Chapter 22 Ronan #2
“Please, Ronan. Hurry…”
I slid my hands down her back and hiked up her dress, a lacy thong the only thing between me and what I wanted.
“Take that off,” I ordered, reaching for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans and retrieving the condom.
“Bossy, aren’t we?” she breathed and stepped out of the thong.
“You wear a lot of skirts,” I grunted, freeing my rock-hard erection and rolling the condom down.
“You’re just now noticing? I don’t own a single pair of jeans.”
“Don’t start,” I said and pushed myself inside her.
Shiloh moaned, and her entire body shuddered. “Oh God. So good. So good…”
I took hold of her hips, trying to restrain myself, though I wanted to take her hard. To try to do the impossible and satiate my hunger for her.
“Harder,” she breathed. “Make it rough.”
Her words fueled me, driving me senseless.
I ran my hand up her spine, over the bunched material of her dress, until I found skin.
I gripped her shoulder and pulled, arching her back and holding her there, halfway out of my mind with how good it felt to be inside her.
Sometimes, I thought Shiloh letting me into her body was the only salvation I had.
“Yes…” she managed, and I moved harder, faster. She began to moan, then cry out at each thrust.
“Your neighbors will hear…”
Shiloh glanced at me over her shoulder. “Then you’d better do something about it.”
My hand moved to her mouth, covering it and stifling her cries. She whimpered, and then I felt the hot, wet softness of her tongue sliding between my fingers.
Fuck.
I held her pinned, one hand on her hip, the other clamped on her mouth, yet Shiloh was fucking wrecking me.
We came almost together, my hands falling away to brace myself on the table, my chest molded to her as we shuddered.
“Jesus Christ,” Shiloh breathed.
She slumped over the table, her cheek on the smooth wood, her back rising and falling beneath me.
I lay over her, nuzzling her neck, still inside her, still trying to catch my breath.
She kissed the teeth marks she’d left on my finger, then her hand briefly cupped my jaw before sliding into my hair.
I kissed her slow, taking my time, showing her that sex was only one part of what I wanted from her.
All of her. I want all of her.
Slowly, I stood, disposed of the condom, and tucked myself back in my jeans while she pulled on her thong and smoothed her rumpled dress.
“Well.” She moved into my arms. “Hello to you too.”
“You good?”
“Better than good.” She smiled. “You don’t have to ask, but I love that you do.”
I kissed her softly, but it deepened quick, the emotions still hanging in the little shed pulling us back to each other.
“Damn, Ronan,” she said breathlessly and put her hands on my chest to push me away. “Bibi will be back. We need to show a little restraint.”
“I suppose.”
She laughed. “Her lasagna is to die for. You hungry?”
“I am now. What’s the occasion?” I couldn’t imagine it was all for me. I hoped it wasn’t.
“No occasion,” she said. She kissed my chin, then moved to pack up her tools. “Except, well…miracle of miracles, that little place I showed you in the fall? The laundromat? It’s still available. The rent is scary, but not as bad as it could be because of the size.”
“That’s great. Are you going to make a bid for it?”
“I still have a lot of hurdles to jump through. A bank loan would be nice. But…” She shrugged as if to keep her hope in check, her smile radiant. “We’ll see.”
***
The meal was one of the best I’d had. Bibi treated me like a long-lost son without making me feel weird or self-conscious. Instead of feeling like an intruder, like I had that first day, I felt welcome. Like I had a normal life.
After dinner and a dessert of tiramisu from a local bakery, I helped clean up the kitchen and said good night to Bibi. She took my face in her hands and gave me a little shake.
“Good night, Ronan.” She kissed my cheek again and then whispered quickly, “She’s so happy. You did that. Thank you, sweet boy.”
She let me go, and I stepped back, a little stunned.
“Okay, what’s with all the whispering?” Shiloh asked with a small laugh.
“I was telling your man that he’s welcome for dinner any time he likes. Isn’t that right, Ronan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Shiloh rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.” She took my arm. “I’ll walk you out. Be right back, Bibi.” On the front porch, Shiloh pursed her lips. “My man, hmm?”
I shrugged. “You going to argue with your grandmother?”
Shiloh peered up at me, her eyes soft. “Guess not.” Then she caught herself and straightened the collar of my jacket. “Bibi says my future shop needs a name. To put it out in the universe and make it real. But I’m stumped.”
My hand skimmed up the smooth skin of her back, over her dress, thinking of the piece she’d made earlier. A mix of stone and metal, the elements flowing and blending naturally. Unique.
Rare Earth.
I nearly said it, but this was Shiloh’s shop. Hers to name.
“You’ll think of something.”
“You’re a big help.” She kissed me and then wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my chest. “I love listening to your heart.”
I didn’t speak but held her as tightly as I dared and basked in the warmth that emanated from Shiloh’s slender body into mine.
Happy, I thought. I think this is what happy feels like.
We kissed until time started to slip away, and then I left her and walked home, stupidly thinking I could hold on to that feeling forever. I should’ve known better.
I was halfway across the parking lot at my complex when they got me.
I heard a shuffle behind me and instinctively ducked.
A club meant for my head glanced off my shoulder, and I spun around.
Two figures in ski masks—one big, the other skinny—had slunk out of the shadows from behind a van.
The skinnier one had the club, and it took zero seconds to recognize the eyes that stared at me.
“Dowd,” I seethed, backing up slowly as they both circled me. I jerked my head at the bigger one. “Grimaldi.”
Fuck me.
In that instant, I went over every time I’d been with Shiloh in the last month, praying we hadn’t been careless. That no one knew.
This can’t touch her. I won’t let it.
“You’re dead, fucker,” Mikey Grimaldi bellowed from beneath his mask. “Fucking dead. I know it was you who tagged my Jeep. I saw you.”
“You saw me tag it, or you saw me the night you violated that girl?” I asked, my voice low and steady while inside, the fire was simmering, ready to ignite.
“Fuck you!” Mikey spat. “You didn’t see shit. But A&M canceled my scholarship. My mom can’t even look at me. You ruined my life, asshole!”
I wondered if he spared a thought for Kimberly’s life and guessed not. Frankie was moving behind me, jumpy, his breath loud through the mask.
I cracked my neck from side to side. “What are you waiting for?” I asked, deadly casual. “Let’s go if we’re going to do this.”
Mikey’s eyes flickered at something behind my shoulder, and I spun in time to catch Frankie’s club—a police baton—coming down. It whacked my palm, and I closed my fist around it and yanked it easily from his grasp. I sent a left hook to his face, connecting square, and he reeled.
“Fucker!” he shrieked, staggering back, clutching his masked cheek with both hands. “Not this time. This time, we got you. We got you.”
From behind, Mikey lunged. I spun again, swinging the baton.
He danced out of reach and jabbed a punch to my kidney.
The baton dropped from my nerveless fingers as pain rocketed up my side.
I took a fist to the cheek and saw stars but let instinct take over.
I put the pain somewhere else and delivered a heavy blow to his gut.
He bent in half, the breath gushing out of him, leaving him wide open for my fist to smash into his jaw.
Blood and teeth flew. Pain crackled up my knuckles, but I hardly felt it.
I lifted a boot and kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling.
Frankie was trying again, reaching for the baton. I kicked it away—it skittered across the cracked pavement and into the shadows—and gripped him by the collar, driving my knee into his gut. He made a hitching sound, and I shoved him roughly. He fell on his ass, clutching his stomach.
Too easy.
I stood between the two of them, my gaze going back and forth, wanting it to be over while the dark place in me hoped for more.
“Well?”
“Fuck you!” Frankie sounded like he was crying. “I’m not done with you. I’m not…”
I leveled a finger at him. “You are fucking done. Stay down.” I looked to Mikey. “How about you? You want to go again, or nah?”
He got to his feet slowly, muttering a curse and holding his gut, but his eyes through the mask showed second thoughts.
Then came a voice from behind me, turning my blood to ice.
“Sniveling little pussies, the both of you.”
I whirled around. A bigger guy in a ski mask stepped from behind the van. He wore jeans, a polo shirt, and a blue windbreaker I recognized instantly.
“Two of you can’t take him?” Mitch Dowd snorted. There was a flash of yellow, and then something jumped out of the dark and bit me.
Instantly, every muscle in my body seized, each one gripped tight in its own clenching pain.
My head swam, darkness faded in and out, and the ground rose up to slam into me.
I convulsed, racked by agony, my vision blurry but just clear enough to see the two coiled springs trailing out of the Taser in Mitch’s hand, its teeth buried in my thigh.
“Suck on that, fucker,” Mikey sneered, suddenly full of confidence again.
The steely, metallic electricity coursing through me vanished, taking the pain with it, but my body felt loose.
I could hardly move. Mikey delivered a hard kick, and agony exploded in my ribs.
I tried to curl into a ball, but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate.
The blows came again and again, as if there were ten of him instead of one.
After what seemed like a lifetime, I was dimly aware of Mitch looming over me. He put out his arm, pressing Mikey back like a referee. “You’re up, son,” he said to Frankie. “Show him what we do to snitches.”
Through one swollen eye, I saw Frankie had the baton again. He danced around me but didn’t take his shot.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Mitch snarled.
“Give it to me,” Mikey seethed, hand out for the baton. “I’ll fuck him up good. Fuck him up like he fucked up my life.”
Frankie hesitated and then flinched as a shouted voice—high-pitched and shaky—came from my building, cutting across the night.
“I called the police, and I’m recording this!”
Maryann.
Fuck, no.
I craned my neck and saw her in front of her door, twenty yards away, her phone up.
“Fuck.” Mitch jabbed a beefy finger at his son. “Go get that phone.”
Frankie jerked his head. “N-no…”
“Get it, asshole!” Mikey shouted. He sounded panicked but made no move to do it himself. “Fuck. Oh fuck…this is bad.”
Mitch muttered a curse. “Frankie, you goddamn shitstain. Go get that phone!”
“No, Dad. No.”
“Little bitch,” Mitch spat. He yanked the Taser’s claws out of my leg, tearing flesh. “I’ll do it myself, but this isn’t over, Franklin. You and I are going to have words about what it means to be a coward in this family.”
He started for Maryann.
Using every ounce of will I could muster, I forced my muscles to cooperate and snaked my hand out. I gripped his boot, tripping him. With another curse, Mitch went down flat, smacking the pavement, the air whooshing out of him.
I hauled myself to my hands and knees, scrabbling to hold on to Mitch as he made to get to his feet.
I managed to get him in a weak choke hold that would last only until he caught his breath.
I grasped blindly, shakily, as if all my muscles had gone to sleep.
My fingers snagged on the eye holes of his mask, and I ripped it off his head.
“Bastard!” Mitch took hold of my arms and flipped me to the ground.
Hard, unforgiving pavement slammed into me. Pain radiated from between my shoulder blades. Sirens—faint but growing louder—rang in the distance. Even then, with my body screaming in agony from a thousand places, the sound woke up every memory of that day ten years ago, infusing me with terror.
Mitch towered over me, breathing hard, his face ruddy in the streetlamps.
“Dad…” Frankie whimpered. “Let’s go.”
Mitch ignored him. “You’re a snitch, Wentz. You ruined a good boy’s life. For what? A piece of ass?”
“Dad…”
“Fuck you,” I croaked, muscles shuddering and clenching.
Mitch brought his foot up and then down again, a stomping kick. I heard a crack, and then pain flooded my face along with the blood that poured from my nose.
“Mr. Dowd…” Mikey sounded scared.
“Let’s go,” I heard Mitch say. “I’m not done with you.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to me or Frankie.
Their footsteps scrambled away, and another set hurried to me. Maryann’s arms went around my shoulders as I sat up, the sirens growing closer.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “I got him. On my phone. His face. He’s done.”
“No…” I struggled—and failed—to stand up. “Don’t. He’ll hurt you too.”
Shiloh.
Now the terror pushed me to my feet.
“Don’t get up,” Maryann said. “Wait for the ambulance.”
“No…ambulance. No cops.” I staggered out of her grip, reeling.
“Ronan, stop. Come inside.”
“I’ll scare the girls.” I peered around in the dark night, trying to get my bearings.
Shiloh. Fuck.
“Where are you going? You have to make a statement.”
“No.” I rounded on her. My face must’ve been a horror show. She recoiled, her eyes wide. “Maryann, listen to me. Listen to me. He’ll come for you.”
He’ll come for Shiloh, I thought drunkenly. He’s going there now.
“He’s not coming for me,” Maryann said, incredulous. “He’s going to jail for what he did to you.”
“No,” I said, my voice slurry. “Please leave my name out of it. Leave it alone. For your sake. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The sirens were getting louder. I shoved out of her grasping hands.
“Ronan…”
I ignored her, hurrying as fast as I could.
Not too late. Please, don’t let me be too late.