19. Juliette
Chapter 19
Juliette
T here was no champagne room here, just the three rows of seats that surrounded the stage, staggered to allow for maximum visibility. Ronan marched to a chair in the corner at the end of the long back row that she’d never seen used for anything but lap dances.
Anger prickled in her guts, yet beneath it simmered the memory of his touch, his whispered promises that now felt like lies. Did he actually think she’d dance for him after what happened at the hospital?
Fucking asshole.
But it felt better back here in the corner—away from the stage, all those prying eyes, Waylon leering at her after telling her to keep the shirt on. Ronan might be a jerk, but she couldn’t forget the appreciation she’d seen in his gaze just yesterday, the way he’d called her Beauty . She needed him to erase Waylon’s disgust from her memory—and that other man, who’d only been trying to watch Desire on the next pole.
“Did he make you do this because he saw you at the station?” Ronan asked, sinking into the chair.
But his hands were moving beneath the seat, along the back, around the tiny side table. What was he looking for? Unbeknownst to Waylon, she and Shonda had secured pepper spray to every fifth seat in the club, but there wasn’t a canister on this chair—most men wanted to sit closer to the stage. This was the first time the seat had been used in months.
She stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well, you just know everything, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to dance for me.”
“No shit,” she spat out.
A half smile, but his eyes stayed sad. “We can walk out together, if you’d like. But speaking here might be prudent—no bugs. No cameras. Unlike in that hospital room.”
She blinked. Wait… he thought the hospital room was bugged? “That’s why you were such a dick?” She dropped her arms to her sides, but the trepidation in her chest remained.
Was he lying? He might just be working the case—working her.
Unease shimmered between her shoulder blades, and she turned to see Waylon standing dead center in the room now, his sharp gaze on her. Making sure she did the job she was being paid for—the job he’ d been paid for. Her jaw clenched.
She turned back and put her hands on Ronan’s shoulders. His eyes widened when she bent at the waist, her lips brushing his ear.
“Why would you stay in that hospital room if you thought it was bugged?” she asked.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Standing around like a goon instead of dancing would be a hell of a lot more suspicious.” She rotated her hips just above his knees, tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulder. “You said we could talk. Now talk .”
“Fair enough,” he said, and the croak in his voice was enough to make her heart beat faster.
“I wasn’t anticipating that anyone would show up at the hospital,” he said, voice huskier than normal. “And I can’t prove it was bugged, just a strong… a strong… suspicion.” The last word came out as a whisper. “I want him to think he still has the upper hand. You’re safer if he doesn’t know you’re working with me.”
He closed his eyes a beat longer than a blink, and she hiked her skirt and lowered herself fully into his lap. Her breath caught. He was hard as fuck, his dick pressing against her through their clothes. He could be lying about a lot of things, but a man’s cock always told the truth.
This isn’t about him making you feel pretty, Juliette. This is about survival.
Ronan’s fingernails dug into the armrests. Part of her wanted to push him away, to fight, to slap him for the way he’d treated her, but his nearness was unraveling her defenses. And a bugged hospital room was a pretty good explanation.
You’re weak, Juliette. He’s making you weak.
“Tell about the man in the motel parking lot.”
Juliette shifted her hips side to side, dragging her panties across his groin, relishing the way his dick twitched at her attention. And it wasn’t weakness to tell him what she’d tried to earlier, was it?
“The guy in the lot had a tattoo on his wrist,” she said. “A compass with shapes where the directions should be. He said he was there to score drugs, but no dealer ever showed up.”
“Hopefully, there’s a vein of truth to that—if he’s engaged in illegal activities, he’ll have more motivation to help us.” He tilted his head slightly, his piercing blue gaze unreadable.
Was that regret on his face—or calculation? Ronan closed his eyes again, a sharp inhale hissing through his nose when she thrust her pelvis against him.
He’s faking . It’s an act.
But it didn’t feel fake. It felt like they were the only ones in the room. And the steady, delirious throb at the apex of her thighs was as real as it got.
“Whoever is after you knows where I live,” he rasped. “He gained access to my security cameras. Is he a tech guy? A hacker?”
She continued to move as seductively as she could manage, her eyes locked on his, memories clawing their way to the surface: Ronan’s hands cupping her face, his voice low and steady as he promised to protect her. But she needed to protect him, too. If she told him who Daniel was, he’d kill them and her mother. Daniel wouldn’t put his game of cat and mouse above his need to get rid of witnesses.
Juliette swallowed hard, channeling her anxiety into her movements. It didn’t make sense for her to feel anything except panic, but the raw desire in his gaze was electrifying her blood, her heart racing at a breakneck pace.
Maybe I really am crazy. Maybe Daniel finally broke me. And why is Ronan staring at me like that?
It was all too much. She stood and turned, bending at the waist, still swaying to the beat. But it didn’t ease the pressure in her chest. She could imagine Ronan behind her, his hungry gaze on her skin, wanting her with such intensity that it made her feel like the most powerful person in the world—for once, more powerful than Daniel. For once, in control .
Her eyes burned, but then she felt his fingertips on her ass, a gentle but possessive squeeze that sent a bolt of lightning surging through her veins, igniting every nerve ending. Her legs went weak, the ache in her core insistent and desperate, her lungs too small.
“No touching!” Waylon practically screamed, and Ronan yanked his hand back to the armrest.
“Sorry,” he gasped out—for her benefit, not for Waylon’s. “I couldn’t… help it.”
Because I’m in charge . Juliette righted herself and sank into his lap.
“You have no reason to trust me,” he said, voice shaking. “I don’t know who this guy is. I don’t know where to find him. But I know he has something on you, or you wouldn’t have kept his name a secret.”
Shit . Why couldn’t he have been terrible at his job?
“What did you do?” he went on. “Try to kill him? Hurt someone else, even accidentally? It has to be something worth jail time.”
She swallowed hard—she was supposed to be dancing, but her muscles had stalled. Juliette forced herself to unfreeze and leaned against him, the back of her head on his good shoulder. His dick was still hard on her ass, twitching every time she shifted her weight, but just being wrapped in his warmth almost felt like a hug.
She really needed a hug.
“I… just wanted to escape,” she whispered.
The confession spilled out before she could stop it. What are you doing, Juliette? You know better than to trust him!
But this had nothing to do with trust—she was forcing herself into a corner. With a few sentences, she’d make sure she had no choice but to leave. She’d be gone before he could get an arrest warrant, before he could bring her in for questioning.
If a choice to stay with him existed, she’d choose wrong—she’d get them both killed. The warmth in her chest, the way she desperately wanted him to hold her, was proof enough of that.
“I left the gas on, lit the house on fire while he was sleeping. Which is probably why he blew up your place.”
He said nothing but raised his hand to the front of her shoulder, dragging his fingers down her chest.
She waited for Waylon to shout at him again, but when she opened her eyes, Waylon was gone. Probably in the office, counting Ronan’s money.
“You must have been terrified,” Ronan said against her throat, his lips so soft that it took everything in her power not to kiss him.
Insane. This is insane.
His hands on her body, his rock-hard dick on her hip, should have felt demeaning in a club where women were supposed to be subservient. But it didn’t feel wrong. If she wanted him to stop, he’d stop. If she wanted to make him hard, she could. It felt like she was taking some hidden piece of herself back—something that had been stolen from her.
“He hurt you,” Ronan said now, pinching her right nipple and sending tendrils of lightning through her belly, coalescing between her legs in a heady, delicious throbbing. “I’ll make sure that he gets what’s coming to him.”
“I don’t want you to die, too.” Her voice cracked.
“What’s your real name?”
“Jenny.”
He dropped his hand from her breast. “Please?—”
“He’ll get away with it—he always does. I’ve moved nine times already. I should have left the night Jason was killed.”
A pause. He drew his lips to her ear. “Why didn’t you?”
I was busy dancing for you in that window. I wanted something that I could never have.
“I thought running would make me look more suspicious than I already did.”
This time, the pause was longer. She was hyperaware of his hand on the armrest, the other at his side. His heat along her spine.
“I know you feel something for me. By holding his name back, you’re leaving me vulnerable to whatever he has planned next. Even if you run off again, it’s not like he’ll just leave me alone,” Ronan said.
Her eyes stung, but she blinked back the tears. He didn’t understand. The second he popped Daniel’s name into the system, they were screwed.
“What else can you tell me?”
“He stabbed me in the back with a pair of gardening shears when I was working in the yard.”
Of all the things she could have said, why the hell had she told him that? Maybe because she’d never said it aloud. Maybe she just wanted someone to know. To believe her.
His breath caught, and he moved his hand to the back side of her ribs. She sighed when he found the scar—one he’d missed yesterday. Then he drew his fingers lower, over the curve of her hip, and forward to her upper thigh. “Is that why he stabbed Mercer in the back? As a reminder?”
That hadn’t occurred to her before, but… “Maybe. He likes games. But if you arrest him and he gets out of it, he’ll kill my mother. I’ve done everything I can think of to get him locked away. None of it has worked. This time will be no different.”
“We can put your mom into protective custody.”
“You can’t. He’ll find her.”
“Jenny—”
“I said no . It’s bad enough that I can’t go back there—that I let him cut me off from the only family I have. I won’t let her die for me.”
He wrapped his arms around her, cementing her body against his. “It must have been so hard to leave your mom behind,” he said into her hair. “I understand what it’s like to watch your mother held captive by a monster.”
The sincerity in his tone finally broke her, her heart sharp and brittle, as if it might shatter. She needed him to understand—needed someone to understand, just this once. Before she started this bullshit game all over again.
“Do you have a safe place I can stay tonight?” she asked.
The thought of letting him go home alone made her stomach turn. She’d be no match for Daniel herself, but she could keep an eye out. Scream in time for Ronan to pull his gun. Wishful thinking, surely, but it calmed the panic in her chest.
He swallowed hard, took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded.
Juliette pushed herself to standing, gooseflesh prickling along her suddenly chilly spine. “I have to go get my money. I’ll meet you back here.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t have to talk to Waylon. I’ll cover what he owes you.”
She shook her head. She would not take his charity. It felt too much like pity, and she needed no further blows to her self-esteem— thank you very fucking much.
But instead of telling him that, she said, “How do you have so much money? Are you a dirty cop, or what?”
“No, just an ordinary detective.” He chuckled, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, one eyebrow cocked. “Do you want me to be dirty?”
The growl simmered deep in her core. Heat swarmed her insides.
“Yes,” she whispered.