Chapter 26 Delay the Clock #2
My body’s messed up—taking comfort from dangerous men like Ren and Reaper.
“We talked about books, laughed at strange jokes, had conversations like normal people.” My exhales are ragged. “You understood me. I th-thought we were…”
Hurt scythes through me, the intensity catching me off guard.
What were we?
Why am I reacting this way? When did Ren sneak past my defenses and enter my heart? How can I want this silent man when I also ache for the sensuous Reaper who set me on fire last night?
How can I care about someone who works for the Triads?
“Let go of me!” I kick him. Claw his back.
He grunts and presses my ear against his chest as my tears soak through his dress shirt.
Until I hear the riot of his heart—a chaotic, frantic beat.
Desperate and ominous.
“I’m sorry.”
The softest whisper. Barely audible. Like he’s afraid of what I’ll hear in it.
He’s speaking to me again.
I still, my breathing unsteady, his familiar scent wrapping around me.
“I’m sorry, Aria.”
Something about his voice catches me off guard. Not the sound exactly. There isn’t enough of a voice for me to analyze. But then, there’s the rhythm. The careful shape of each word. Something familiar brushes the edges of my memory and disappears.
But slowly, I pull back and look up.
Ren’s eyes are squeezed shut, pain etched deep into his features. When he looks at me moments later, a faint wet sheen on his eyes reflects my face in the moonlight.
Slowly, carefully, he lifts his hand and drags his thumb under my eyes.
Like it hurts him to see me sad.
“I want the truth. No more lies, Ren.” Please tell me not everything was a lie.
He swallows, then nods.
“You’re a Triad.”
Another nod.
“You’re here to get my so-called key.”
His nostrils flare but he doesn’t shake his head. Instead, he tears off his mask and heaves a deep breath.
“Does Elias know?”
He dips his head. Affirmative.
“Lana?” My throat tightens. I can’t imagine my friend keeping this from me.
A softness appears in his eyes, and he cups my face. Flutters sweep through my belly, and I bat his hand away.
“No,” he mouths. “Lana doesn’t know.”
Relief, however small, flows through me.
“There’s something more…” Cornelius’s silent threats echo in my ears. The ten million dollars at stake. The man in the alley. “It’s not just the key, is it? Not that simple. They’ll hurt me. They’ll never let me go, right?”
Ren doesn’t answer me, and my heart sinks.
“Are they going to kill me?” I ask. “A-Are you going to kill me?”
His eyes flash with something dangerously close to anger. He pulls out his phone, types, then turns the screen toward me.
Ren
Never. I will never kill you. Or hurt you. Not as long as I live.
Then why does my heart ache right now?
And why didn’t he or Elias tell me who he was from the get-go? Why does Ren look so miserable, and yet he’s still here doing Cornelius’s bidding? Isn’t The Association his enemy if he’s part of Elias’s crew?
The puzzle pieces shift until one finally catches.
“Celia.” I think about the lonely girl from earlier—too bright for this place, too sick to leave. “They’re using her to control you, aren’t they?”
His jaw locks.
“And…I’m part of it.” Horror dawns on me.
Shaking my head, I stagger back. He’s caught in a web. A trap. Something monstrous. He has to follow orders, or his sister will be harmed.
It’s me…or Celia.
Without warning, he tugs me into his arms again and presses his lips to my ear.
“I will never hurt you.” Another ghostly whisper, faint and broken. I shiver, my body recognizing the ferocity in his vow. “I will save you.”
The strange sense of déjà vu settles over me—his earnestness and passion, the way he grips me to him like I belong in his arms.
But before I think anything of it, he presses a fervent kiss along the curve of my ear.
And sparks—wrong ones, impossible ones—flare at the base of my spine.
“I…I don’t know if I can trust you,” I whisper.
“I know.” His words are quiet and resigned, barely more than an exhale against my skin. “Please…just give me time.”
His plea lands like a sharp right hook.
He presses another kiss to my temple and cradles my cheek in his hand. The pain in his eyes slowly fades into something slow, aching, and almost tender.
The heat from earlier is back, but this time, it’s not charged or angry. It’s morphed into something else—something lush, warm, and languid. It unsettles me more than the anger did.
A soft melody drifts from the grounds far below, the orchestra serenading us with another piece.
A waltz.
“Trust me,” he murmurs. His hand trails from my face down to my neck, my shoulders, eliciting shivers, before curving around my waist.
With a swift yank, he pulls me flush against him. “Please.”
Then he moves.
Carrying me with him.
Fingers interlocking with mine, he sways to the quickening wind, to the somber yet romantic music. My pulse drops low, then surges high. I’ve lost sense of time and dimension. One second I’m rigid in his arms, the next I’m spinning with him, the rooftop and moonlight blurring in my vision.
What am I doing? Why am I dancing with him?
The thoughts float away as my fear loosens under the haunting strains of the cello. Suddenly, I’m closing my eyes, the tightness in my muscles melting with each twirl around the rooftop.
Each swing brings me closer to the edge.
Each turn jolts a jagged thrill through me.
A laugh tumbles out of me.
I’m losing my mind. There’s no other explanation. Here is a man who was sent to hurt me, and yet he’s holding me like I’m the last person he could ever bear to harm.
And stupidly, pathetically, I believe him.
Or I want to.
God help me, I want to.
I shriek when he spins me wide. I’m off-kilter, unbalanced, my gaze catching briefly on the grass far below. Like the time on the rooftop at Arcana & Bloom, I’m once again facing death with only a sliver of air between us.
But this time, there’s him.
Steady hands. Strong arms.
He pulls me back, and I catch his gaze once more.
His eyes are still intense. Still worried. But a smile curves his lips, and he winks.
Unwittingly, I laugh again, finally realizing why he’s dancing with me now, out of all times.
In the theater all those weeks ago, we chatted about subverting expectations between our talks of torture and murder.
“I can’t believe you remembered,” I say as he spins me again.
Ren’s smile widens, his teeth blinding under the moonlight.
I lose my breath for another reason.
He’s smiling at me. For me.
Spinning me close, he holds me for a beat and whispers, his voice scraped down to almost nothing, “Only the important parts.”
“You’re out of your mind.” I’m lightheaded, weak in the knees.
Whatever he sees on my face has him slowing, bringing us to a stop. Our shoes press together. His body heat brands my skin through our clothes.
His eyes turn heavy-lidded, and a shiver ripples through me as my eyelids drift shut. For a moment, the past and the present collide—Reaper’s possessive touch from last night, Ren’s dominance here and now.
The same dangerous shelter wraps me in its embrace, intoxicating and addictive.
I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to question why this feeling keeps finding me in the men I should run from. I just want to feel.
He presses his lips to my ear and whispers in the same ghostly timbre, “I hate to be predictable.”
Something shifts inside me—the teasing, the cadence, the impossible familiarity of a barely there voice. A riddle too faint for me to solve. But the answer hovers at the tip of my tongue.
The door opens with a bang.
The orchestra silences. Muted conversations from the courtyard morph into shouts and screams.
“Ren!” Sofia hollers, her eyes widening when they catch mine. If it weren’t for her voice, I wouldn’t have recognized her in her platinum wig and facial veil. “Plan A failed. Your move. Now!”
Before I can blink, Ren rips me away from him. Cold air crashes between us, and the spell breaks.
He dashes toward the door, gun drawn, and exchanges a silent message with Sofia, who nods.
Bedlam descends around us.