Chapter Twenty-Eight — Keep Your Promise #2
“Why do you think that?”
Ronan swallowed. Because Elliot had killed five people. Because Saint knew. Because good boys earned rewards. Because bad boys got consequences. Because Claire was leverage designed around Elliot’s violence. He could not say all of it. Not yet.
“Pattern.”
Vance stared.
“That’s vague.”
“I know.”
Elliot almost smiled despite everything. Ronan ignored him.
“Saint keeps creating situations where Elliot has to choose between restraint and aggression.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed.
“And you know this because?”
“Because they told us.”
Partly true. Enough. Vance looked toward Elliot. He said nothing. Ronan squeezed his shoulder. Elliot looked at him.
“Don’t give them what they want.”
“I’m not leaving Claire there.” “I didn’t say we leave her.
” “Then?” Ronan turned to Vance. “We go together.” Elliot’s face hardened.
“No.” Ronan looked back. “Excuse me?” “They asked for me.” “So?” “So if they see you—” “They already know I’m involved.
” “That’s different.” “How?” Elliot stared.
Ronan understood before he answered. “You think I’m leverage too.
” Silence. There. “Yes.” Ronan’s anger softened.
Elliot continued. “If you’re there, I have two people to protect.
” “I don’t need—” “I don’t care.” There was the Elliot Ronan knew.
Possessive. Absolute. Ronan almost smiled.
“See?” “What?” “You’re doing it.” “Doing what?” “Deciding for me.” Elliot’s jaw tightened.
Ronan stepped closer. “Claire gets a choice.” “Yes.” “Vance gets a choice.” “That’s debatable.
” “Shut up.” Elliot almost smiled. “And I get a choice.” Silence.
Ronan took his hand. “I’m going.” Fear crossed Elliot’s face.
Not anger. That mattered. “No.” “Ask me nicely.”
Elliot stared. Ronan knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe unfair. Maybe necessary.
“You said you’d beg me if I tried turning you in.”
Elliot’s face changed. Vance looked between them with the expression of someone regretting every career choice that had led to this kitchen. Ronan continued.
“Go ahead.”
“Ronan.”
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Ask.”
Elliot looked furious. Scared. Embarrassed. Good. Something real. Then:
“Please.”
The word came quietly. Ronan’s chest tightened. Elliot continued.
“Please stay here.”
Fuck. Ronan almost gave in. Almost. He touched Elliot’s cheek.
“No.”
Pain crossed his face. Ronan hated himself.
“But I’ll stay outside the unit.”
Elliot stared.
“Ronan.”
“That’s my compromise.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yes.”
“You could get hurt.”
“So could you.”
“That’s different.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Ronan caught the back of Elliot’s neck.
“Stop deciding my life matters more because you love me.”
Silence. That hit. Elliot swallowed. Ronan continued.
“I’m scared too.”
His expression softened.
“But I’m going.”
Several seconds. Then Elliot nodded.
“Fine.”
Ronan almost smiled.
“Was that genuine?”
“No.”
“Good enough.”
Vance sighed.
“Great. Since apparently I’m negotiating a hostage recovery with a married couple who aren’t married—”
“We’re not—” Ronan began.
Elliot said simultaneously, “Yet.” Ronan turned. Elliot’s eyes widened. He had not meant to say it. For one impossible second, everything stopped. Claire tied to a chair. Saint. Police. Five murders. And Elliot had just said yet. Ronan stared. Elliot looked away. Vance rubbed her forehead.
“I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Ronan pointed at Elliot.
“Later.”
Elliot looked mortified. Good. Ronan enjoyed that more than he should have. Then Vance’s phone rang. The moment disappeared. She answered.
“Vance.”
Pause. Her expression hardened.
“When?”
Another.
“Stay outside.”
She ended the call.
“What?” Ronan asked.
“Mercy Storage manager is on-site.”
Elliot’s body tightened.
“He says unit twelve has been rented for nine months.”
“Name?”
“Fake.”
“Payment?”
“Prepaid card.”
“Cameras?”
“Someone disabled the interior system twenty minutes ago.”
Ronan’s stomach dropped. Exterior cameras still active. Maybe. Vance grabbed her coat.
“We leave now.”
Elliot moved first. Ronan caught his arm.
“Promise.”
He stared.
“No killing.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Ronan.”
“Promise.”
“What if Claire—”
“No.”
“What if—”
“No loopholes.”
Elliot stared. Ronan held his gaze. Finally:
“I promise.”
Ronan nodded.
“Good boy.”
The words came automatically. Elliot froze. So did Ronan. Wrong time. Very wrong time. Except Elliot’s expression changed. Not sexual. Not exactly. Grounded. Like the phrase had become something else between them now. A reminder. A promise. Control. He exhaled.
“Asshole.”
Ronan smiled.
“There he is.”
They followed Vance outside. Mercy Storage sat fifteen minutes west of Bellweather behind an abandoned strip mall and a chain-link fence topped with curled wire.
Ronan hated it immediately. Rows of identical metal units stretched beneath a gray sky.
Numbers painted above roll-up doors. No pedestrians.
No traffic except the county road beyond the fence.
Vance parked two streets away. No lights.
No sirens. Three unmarked vehicles were already positioned around the surrounding blocks.
Ronan sat in the back beside Elliot. Their knees touched.
Elliot had not spoken for six minutes. Ronan watched his hand.
Still. Too still. He placed his palm over it. Elliot looked over.
“No biting.”
That earned a tiny smile.
“Not in the mood.”
“Liar.”
The smile disappeared. Ronan squeezed.
“You’re going to get her.”
“Yes.”
“Alive.”
“Yes.”
“You’re coming back.”
“Yes.”
“No killing.”
Elliot exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
“Good.”
Elliot’s fingers turned beneath Ronan’s. Their palms met. Vance looked at them through the mirror.
“Ready?”
“No,” Ronan said.
Elliot said, “Yes.” Vance almost smiled.
“Perfect.”
The plan was simple. Which meant Ronan hated it.
Elliot walked through the front pedestrian gate alone.
No visible weapon. No police beside him.
A small microphone hidden beneath his collar.
Ronan and Vance remained in a delivery van positioned behind the abandoned strip mall.
Officers waited at three entry points. Saint had given forty-five minutes.
Twenty-eight remained. Ronan watched Elliot on a monitor.
Small figure. Black hoodie. Hands visible.
Walking alone between storage rows. His stomach twisted.
“That’s far enough.”
Vance spoke into Elliot’s earpiece. He didn’t acknowledge.
Couldn’t. Saint might be watching. Unit twelve appeared.
Roll-up door closed. Elliot stopped. Ronan held his breath.
Then Elliot’s temporary phone vibrated. Visible through the body camera disguised in his jacket zipper. He looked down. Message.
ALONE MEANS ALONE.
Ronan swore. Vance stiffened. Another message.
SEND RONAN HOME.
Ronan stared.
“No.”
Elliot looked toward the distant street. Not directly at the van. Close. The message continued.
OR CLAIRE LEARNS WHAT HAPPENS TO BAD GIRLS.
Ronan’s chest tightened. Vance whispered:
“Don’t react.”
Elliot didn’t. Good. His phone vibrated again. A live image. Claire. Still in the chair. Someone stood behind her now. Only an arm visible. Black sleeve. Knife pressed lightly beneath her jaw. Elliot stopped. Ronan saw his hand close into a fist.
“No,” Ronan whispered.
Vance looked at him. Ronan leaned toward the microphone.
“Promise.”
He knew Elliot could hear. Elliot’s fist slowly opened. Good. The phone vibrated. HE CAN’T SAVE YOU FROM WHAT YOU ARE. Elliot stared at it. Then typed. Ronan watched the letters appear. I’m not asking him to. His chest tightened. Saint replied:
THEN SEND HIM AWAY.
Elliot typed: No. Immediate. No hesitation. Ronan stared. Vance whispered, “Elliot, careful.” Saint:
YOU CHOOSE HIM AGAIN.
Elliot: Every time. Ronan forgot how to breathe. There. Not murder. Not obsession. Choice. His chest hurt. Saint’s response took longer. Five seconds. Ten. Then:
GOOD BOY.
Elliot’s face hardened. He typed: Don’t call me that.
Ronan stared. Saint: WHY? HE DOES. Elliot: You’re not him.
Silence. Ronan felt something viciously satisfying move through him.
Probably inappropriate. He didn’t care. Then unit twelve’s door began lifting.
Elliot stepped backward. Ronan’s entire body tightened.
Darkness inside. The door rose two feet.
Three. Four. Claire’s chair became visible. Empty. Ronan’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
Elliot entered. Vance immediately whispered:
“Stay at threshold.”
He ignored her. Of course. The unit was almost empty. Chair. Camera on tripod. Speaker. No Claire. No Saint. Ronan swore.
“Trap.”
Vance grabbed her radio. Then the speaker inside the unit came alive. Distorted voice.
“Hello, Elliot.”
He stopped. Ronan leaned closer to the monitor. Saint. Maybe. Elliot looked toward the speaker.
“Where is she?”
The microphone carried his voice clearly. Saint laughed softly.
“Still asking the wrong question.”
“Where is Claire?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
“Demanding.”
“Show me.”