.
At first, it was information I was already well aware of—his numerous shell companies and offshore accounts.
However, after about ten folders, I found what Wes had asked for.
Each held a string of directories labeled with innocuous words that meant nothing… until I opened them.
Maria Vasquez, F, Hispanic, 27. Date of acquisition: September 15th, 2025. Belmont.
Josiah Redman, M, African American, 19. Date of acquisition: September 9th, 2025. Belmont.
Arthur Hertz, M, Caucasian - U.S., 30. Date of acquisition: August 21st, 2025. Truman.
Mary Madsen, F, Caucasian - Europe, 25. Date of acquisition: August 15th, 2025. Belmont.
Samuel Kin, M, African American, 9. Date of acquisition: August 3rd, 2025. Fulton.
Olivia Bane, F, Caucasian - U.S., 5. Date of acquisition: July 10th, 2025. Fulton.
Paul Andrews, M, Caucasian - U.S., 37. Date of acquisition: May 20th, 2025. Truman.
Alicia Setter, F, African American, 17. Date of acquisition: May 11th, 2025. Belmont.
Troy Klein, M, Caucasian - U.S., 13. Date of acquisition: May 2nd, 2025. Belmont.
Maximilian Sinclair, M, African American, 23. Date of acquisition: April 28th, 2025. Belmont.
Jailyn Adams, F, African American, 18. Date of acquisition: April 28th, 2025. Belmont.
Annie Sanders, F, Caucasian - U.S., 32. Date of acquisition: April 22nd, 2025. Truman.
Axel Rhodes, M, Caucasian - Europe, 10. Date of acquisition: April 11th, 2025. Fulton.
Avery West, F, Asian American, 21. Date of acquisition: March 20th, 2025. Belmont.
Jackson Wu, M, Asian American, 29. Date of acquisition: March 17th, 2025. Belmont.
Paula Veracruz, F, Hispanic, 40. Date of acquisition: March 9th, 2025. Truman.
Names.
Sexes.
Races.
Ages.
Dates of… “acquisition.”
I was going to be sick.
Trafficked men, women, and kids. All documented and filed like inventory.
My stomach lurched as I scrolled. I couldn’t let myself stop, couldn’t let the horror freeze me. I snapped photo after photo with my phone, keeping the sound muted, my hand steady.
The files seemed to be organized by the dates of when the victims were taken. There were so many.
So fucking many.
They went back years.
I wasn’t sure what Belmont, Truman, or Fulton meant. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t waste time thinking when I had maybe a minute left before Elias would come looking for me.
My lungs stopped when I finally reached the folder labeled ‘2000s’.
I knew what I was about to see.
I scrolled through each directory—2009, 2008, 2007, 2006…
2005.
My eyes flitted from line to line as my thumb worked to capture it all.
February 17th, February 17th, February 17th…
Ender Reintt, M, Caucasian - Europe, 18. Date of acquisition: February 24th, 2005. Belmont.
Apasra Ayutthaya, F, Asian - Thailand, 13. Date of acquisition: February 13th, 2005. Belmont.
“Where am I?” I asked under my breath, staring at the two names that should be sandwiching mine.
I was running out of time.
I clicked out of the 2005 directory, out of the ‘2000s’ folder, abandoning the rest of the names.
Just as I was about to give up, my hand trembling on the mouse, I saw it.
The title was: “Discarded.”
I opened it.
My face stared back at me, photo after photo. Ranging from the very first night to a few months ago.
Twenty years.
My eyes burned as I took it in. I skimmed past images of unspeakable acts, of hollow, dim eyes and bruises. Broken bones and broken spirits. Pictures of a younger version of me, covered in semen and urine. Pictures of me tied to the billiards table.
Pictures of me drenched in blood that wasn’t mine.
I stopped on the first image ever uploaded and gasped back a tortured sob.
And my heart broke all over again for that nine-year-old boy with utter despair and terror streaked across his face, splatters of blood decorating his skin. His wide, haunted eyes looked directly into the lens.
The bodies of my family can be seen in the background.
I squeezed my eyes shut, silent tears dripping down my face.
I wanted to smash the screen. To drag the file into the trash and wipe it out of existence. But if I deleted it, Elias would notice. He noticed everything when it came to me.
I forced my shaking hands to steady, and took picture after picture.
My throat burned, and I felt empty, like the boy in the basement had never existed at all.
I shut the screen off with a trembling finger and shoved myself out of the chair, dragging in a breath that rattled through my chest. My hands wouldn’t still.
I looked around the room, and once I was sure there weren’t any signs of me left behind, I opened the door quietly and slipped into the hall.
The light seemed too bright, the murmur of voices unbearably loud. I walked, carefully and slowly, trying to make each step seem casual when it felt like my knees might give way at any second.
When I reentered the parlor, Elias looked up first. His smile was wolfish before his eyes narrowed.
“You took your time.” His gaze raked me over in the glittering mini dress. “But… worth the wait. Gorgeous, as always.”
The stylist beamed like an idiot, the weapons dealer polishing one of his bizarre contraptions on the couch. Their voices blurred into a low hum. All I could hear was the roar of my pulse in my ears.
I swallowed hard and managed a small smile, though my jaw ached from the effort. “Sorry. Guess I’m… not feeling great.”
Elias’s eyes sharpened immediately. He rose, crossing the space with unhurried precision, fingers brushing over my arm, my shoulder, sliding under my chin to tilt my face up to his. His touch burned, and I fought the urge to jerk away.
“Not feeling well?” His tone was too smooth, but steel lay beneath it. He didn’t like weakness.
I made myself hold his gaze. “Just a headache and some nausea. It’s probably nothing.” My voice was soft, steady enough to sell it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your evening by mentioning it.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. He didn’t believe me. Or maybe he just didn’t care. But then, as though deciding my claim was convenient enough, he let go of my chin and smoothed a hand down my cheek.
“You do look too pale,” he murmured, more for the others than for me. He turned, commanding instead of asking, “Have the car brought around. Ronan will return home. I won’t have him fainting at my feet.”
The stylist looked disappointed. The weapons dealer only shrugged.
I exhaled slowly through my nose as Elias steered me toward the door, his hand firm at the small of my back.
At the front, the driver already waited, standing stiffly beside the black sedan. Elias stopped with me just shy of the steps, leaning close so only I could hear.
“Rest. I’ll have my purchases delivered to you tomorrow.” His fingers pressed into my hip, a subtle warning. “And, Ro… if you’re keeping something from me, I’ll know.”
I forced a weak smile. “I know. I’ll let you know how I feel in the morning.”
He kissed my temple and let me go, and I climbed into the car before he could change his mind.
The door shut, and the engine hummed to life.
Only when the gates closed behind us did I let my mask slip, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, my phone clutched tightly in my pocket as if it were the only thing anchoring me to this world.
I’d gotten what Wes wanted, but at what cost? My last bit of sanity?
I pressed my knuckles against my mouth, keeping the sobs buried where they belonged. My phone was a weight in my hand, heavy with the photos I should’ve never taken. Proof. Evidence. My past carved open in pixels and dates.
When the car finally slid up to my building, I climbed out without a word, not waiting for the driver to open the door for me. My legs carried me up the flights of stairs to my apartment door on autopilot.
I clumsily unlocked the door and closed it behind me.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, stripped nothing, kicked nothing aside. Just dropped my phone on the floor mat, then turned the shower knobs until steam began to fill the space and stepped in, shoes and clothes and all.
Hot water slammed against me, soaking through fabric, plastering sequins to my skin until they scratched like thorns. I sank down into the tub, knees tucked to my chest, arms locked around them. My hair clung to my forehead, water trailing into my eyes, stinging salt mixing with it.
The heat couldn’t touch the chill inside me. Couldn’t burn out the images still seared into my head.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, rocking once, twice, before reaching and fumbling for the phone on the mat. My fingers slipped, wet, trembling, but I managed to swipe it open.
Wes’s name glowed back at me.
I hit call.
The line rang once, twice, and when he picked up, I didn’t let him speak.
“I need you.” My voice raw, the words more a plea than anything else.
Then I ended the call, dropped the phone back on the mat, and curled in tighter beneath the pounding spray.
I stayed there, letting the water batter me down, until I could almost pretend I was being washed away.