Chapter 17 Ronan
Ronan
It was our fourth day of vacation when, despite daily maintenance spankings and having a great time exploring the resort, I started feeling an itch under my skin.
My options were to either tell Wes and see if he would be able to beat it out of me or to sneak off to one of the nearby towns to satisfy the urge.
And considering that he’d been very against murder being a fun vacation activity, I was going to have to go behind his back.
Which was why I was presently mixing a little baggie of powder into his hot chocolate.
“Ro?” Wes called from the bedroom, probably curious as to why I was taking so long.
“Coming,” I called back casually. “Just making sure it’s perfect.”
The powder dissolved easily into the heat, disappearing with a slow stir of the spoon. I felt a bit guilty about drugging my husband, but it was for the best. Once this itch was handled, we’d go back to our relaxing, no-murder-allowed vacation.
I walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, both mugs in hand, to find Wes propped up against two pillows, his e-reader in hand.
I tried to ignore the sight of his bare chest, with all of that glorious chest hair begging to be licked.
I handed his mug over, then sank down beside him, tucking into his side and taking a sip of my own drink.
His arm came around me automatically, hand resting against my hip, thumb moving in slow, absentminded strokes through the fabric of my shirt while his attention drifted back to the screen.
I took another sip of my drink and watched him from the corner of my eye as he did the same.
“I saw that we’ll be getting a few more inches of snow tonight,” he said, not looking up. “Little winter storm coming through the region.”
I frowned. “We’ll still be able to do stuff outside tomorrow, though, right?”
“I can’t think of why not,” he commented, lightly squeezing my hip. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, and I guess there are a lot of things to do inside if we’re snowed in.”
“Mhm.” After taking another sip from his mug, he said, “I’m glad I thought to pick up some hot cocoa mix earlier. This is great.”
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I agree. I think I prefer this over a nightcap.”
Wes made a noise of agreement, placing his mug on the nightstand once he’d finished. When I did the same, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me close, gently pressing my head to his shoulder.
For a little while, we stayed just like that, the only sounds being the quiet flick of his finger on the e-reader as he turned a page, and our combined breaths.
I almost closed my eyes, content to fall into the cozy hold of sleep while surrounded by my man, his warmth, and his scent. Luckily, I managed to keep my eyes open until he finally began to feel the drug’s effects.
His hand slackened around me, and he slowly placed the e-reader down on the blanket.
“Ro…”
“Yeah?”
“Love you,” he mumbled, well on his way to the land of unconsciousness.
“I love you too,” I murmured as his body began sinking further into the pillows. “Sleep well, babe.”
I waited a few minutes, then quietly asked, “Wes?”
No response.
I tilted my head back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were closed now, lashes resting against his cheeks, his breathing deep and even.
Out.
Completely.
A flicker of something uncomfortable twisted low in my chest, and I exhaled slowly. “It’s fine,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s just one night.”
Carefully, I untangled myself from him, easing his arm down onto the bed so it wouldn’t wake him.
I stood, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs before moving quietly around the room, in search of boots, my coat, gloves, and a hat.
I paused once, just at the edge of the bed, gazing down at Wes. “I’ll be back before you know it,” I whispered.
Then I turned and left.
The biting cold nipped at my face when I stepped outside after going down to the first floor of our building. Snow crunched under my boots as I moved, the quiet of the resort further muted by the banks of white.
Since it was late, most people were inside, leaving only a few lonely stragglers out on late-night walks. Because of the hour, these wanderers kept to themselves, unwanting to start up a conversation with a stranger in the darkness.
Perfect for me.
I kept my head down and hands shoved into my pockets as I made my way toward the edge of the property, toward the road I’d memorized earlier.
Every step away made it easier to breathe, easier to think.
That tight, restless feeling under my skin started to uncoil as relief was finally within reach.
The town wasn’t far. I could already see a few scattered lights breaking up the dark.
According to what I’d found online, this place wasn’t recommended to visit by resort guests.
That alone had made it interesting.
Up close, it was worse than I’d expected.
The road into town was poorly maintained, slush and ice packed down into uneven ruts that crunched and dipped under my boots.
Streetlights flickered instead of glowed, some of them completely burnt out, leaving stretches of the road swallowed in shadow.
The buildings looked tired—paint peeling, signs half-lit or missing letters, windows dark in a way that didn’t feel like sleep so much as abandonment.
I slipped my hands deeper into my pockets as I walked, eyes moving slowly over everything, taking it in.
The resort wasn’t far—close enough that you could almost pretend this place didn’t exist if you stayed on the right side of the property line. All that money, all that curated beauty, all those tourists pouring in to spend—and none of it seemed to reach here.
I’d read about that, too.
How the resort had pulled business away from the town instead of feeding into it. People stayed on the property, ate there, drank there, and entertained themselves there. No reason to come down this way unless you were looking for something… specific.
Or unless you lived here.
A man stood outside a boarded-up storefront across the street, hunched into himself, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge me at all.
A car rolled past slowly, music thudding low through the speakers, bass heavy enough to feel in my chest before it faded into the distance. Somewhere farther down, a door slammed. A voice shouted, and another answered.
Yeah.
This place was perfect.
And so I kept walking.
The bar wasn’t hard to find—I’d made sure of that before I left. There weren’t many options in a town like this, and the one I’d picked had come up over and over again in forums and reviews.
Not the kind you’d find on a travel site.
The other kind.
The honest kind.
Gritty and cheap. Cash preferred. The sort of place where people minded their business because they had things they didn’t want minded.
Drug deals.
Backroom arrangements.
People passing through who left little trace.
My kind of starting point.
The building came into view at the end of the street, a dim neon sign buzzing faintly above the door, one letter flickering in and out. There were a few people outside lingering and smoking. No one paid me much attention as I approached.
I was just another body out in the cold.
Just another person looking for something.
I paused for half a second at the door, hand resting on the handle, listening to the muffled noise inside—voices, laughter, something heavy hitting a table, music just a little too loud to be pleasant—then pushed it open and stepped inside.
The door shut behind me with a dull thud, sealing in the almost noxious odor of stale beer, sweat, and something chemical, all mixed together.
My eyes adjusted quickly, sweeping the room without looking like I was. I took in the dim lighting, scattered tables, and worn bar running along the left side. A pool table sat in the back with a cracked felt surface. There was an old jukebox in the corner, half the lights burnt out.
People filled the space in loose clusters.
Men with rough edges and grease under their nails, cloaked in jackets that had seen too many winters.
A few women scattered through—some alone, some not.
Tired faces and sharp eyes. The kind of people who noticed things but chose not to react unless they had to.
I moved further in, at ease in the grittiness of it all.
I couldn’t count on my hands how many times I’d hunted in a place just like this one.
Sometimes it felt like I belonged here in the shadows, amongst the dirt and needles and broken bottles, more than I belonged in fancy rooms that smelled of vanilla and cash.
My gaze drifted from table to table, assessing my options. Not just size or strength—those things mattered, sure—but temperament, awareness, how much trouble they’d be. Who would be missed? Who wouldn’t?
That’s when I heard it.
“…don’t play games with me.”
The voice was rough and irritated.
I shifted my attention without turning my head, letting my gaze catch them in the mirror behind the bar.
The guy was broad, thick through the shoulders, with greasy hair, a splotchy, unkempt beard, and a shirt stretched tight across his stomach. He was leaning forward, cornering a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
She wore a short skirt and thin top despite the cold. Her makeup was a little smudged, like the night had already gone on too long. She had one arm crossed over her middle, the other holding her drink.
“I said I’m not working right now,” she told him. “Take a hint.”
He scoffed, getting even closer. “Yeah? Then why’re you here?” he shot back. “I know what you are. Don’t act like you’re too good all of a sudden.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m taking a break.”
“Break from what? Getting paid?” He laughed meanly. “Come on. Don’t be like that. I got cash.”
“I said no.”
The man’s hand dropped onto the table a little too hard, the action full of pressure, expectation, and entitlement.