Chapter 10
Anita
L ocation: The hotel
I wished tonight had gone better. Not just for our sake, but for the trapped kids at this unknown location. I never had a reason to care for the other evil that happens in the shadows. I was already living within my own.
The general made sure I stayed in my lane. “ There are some things we can’t control,” he told me.
But I can't do that anymore. Things are different now, and we could have died tonight.
Mal stirs with a soft moan as I stand beside her bed, my arms crossed. She had shards of glass still in it, dug deep enough that it almost rubbed against her ligaments, so Bedford cleaned and bandaged her wounds with fresh gauze. The hardest part was watching Ronan muffle her mouth so she wouldn't scream, and me holding her down so Bedford could sew and patch her. Since she didn’t have anesthesia, she passed out from it.
Ronan.
I close my eyes, looking away from Mal, because even thinking of his name sends horrendous waves to my stomach. I can't get over the way he rushed to her and immediately scooped her in his arms. He cares deeply for her.
It was like he switched from this dark warrior to a concerned man, like how a big brother would be to his little sister. His face contorted in sorrow as if she were going to die right then, and that only brought out the considerate side of me. The part of me that rationalizes why I’m dreadfully attracted to this man.
But it’s also why I’m afraid of him.
After escaping the scene and managing to get past the police, we ran through the back, Boone and Mal already left. Ronan sped off almost as if we were race car drivers. The Gala was a total clusterfuck. Victor trapped us right where he wanted, and now kids will have to suffer because of him.
I look back at Mal sleeping soundly. The way Victor spoke of my brother broke me into pieces. My body shook with so much venom. I wanted to stab him, and then slice his lips and tongue off his face.
The sound of Mal’s door opening snaps me from my intrusive thoughts. I straighten myself, sniffing and tucking my hair, so I can seem relatively calm.
It closes with a soft click. “Did she wake yet?”
His deep, much softer voice makes my heart skip with multiple beats. I shake my head, adjusting my posture. “No.”
The soft tapping of feet on the floor draws closer until he’s standing at the end of Mal’s bed. He releases a heavy sigh. He’s worried . I shift again, knowing I’m not good with this kind of thing, but I always feel like I need to console him, even when it makes me uncomfortable. I’d rather be uncomfortable than him feeling alone in his darkness.
“I think she’s more hungover than anything. She’ll live.” I side eye him. Sketching out his body, I notice he’s changed into his usual nighttime clothes. Loose black sweats and a crisp white T-shirt. It’s become one of my favorite things to see him wear. I flick my eyes back to Mal. There’s a small silence between us before he speaks.
“I always knew this job would put her in danger.” I look at him again. “I also knew the day would come where she would be hurt in the crossfire, and I thought I would be able to handle that...” His voice trails off as he watches her with crossed arms.
A longing pull twists in my heart. I remember that feeling, having a bigger brother looking out for me, overprotective as ever. At that time, it was annoying...but now I would give a piece of my soul to have that back again. They may not be blood, but he’s her family. From what she told me last night, he practically raised her. Ronan runs a hand down his face, continuing to eye her carefully. “It's all my fault.”
“It is not your fault.”
“I should've known a piece of shit like him would have some kind of twisted master plan. He didn't make it this far doing what he does just to sit by idly.”
“That may be true, and maybe he is smarter than we think, but it also doesn't mean we can’t stop the greatest master manipulator. He can,” I add, convincing myself as well. I walk over to him, placing my hand on his arm. It's solid and hot. He cuts his focus to me, then they soften when I give a small reassuring smile.
“It's not your fault.”
He looks over my face, his eyes tired and hazy. “She could've bled out to her death.”
“She didn't. She had me.” I lower my hand, facing her again. “I wasn't going to let that happen.” I never thought I would've considered her a friend, like what I had with my crew. I always pushed them away, and now I wished I hadn't. If anything had happened tonight, they would never have known how much I appreciate them, and that I saw them as the sisters I never had.
I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. “There’s really no promise whether we’ll make it out of the mission. That's the risk we take when we decide to put matters into our own hands,” I say softly, running a hand down my bare arm, my knuckles grazing Ronan. “And there's no better feeling when we finish the job, and we live to see just...one more day.”
All the death and missions have become a part of my life, and that's something that’ll never go away. But what else is there to live for when all we do is survive? Why can’t we live and share our precious moments with someone, anyone...because that day can be your last? “Mal is a survivor because of you. You've given her a power that she wields with honor. It won't be the last time this happens, and if anything, she’ll be even stronger. Or she’ll brag about it.” I glance at him, hoping that’ll pull a slight grin from him.
His lips curl to the side, not a full smile, but it's there. “I think you're right about that last part.”
I nod with a smile, agreeing. I enjoy being the one who can make him feel somewhat better. Even if it’s only a little.
Both of us stare at Mal; it’s a comfortable silence.
“I didn’t get to ask if you were okay,” he says under his breath.
“You did. You asked at the Gala.”
His words float back into my mind when we were dancing together.
Poison cures poison.
Continuous flutters flap around in my stomach. I can vividly recall the way his body pressed against mine, how his breath teased my skin. How safe I felt when he was in my presence.
He touches my arm, and I cut my eyes to it. “Let me see.”
Nodding his head toward the minor cuts and gashes on my arm and legs. “Bedford already checked and cleaned them.”
“I still want to make sure,” he says warmly.
I search his face for a second, his intense eyes doing the same to me until I relinquish. “Fine!” I stroll to the couch a couple of feet away from Mal’s bed; there’s no masking his looming presence. I take a seat, lifting my dress to sit comfortably. I should’ve cleaned myself up, but I was so focused on Mal I haven’t had the chance.
Ronan kneels in front of me, and a piece of his dark lock falls past his eyes as he examines the slices on my legs where the glass dug in. His jaw clenches and his nose flares as he touches my knee. Vibrant sensations ignite at the spot, rushing to the apex of my thighs.
“This shouldn't have happened.”
“I’ve had worse.” I continue gazing at him, my fingers itching to tuck that damp piece back in.
“That doesn’t make it any better. I’m supposed to protect you.” It must be the fifth time he’s told me that, and each time he does, I hate it less.
“You can’t control what happens to me,” I say, forcing myself to hold in my breath while his fingers play around the marks on my skin. It doesn’t hurt. It’s nice...like it’s exactly where it should be.
He doesn’t look at me, though, and it’s almost as if he’s trying to avoid my attention.
“You worry about everyone else, but has anyone ever asked if you’re okay?”
His brows pinch slightly, and his hand stops moving along my calf. He holds it there, and I peer down at it. It’s large compared to my leg. I also take a second to notice the minor cuts and old gashes painted across his skin. Then, Victor's deplorable words drift into my mind.
What about the other scars? That evil smirk playing on his face.
I want to ask him what Victor meant. What is Ronan hiding underneath it all? My curiosity is strong, but maybe it's not the right time; there’s never a perfect moment or way to ask someone about their trauma. It comes off as inconsiderate.
I flicker back to him, and he’s still pondering on the simple question I asked. So, I ask again, this time in a whisper. “Are...you okay?”
He doesn’t respond, but his brow furrows deeper. His jaw rocks side-to-side slightly, and he keeps his heavy gaze on my wounds. “No one has ever asked me that before,” he finally says coarsely.
My shoulders sink. In this world, there are no emotions, no reason to question your mental state, or focus on the mundane questions like ‘how are you?’ It may seem like nothing to others, but that question means everything to us. Unfortunately, we live, survive, kill our target, and move on.
We’re not taught to be pacified.
Yet, a strange pull tugs in me, a distant chill surfaces up my spine like watching roaring waves crash onto shore. The pressure builds and builds until I can’t help myself. I scoot forward and wrap my arms gently around his neck. I part my legs and pull his heavy body into me.
Then his arms hook around my waist tight and he tugs me even closer. We find ourselves in a tight embrace, one I would never normally find myself in. Maybe this is happening to me because of everything that transpired tonight. Or perhaps I’m finally...feeling human again.
He stiffens, not reciprocating, but I don’t care.
My eyes slowly close as a sigh escapes past my lips. That's when Ronan's face falls into the crook of my neck, and he inhales, and I can feel his muscles relax. I don’t know how long we stay like this, but time becomes irrelevant because, for some reason, with him, I somehow find peace again. The comfort I once had so many years ago—it's so far from me I can’t remember that tiny piece in my life and what that used to feel like. It only returns when he hugs me.
I think I needed this the most, as selfish as it sounds. I took a small whiff as well. If I was forced to smell him all day, I would.
“Hell must’ve frozen over,” he murmurs in my neck, his beard tickling my skin.
I smile with a chuckle. Suddenly, my body relaxes, like I took a pill or some herbal medicine. He leans back, my arms still locked around his neck.
“Well, don’t get used to it, darling.”
His eyes are half-lidded, like he feels the same high as me. His breath fans across my face lightly. “I don't plan to.”
I glance at his lips, then back at him. “This is only a onetime situation. It won't happen again.”
“Understood.” It's his turn to look at my lips. Our faces are inches apart; all I need is to move and we’ll collide. My pulse picks up, the energy thickens, and that maddening spark between us threatens to break down the barrier we so carefully built.
Kiss me again.
“I should leave,” I whisper.
“Then go,” he says, but our arms remain frozen in place. I can see the fire behind his low honey eyes, wanting to step into the temptation with me.
“Do you want me to go?”
He smirks faintly. “I’ll never want that. And I think you already know that.”
His answer sends fire through my veins. I look at the scar on his cheek, and I lean in impulsively, placing my lips against his rugged skin. It's a sweet touch. I pull away, and I listen to his breath quicken. He’s watching me as I lean in and repeat the motion with the scar on his mouth, his mustache hair teasing my lips. That single-handedly stimulates my pussy to crave him even more. Greedy as ever, I do the unthinkable and apply a full kiss to his lips.
It's a yearning too powerful that the moment I touch them, a whimpering moan pours from my lips. I've been so desperate for this man that everything awakens in me, and it feels like someone flicked on a bright light in over a pitch-black room. I don’t fall back, I shift closer to him, squeezing my thighs around his hips.
He growls hungrily in my mouth, steadying his arm around me, the other clasping my neck. Tingles gather in my pussy, my clit swelling as he squeezes me harder against him. I moan again as our movements turn feral. He devours my mouth, slipping his tongue into mine, our teeth clashing together. My breathing comes out ragged as I turn my head to deepen our kiss. Severe trembles strike my body, finally setting a claim on whom I've been aching for the minute I walked into his academy. Through the hate, I still craved him like an addict. You hate that you want it.
Ronan lifts us both onto the couch, our lips still moving in tandem, and my back lands flat on the plush pillows. I lift my hips for him as he bunches my dress to my waist mid-kiss, exposing my lace panties. He runs his rough hands up and down from my stomach to my thighs.
“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he croons, squeezing each part of my body like he can't get enough. My fingers thread through his damp hair, gripping the strands to keep him close to me. Scorching fire overtakes me with the knowledge of what’s about to finally happen. I bend my legs eagerly, spreading them wider for him to lie comfortably between. There's no going back now.
He hovers above me, bracing himself on the sides of my face. He rests his forehead on mine.
“If I remember correctly, the last time we were in this position, you nearly smothered me to death.” He smirks lazily, as if he’s still on cloud nine from our hug.
I grin, absorbing his breath. “Now look at us.” He leans in, applying another kiss that leaves my mouth watering. “I can make up for it.” My lust-filled gaze meets his.
“Is this what you want, my little snake?” he whispers seductively against my parted lips. I can't stop the shivers growing in my stomach or the tingly sensations circling around my nipples. He motions his hips and presses his hard cock against my sensitive clit. Fuck.
“Yes,” I whimper faintly. “Yes.”
“Pull it out,” he urges, thrusting again. My pussy is throbbing with need, so I do as he says. I lift his shirt slightly, ensuring I am careful so he doesn't stop me. I wrap my fingers around the hem, ready to reveal his thickness, as though I’m receiving a special present.
Ronan hooks his finger around my panties and folds them to the side. My heart palpitates in anticipation.
“Ro, is that you?” Mal’s tired and raspy voice fills the room
Ronan pulls off me, both of us cursing silently and fixing ourselves. I look up to see her eyes are still closed, but she's twisting and groaning.
“Fuck.” Ronan shoots up and rushes toward her.
That weight is gone, replaced with a chill that I wish never left. I fix myself some more, swallowing to coat my dry throat. I was so swept up in Ronan’s hypnotism that I forgot she was lying there wounded.
Pretending like nothing happened is awkward as shit, but I stroll over to the other side of the bed to see she’s cracked her eyes open a bit.
“There you are,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Can you not be a drama queen and pass out on us again?”
Mal shoots a low smile. “Anything for you, Cinderella.”
For once, I’m relieved to hear that stupid nickname. I glance at Ronan, who watches me with dark lust and adoration.
Shaking the shivers away, I glance back at Mal's weak state. “I guess it was a good idea to bring Bedford along. Chris wouldn’t have known shit about what to do,” she drawls lazily.
I snicker, shaking my head.
“How are you feeling?” Ronan says seriously with drawn in brows.
“Like shit,” she says, attempting to sit up.
“Do not move.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she groans, pushing it away.
“Jesus, Ro, I’m not a baby.”
He glowers at her. Though she only ignores it, sitting up, but keeping her leg straight.
I look away, licking my lips. “I’m going to call it a night. Get some rest.” I tap her arm, then turn to leave, but she grabs it gently, tugging me to her. I whip back.
She squeezes my hand, her lids lowering with a pinch to her brows. She sucks in a tight breath before looking at me with appreciation. “Thank you.”
My muscles tense like a brick wall. No one’s ever actually thanked me before because...well, I’ve never saved a soul in my life. Until I came along with Ronan. He was my first.
I swallow the bulge that's gathered in my throat. “Well, who else is going to make up terrible puns?” I joke, running my thumb over her knuckles.
She smirks, and I slowly pull away, stepping back to walk to the door.
“Anita.”
I tense, looking over my shoulder at Ronan, that warm glint shadowing his eyes. His lips part slightly as if he’s figuring out what to say. “Goodnight.”
My shoulders stiffen, but I nod. Walking out, I feel his stare piercing my back, and the heavy weight returns once again.
***
I can’t sleep.
Every twist and turn in my bed does nothing for me. I attempt to find some comfort in the thick covers, maybe a cooler spot that can put me into a deep slumber. Sadly, there's no way to find serenity when all that plagues your mind are the incidents you encountered—the regrets, the fucks up. What I should've done, things I could've changed, the missions I should have said no to.
Or tonight, when I thought something was going to happen to Ronan.
I turn onto my side, looking off toward the adjacent door.
If someone had shot him, I would've killed every last person in that building with my bare hands and burned the world down along with it. It grips my heart to where my breathing comes out shaky as the image plays in my head. Each time someone pulled a gun on him, I could’ve choked from how tightly wrapped my throat became. The way Victor spoke of these scars, and how he called Ronan hideous.
What scars? The way Ronan reacted was unlike him; I could tell it triggered him. I have this intense urge to haunt Victor down. Despite the device he claims he has in his heart, I will brutally torture him until he apologizes for whatever he’s done. Then, I’ll stab him in the throat for all the other disgusting acts he’s committed.
I continue to stare at the door, as if it’ll randomly creak open and Ronan will appear. Do I want him to do that?
Yes.
Disappointment plagues a part of me knowing he didn’t come in the room while I was showering—or any time after that. His energy isn't aligning with his actions, and I want to know what's holding him back.
We kissed again, and it only made me desperate for more . I won't go another night torturing myself, not when tomorrow is never promised.
I want him.
Without thought, I sit up and amble my way over to the door. My heart is knocking vigorously as I stand there. He could be asleep.
“What am I doing?” I mumble to myself. I question it, but my hand still curls around the cold knob and twists. I shut my eyes, hoping my conscience can talk me out of my impulsive choices. When I get nothing, I take that as a sign to open the door gently, sure to be as quiet as a mouse. A slight breeze swarms past the crease, and his scent pours in. I look into his dark room; the only light spilling in comes from the soft glow of the moon through the balcony doors.
Then, my gaze sets on his figure. He is laying shirtless in bed, his arm bent behind his head, while the other rests on his muscular abs. My mouth waters as the ache between my legs throbs. I step into the room and he remains still, unfazed by my presence; the only movement is the faint rise and fall of his chest. He’s asleep.
His gun rests on the nightstand, and I hope he doesn’t wake and shoot me on sight.
I could lay next to him—maybe I’ll finally get some sleep, too. What if he kicks me out of the bed?
I ask myself this, but I still stroll at a snail's pace to his side. I peer over his body momentarily before my stomach clenches. My eyes grow wide, and my breath catches, like someone slammed their foot on my throat as I look at his chest.
His scars.