1. Ronan
1
RONAN
I jolt awake, the sheets tangled around my legs.
Fuck.
Sweat coats my skin, and my heart pounds against my ribs. The nightmare of saving Tessa still clings to me, as vivid and raw as the day it happened six years ago.
I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. Terrible things. Shit that would keep most people awake. None of that stuff affected me. I’ve always slept like the dead. Until I found Tessa in that fucking concrete cell. Nothing but skin and bones. Scratches, bruises, and sores all over her tiny body. I haven’t had a good night’s rest since.
Running a hand over my face, I sit up, pressing my fingertips to my eyes. The room is dark, the only light coming from the moon shining through my windows. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning. Not the time I wanted to start my day.
The nightmare refuses to fade. Tessa’s pale face, her wide eyes filled with fear and pain. The slight weight of her fragile body in my arms as I carried her out of that hellhole. I shake my head, trying to push away the memories.
I force myself to my feet to head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. The icy shock helps clear my mind. I grip the edge of the sink, letting the water drip from my chin.
Six years and the nightmares haven’t gotten any easier. If anything, they’re worse now. Tessa’s not locked in that hellhole anymore, but the what-ifs chew at me. What if she’s not okay? What if the scars aren’t just on her body? What if she’s falling apart? I don’t know why I feel like any of it is my business or responsibility. Why I’ve taken this so personally.
Before I can think better of it, I’m in my closet, pulling a fresh suit from its hangers.
My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a message from Declan. What the fuck is my brother doing up at this hour? I swear to God, he never sleeps. Then again, I think he knows I don’t sleep much either.
Ignoring it, I head back to the bathroom. He and the rest of the guys have already caught on to my frequent absences, and I don’t feel like being questioned right now.
I quickly shower and dress, suited in black from head to toe, and stride for the door.
Being rich has its perks. Like having a pilot and a plane on standby at all times. Normally, I’d just use my brother’s plane, but that leads to pestering that I’m not ready to face.
“Dublin, sir?” the pilot asks as I duck through the small door that leads me inside the aircraft.
“Aye.”
A quick look, maybe for a day or two. Then I’ll leave, and she’ll never even know I was there. Just like the last ten dozen times I’ve done so in the past four years.
At first, I went because even though I saved her myself, I still needed the reassurance that she was okay. Then I kept going because every time I watched her, it calmed something inside of me. I slept better when I was near her. Now, though… now she’s an obsession.
One I have no business having.