Chapter 17 Wesley
Wesley
In the following days, Ro began pushing away, like he was hastily rebuilding his walls after I’d all but torn them down the other night.
I’d seen the behavior before, in witnesses who thought they could handle testifying until the reality of it started settling in, and in undercover agents who’d started losing themselves in their cover.
The more he pulled away, the more I wanted to grab hold.
By the third day of it, I’d had enough. I caught him as he was slipping his boots on by his front door, shoulders tense, eyes down.
“Ro,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “What’s going on with you?”
He froze for half a second before straightening, mask already pulling into place. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” I stepped closer, and he didn’t retreat, but he didn’t meet my eyes either. “Don’t do that with me. You’ve been pulling back from me, and I need to know why. We’re supposed to be in this together. Did something happen?”
His jaw worked. For a moment, I thought he’d keep stonewalling me. Then his voice came out low, clipped. “Elias wants you dead by the end of the week.”
The words hit like a gut punch. “What?”
Ro finally looked up at me. “He called me after a job. Said it’s taking too long. He thinks I should’ve finished you already.”
I stared at him, the frustration rising sharp and hot. “And you’re just telling me now?”
“I—” He faltered, then shoved his hands into his pockets like he could hide himself there. “I didn’t want to.”
“Didn’t want to what?” My voice cracked. “Didn’t want to tell me he’d set a damn deadline on my life?”
Ro flinched. That was worse than anger, seeing him curl in like he was bracing for a blow.
I dragged a hand down my face, tried to steady my breath. “Ro, we can’t afford secrets like this. Not if you want me to walk out of this alive. Not if you want you to walk out of this alive.”
His silence stretched, heavy between us.
“Please, doll. I thought we were in a good place after the other night.”
Ro’s silence stretched so long I almost snapped at him again. But then he spoke, his voice rough, like it was being dragged out of him.
“You don’t understand…”
“Then make me,” I growled, stepping closer to him, backing him up against the door.
His eyes flicked up, oozing vulnerability.
“If Elias even suspects I’m not loyal—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together.
“I’m scared, Wes. I think he’s caught on that something’s going on between us.
That’s why I didn’t tell you right away,” he said, quieter now, almost strangled.
“Every time I talk to him, I feel like he knows…”
“You’re not in this alone. I can handle him. But I need the truth from you, Ro. All of it. No matter how ugly. If I don’t have that, I can’t protect you, and I sure as hell can’t protect myself. I need to trust that you’re telling me everything.”
His lips trembled, though he stilled them fast. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I-I can’t care about you as much as I do. I need to protect myself.”
I took a breath, then cupped his face in my hand. “Ronan. Are you scared of being hurt if something happens to me?”
He nodded, his breath hitching. “It won’t hurt as bad if I don’t love you.”
The words were a punch to my gut.
“It won’t hurt as bad if I don’t love you.”
For a second, the world narrowed down to the sound of his breath and the stupid drum of my heart in my ears.
“You—” I started, then stopped, because what do you say to something like that? You don’t rehearse for being loved in the moment after someone tells you they think detachment will protect them from the pain of losing you.
His eyes were bright and raw in a way that made me want to crawl inside him and make it right. He’d said it like an apology, like a self-preservation tactic, but there was a trembling there that felt like confession.
I swallowed. My thumb found the ridge of his cheek, and I stayed there, breathing slowly to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You love me,” I said it to make sure I heard it right. It wasn’t a question. It felt both like a challenge and a miracle.
He nodded, small and ashamed, like it was the worst thing he could admit and the most terrible relief at the same time. “I do. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—” He cut himself off, words spilling out and then withdrawing.
I had this ridiculous, uncontrollable urge to laugh, then to uncork something feral and protective and dangerous. Instead, I kept my tone steady because steady was what he needed. “Why would you be sorry?” I asked softly. “You shouldn’t be. If anything—God, Ro—”
If anything, it should have been me apologizing. For being the one who’d sent him into Elias’s house. For letting my quest for evidence become his nightmare. For not seeing the whole of what had been done to him until those photos.
My chest tightened around something fierce and feral. It was ugly and honest—possessiveness, affection, and obligation braided so closely together I couldn’t tell them apart. He was mine in the way that terrified me and made the rest of my life make sense all at once.
“You love me,” I repeated, because saying it aloud made it less like a hallucination. “You said it like it’s a problem.”
He flinched as if the label could burn him. “It is. It’s—it’s dangerous. I know what I am to him. I know what I am… I shouldn’t… I don’t want to drag you into that. I know how this story ends, Wesley.”
“You already dragged me in,” I said. “And that’s on me. But you didn’t drag me into loving you.”
“Do you… do you—”
I pressed my forehead to his. Close enough to feel the dampness of his lashes on my skin, to taste the faint salt from where his tears had dried. “I didn’t expect it,” I admitted. “But yeah, babydoll. I love you. So don’t apologize.”
He let out a breath like a small laugh, ragged. “B-but what if I lose you? He’ll take you from me, I know it.”
“He can try, but we won’t let him win, Ro. I will not walk away. I will not let him keep doing this to people, and I will not let him hurt you again. Fuck turning him in. We’ll bury him six feet under.”
He blinked, the red in his eyes diminishing a fraction. “Promise?”
“It’s not a word I hand out lightly,” I said. “But yes. I promise. I can’t promise it’ll be quick or clean. I can’t promise you won’t be scared along the way. But I promise I’ll try—God, I’ll fucking try. I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. To your family.”
He reached up, hand trembling as it threaded into my hair, and pressed a gentle kiss on my lips. “He can’t take you from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, and meant it with a ferocity that made something close to a sob want to force past my teeth.
We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in a quiet room that suddenly felt like the only safe place in the world.
Outside, there were plans to make and enemies to map and a man who needed to stop breathing.
But inside, for a few minutes, there was just this—this fragile, strange tether between us that felt like the most necessary thing I’d ever been given.
When I finally pulled back enough to see his face, he was calmer, the edges softened.
I let my hand cup his jaw and added, “I’ll get things moving.
Ichabod will put eyes on your place, and we’ll start tracing every account, every movement.
We’ll find his current,” I grimaced, spitting out the word,” stock, then take him down. ”
Ro’s fingers tightened around my wrist. “Be careful.”
“I will be. But, doll,” I kept my voice low, the kind I used when I needed him to listen, really listen, “I’m going to need to punish you for not being honest with me.”
His pupils blew wide; the faint tremor in his jaw was still there. “P-punish me?”
“You’ve earned yourself a spanking,” I told him, turning and walking the few steps from the door to the couch. I sat down, my legs wide, and patted my thigh. “C’mon, babydoll. Be a good boy.”
He hesitated, eyes darting to the floor, the doorway, then back to me. I could read the hundred little arguments running through his head—fear of being seen as weak, worry that this was me being cruel, the ingrained instinct to disobey before trusting.
He moved with a brittle grace, shuffling across the small living area and settling over my knee. His faded sweatshirt rode up, revealing a sliver of pale skin.
“This is going to be a bit more intense than the last one, okay? You need to learn.” My fingers toyed with the waistband of his shorts. “I’d like to take these off. Is that okay?”
Ro squirmed on my lap. “S’ fine,” he muttered.
I held in a laugh at his rather poorly hidden love-hate relationship with being obedient when I wanted him to be. It was quite a difference from the moments when he was the one calling the shots, even if those shots were “choke me,” “slap me,” or “bite me.”
I pulled his shorts down, letting them fall to his ankles, revealing a light blue jockstrap underneath. Sucking in a breath, I caressed his exposed globes, using a finger to trace along the straps of his underwear.
“I think we’ll start with twenty and see where that leads us,” I announced, placing my non-dominant hand on his low back.
“Wow, twenty, how horrible,” he said under his breath, a smirk ghosting the skin of my calf where his head rested.
“I heard that,” I said, my tone strict despite the smile on my face.
I kept my hand flat the first time, a warm, open smack across the center of his ass. He flinched, a surprised noise spilling out of him.
I drew back and landed another, firmer, stronger. He exhaled hard, a small animal sound, and I felt his dick begin to chub up.
“Tell me what you did wrong,” I said between hits.
“I didn’t tell you about what Elias said,” he answered, his voice shaky.
“And?”
“And?” he repeated, confused. When he tried to lift his head up to look at me, I pushed it back down. I put my palm on his hip, steadying him. His skin was warm and flushed, a line of color blooming where my hand had landed.