Chapter 14
Anita
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T he area where Ronan , Bedford, and Boone sit isn't dimmed like when we were traveling to London. It's bold and bright, giving a perspicuity view of the area. I find a seat beside Mal and Bedford, who are wearing headphones. This morning, I thanked him for what he did for us at Victor’s, and for Mal, but he brushed it off like it meant nothing, when in reality, it means everything. He saved a life even when his job is tech.
I sit facing Ronan, and the tingles skate all over my body once more. Every single thing that happened between us pops into my head like a cinema. His stare is hard on me, like he’s angry. Of course, he’s angry. This is a serious situation with the kids. It’s not like he heard Mal and I speaking about our fuckathon.
He didn't hear you .
Why does it matter, anyway? We aren't a couple.
I swallow, crossing my legs. He roams his eyes up my legs until he meets my face with a clenched jaw and lustful gaze.
I send a warning with my eyes for him to play fair and be professional. Be a good soldier.
He tips a brow as if he’s saying back, ‘and if I don’t?’ Heat rises to my face instantly, like I’m being toasted under the sun.
I rub my sweaty palms against my black jeans, hoping to take some of the secretion away. Shit, I’m going to need more than that to cool off.
Ignoring him is best because it only makes me hotter and more nervous. I brought my cinnamon roll with me, but I’m no longer hungry. I scratch behind my ear and look away.
Ronan leans forwards, placing his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together.
“It’s important that everyone is up to speed on what’s going on.” Before he finishes, he snaps his fingers at Bedford with a stoic expression. Bedford doesn’t hear him, but he sees the action.
He pushes down the headphones, giving a sheepish chuckle. “Whoops, my bad.”
Ronan doesn’t give him a dry look like usual, he only nods with a causal expression. Then he places a circular device in the middle of the table. He presses the blue button, and a holographic picture displays.
It’s the man from yesterday. Jax.
“This asshole,” Mal sneers, leaning forward in her seat.
“We didn’t have much time to discuss last night's shit storm.” Ronan goes into his black wool coat, and he pulls out a firm postcard. The card from the night we went into that abandoned building. Everyone looks at the postcard, confused.
“He’s the one who left this on that chair.” Ronan's finger jams down on the card stock. “Last night, after he killed his men, he struck a deal.”
“A deal?” Mal asks in disbelief.
“Yes. A deal. He helps us retrieve the kids. And we help him get his daughter back.”
Ronan's fingers the hologram, swiping it to the side. Landing on a young girl with long puffy pigtails. The sense of fire burning in my blood with a mixture of melancholy washes over me.
There’s nothing more evil than taking innocent people and dumping them into a world of cruelty, rapists, and murderers with sick intentions. It’s barbaric.
Mal’s face misconstrues into a twist, ready to call bullshit.
“Gabrielle Evans was fourteen years old. She’s now seventeen,” he says with distaste.
“Fuck,” Mal huffs out as she slumps back into her seat.
He flexes his hand; the knuckles cracking as he continues. “But it's imperative that we focus on what’s taking place now. He’s going to help us get to the kidnapped kids before any money wire takes place. Not one cent will sit in that fucker’s account.” He glances around at everyone; his eyes are like pools of blood and fire ready to burn everything down.
“What about Victor? How will we get to the kids without running into him? That might set him off or do something worse and set off the bombs with an alternate detonator,” Mal asks as she extends her hand to take my last piece of cinnamon bun. My hand twitches to swat it away, but I relent. Sharing is caring and all.
“Better question.” I lean forward. “How will we get those bombs deactivated?” Unless he has a bomb expert on hand, there's no solid plan.
Ronan nods to Boone. “Boone. He's a bomb tech. He knows what to do.”
“Enough to deactivate multiple bombs in one sitting?”
“I’m qualified for a reason,” Boone responds in a monotone voice, tilting his head toward me slowly.
“Hmm. Okay.” I nod in agreement, also because I would rather not question his credentials there.
“Now that we have that out of the way. My question,” Wicked cuts in.
“About that,” Ronan says, leaning in his seat, with his elbow on the armrest while the pad of his thumb fingers his chin hair. “Victor believes we are dead.”
Here we go.
“What?” Mal says incredulously, head cocked to the side and brows raised so high the lines of creases are visible.
“He thinks we are dead?” Her voice slightly increased her brain’s processing of the news.
I nod my head. “Yes, dead. D. E. A—”
Mal nudges my arm with her shoulder. “I know how to spell it, ass wipe.”
Boone grazes his knuckles. “What does this mean?” he questions.
Ronan tips his brow. “This may seem strange and unconventional, but we can use this to our advantage. Bedford.” Ronan nods his chin at Bedford, who began shuffling through his bag on the floor beside him. He finds the item shaped like a smartphone and hands it to Ronan.
“You’re welcome,” he adds with a closed lip smile. Ronan gives a slow eye drag to Bedford. Eye code for ‘stop while you’re ahead.’ As he goes back to setting up the phone, I hear Bedford snicker, which only further lightens the mood.
“Last night, Boone was successful in slipping the tracking device into Victor's suit pocket.” He swipes his pointer and middle finger upward on the screen in the direction of the hologram. It’s displayed with a transparent background, yellow lines, and a red dot beeping on one designated spot. “Wherever he left that jacket. That is where he is.”
My heart leaps with a thrill; my eyes glistening like diamonds under a magnifying glass. “We can sneak up on him at any given time.”
“Exactly.” Ronan cuts his eyes to me with the same sinister spark. I like this already.
“How can we trust this device? What if he is tracking us instead?” Mal asks, glancing from Ronan to Bedford.
“Unless he can find a miniature chip that’s smaller than his pinky nail and know how to decrypt an encrypted code, then no, he cannot track us,” Bedford says smartly, tilting his head at her.
Duck lips form on her face. “Know it all.”
He goes back to his laptop. “I know.”
I pull my bangs away from my face. “And what about the kids? How do we intend to get to them before Vic-the-bitch does something stupid?”
“We are going to pay Mr. Jaxson here a little visit. He knows the terms. To get his daughter back, he needs to get us to the hostages.” Ronan swipes the phone again, switching to a full-length collage of all the kidnaped kids. A burn aches in my heart, seeing these innocent children taken from their comfort.
“How can we trust this asshole? Are we sure he’s not playing us like toys to lure us into something we can’t get ourselves out of?” Boone adds in, cracking his back.
“Nah. I know when someone is bullshitting. He’s desperate. The desperation on his face was unbearable; he nearly begged us to help him.” Ronan points out swiftly.
Boone lets out a loud sigh, sitting back, his wide shoulders covering the entire seat.
“It’s true. If he was willing to kill the men to get to us, that speaks volume in itself,” I say, circling my nail on the table.
“Yeah, sadly, desperate men do desperate things. Who’s to say he won’t do the same thing to us?” Mal’s face twists into a sneer.
“It’ll never get to that point.” Ronan shuts her down quickly, his voice confident and authoritative. I can’t help the tingle that slides toward the dip between my thighs. It's deliciously attractive seeing him in his boss zone.
The interaction between everyone is so professional that you would never think that he and I connected so deeply last night; my heart trembles just thinking of it.
“So, what’s the plan?” Mal crosses her arms and her legs.
Ronan leans back, swiping the hologram monitor again. “We need to get to Jax first. Bedford already gave me the location of his whereabouts.” He points at the screen. “We have only 24-hours to get this done. We know they’re holding the kids in Long Island because the main guests he invited are people that live in the Hollow City region. It was stupid, but smart; a good way to lure the parents away is to invite them to a fancy party miles away.
“Based on the GPS, Victor took a flight back, and he’s there now. I’ll go greet Jax like the friendliest neighbors on the fucking block. If he doesn’t have the information we need,” his face turns dangerous with destruction, his jaw tightening, “we kill him.”