by A. Zavarelli
I know I’m being rude, but I just want that pregnancy test gone. She walks to the kitchen and cleans up and I pace the length of the dining room, staring out the window. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Oh God, what the hell am I going to do?
I don’t even wait for the doctor to leave before I shuffle down the hall to my room and scramble through my purse for my cell phone. But it isn’t there. And after digging through the rest of the boxes, I can’t find it anywhere.
A throat clears behind me, and I spin around to find Ronan in the door frame.
“All good?” he asks.
His gaze is probing, his voice tense. And it almost makes me want to tell him. Almost. But then there’s that boyish innocence in his eyes. God, how can one man be so contradictory? He’s a killer, a cold-blooded murderer for the mafia, and yet he can be so innocent sometimes.
“Where’s my phone?” I ask.
My question makes his eyes turn down, which puts me on guard.
“I had to get rid of it,” he answers. “It wasn’t safe.”
I don’t even have the energy for that argument, so instead I ask for his. When he hesitates again, I get irritated.
“I need to call Mack,” I snap. “Is that alright? Or can you have her come over? I want to see her.”
He still isn’t moving, or responding, and I feel as though I need to explain further for some reason. Like he can see right through me.
“I didn’t get to see her after the wedding,” I tell him. “She’ll think I just left town without saying goodbye.”
Finally, my words seem to find a crack in his armor. “I’ll sort something out,” he says.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ronan
“Are you going to kidnap and kill me?” Mack asks from the passenger seat.
My grip squeezes the wheel as I keep my eyes fixed on the road.
“If that were the case, do ye think I’d answer that question honestly?”
“Well, Ronan,” she says. “Yes, I actually think you would. You’re weird like that. I don’t think you really have it in you to tell a lie.”
Her words feel like an accusation though I know it’s just Mack’s personality. She doesn’t know how wrong she is in this case though.
“So what’s with all of the secrecy?” she asks. “I don’t like hiding things from Lach. We’re not doing that stuff anymore. So unless you give me a good reason…”
I glance at her across the car and I know she’s right. She’ll tell Crow, and he’ll rip me a new one even though he was in the same situation not too long ago.
“I needed Sasha to stay a little longer,” I tell her.
Mack stares at me and the car is silent for a long pause before she bursts into laughter. “Oh God, Ronan. What did you do?”
“Why does it matter?” I reply. “You wanted her to stay.”
“Of course I did,” Mack answers. “But not through coercion, or kidnapping, or whatever it is you’ve drummed up.”
“There are people that might have seen her with me,” I tell her. That part isn’t really a lie. Even though I would have noticed. And I would have taken them out the first chance I got. “I just need her to stay a little longer.”
“Right,” Mack says. “And she thinks she’s in danger, meanwhile. That’s a great plan you’ve got there, Ronan.”
I slam my lips shut and regret my decision to go get Mack.
“You know she’s my friend too,” she says.
“Aye. So you should want what’s best for her.”
“Oh please,” she laughs. “Ronan, I’ll give you a week to come clean. That’s all you’re getting.”
“Two,” I bargain.
Mack is quiet again for a moment and then sighs. “You need to tell her how you feel. If you care about her, then she needs to know that. She’s not a mind reader. And the only way she’ll ever decide to stay on her own is if you give her a damn good reason to.”
I mull over her words as I park the car on the street and leave it idling. Conor is standing at the front door, watching over the house.
Before Mack gets out, she twists in her seat to look at me. “Two weeks Ronan. And I want Dunkies delivered every morning.”
“Fine,” I grumble.
“But it has to be decaf,” she adds. “Or else Lach will go nuts. He doesn’t want me drinking so much caffeine these days.”
I nod in concession, but Mack just continues.
“And I want choices. I’m talking lots of donuts, capiche? I don’t want to get bored with the selection.”
I scowl at her and she smiles. And then she pokes me in the chest and skips up the front stairs to the house.
I’m still thinking about her words when Crow texts me and asks me where the hell I am. He’s got a lead on Andrei, and we’re going to follow it up together.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sasha
When Mack comes trotting into the parlor with a happy expression on her face, it dies off quickly when she sees the expression on mine.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I grab her by the arm and yank her down the hall to Ronan’s room.
“Where is he?”
“He had to go to Slainte,” she answers, then pokes around the room in curiosity. “So this is where the Reaper lays his head at night, huh? Go figure. This place has absolutely zero personality.”
“Ronan has plenty of personality,” I snap.
Mack frowns at me and I scrub my hands over my face in frustration. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I know it was a joke. I’m just freaking out right now.”
Mack sits down on the bed, her voice calm and her words careful. “And why is that?”
“Because,” I whisper hiss as I point to my stomach. “He put a bun in my oven.”
Mack blinks. And then blinks again. I think she’s in more shock than I am.
“Mack?”
“Right.” She jumps up on her feet and tries to comfort me with an awkward hand pat on the shoulder. “I honestly have no frigging clue what to say, Sash. I had no idea Ronan actually banged you. Damn. That’s so weird. I can’t even imagine…”
“Okay, well please don’t try,” I cut her off. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s going to freak if he finds out. But he deserves to know. But then if I tell him he’s going to keep me trapped here in this life forever.”
Mack sighs and collapses back onto the bed. “And let me guess, you want me to keep my mouth shut too?”
“Obviously.”
“This double agent thing is not all it’s cracked up to be,” she mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Listen, Sash. I don’t really know what the deal is with you and Ronan. I think I’m still in shock that he actually had sex. I mean the man is like a fucking ice cube. Does he ever warm up?”
“He’s very… intense,” I tell her.
Mack holds up her hands and shakes her head. “Okay never mind, that’s too weird. He’s like a brother to me or something. I can’t think of him that way. So let’s focus on the important thing which is the tiny human growing inside of you and the fact that I have no fucking clue on how to advise you in this situation.”
“That isn’t helpful,” I groan.
“I know,” she says. “I suck at this stuff. Is it wrong that I feel happy? Like giddy. We’re both preggers at the same time. And we’re both with guys that we probably never in a million years thought we’d end up with, but at least we’ll be going through it together.”
I smile at her and shake my head.
“Ronan and I aren’t really together, together.”
“Well, regardless,” she beams. “You’re having his baby.”
Her happiness is contagious. I’ve been so busy freaking out over it that I never really stopped to think about that simple point. My hand moves over my belly and I blink back the tears knowing that Ronan and I created this.
It isn’t wrong. N
o matter how fucked up this situation is, or how badly I wanted out of this life, this baby could never be wrong. I love it already. In fact, the enormity of my sudden love for something I only just found out existed hits me hard and fast.
“God, Mack, I’m having his baby.”
“You are,” she agrees.
“I love him,” I blurt. “I know it sounds crazy. But I really do. I’ve been in love with him for so long. We are so fucked up together, but I love him.”
“Welcome to the loony bin.” Mack smiles. “Come in, sit down. Stay for a spell.”
I half-laugh, half-cry. Mack always has a way of making me feel a little better.
“But seriously though,” she says, “you should tell him.”
“I can’t,” I croak. “I don’t think… I mean I don’t know if he feels the same. He barely speaks. I have to drag every little word out of him.”
“Sash, let me tell you something. I went into Slainte thinking every single person there was sheisty as fuck. And I watched them all, Ronan included. But do you know what?”
“What?”
“He was so busy watching you that he never noticed anything else in that club. When you were there that was the only thing that existed to him. I know you said you wanted out of this life, and I get it, I really do. But are you running away from the life, or from him? Because you sort of seem to lump him in with all the other mob guys when we both know that’s not really the case.”
I blink up at her and feel pressure behind my eyes. Even though Mack is sarcastic and deflective most of the time, she really is very perceptive.
“I think he would take good care of you, Sash,” she says softly. “I think no man would ever dare look your way again if you were his. And he would never, ever hurt you. Because if he did, I would frigging murder him.”
“I don’t know.” My thoughts are too jumbled up right now to make sense of.
“You’re both avoiding each other, Sash. Avoiding the elephant in the room. How long has this been going on for?”
“Years,” I answer honestly.
“Right,” she says. “And it’s kind of ridiculous, huh?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
Mack smiles and reaches over to hug me. She’s getting better at the hugging thing. “Talk to him, Sash,” she whispers. “That’s all you can do.”
Chapter Thirty
Sasha
When Ronan gets back, I’ve got a whole feast prepared for dinner. Conor delivered the groceries I asked for, and I didn’t have much else to do besides wash and play with Daisy.
It turns out, Ronan doesn’t even have television or internet in his house. Just books. And after being here only one day, I can’t imagine how he handles the silence all the time. It has to get lonely. I wonder if that’s why he got Daisy. It doesn’t really make sense, him having a Corgi. So when we sit down to dinner, I decide to ask him about it.
She’s pawing at his leg, and he’s petting her head awkwardly. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it, how unsure he is with such simple things like that. Ronan always comes off cold and well put together, but if you look closely, you can see it in the little things he does.
“I take it you never had a dog before?” I ask him.
He looks up at me and shakes his head. “No.”
“So how did you end up with Daisy?”
“She was at Donovan’s house.”
And with that simple statement, the subject is dead in the water. I’m not new to this life. These guys aren’t in the habit of talking about men they killed. Once they’re dead and buried, that’s it. It’s like they never existed before. And judging by the way Ronan’s looking at me he prefers it that way too. But I do wonder if it’s because he killed him or because of what Donny did to me.
The room is quiet, and I’m trying to think of something else to talk about. Ronan’s staring at the pot roast and does that thing where he sniffs it before he eats it.
“Why do you do that?” I ask.
He blinks up at me and his cheeks flush under my scrutiny. “I don’t like a certain sort of foods,” he says.
“Okay…” I draw out the word, choosing my next ones carefully. “Like which sort?”
“I don’t know.”
If it were anybody else, I might think they were being intentionally vague. But Ronan’s answer is an honest one, and I have a feeling that most of the time his answers only make sense to him. He doesn’t understand the need to elaborate. I always took it as a sign he didn’t want people to talk to him, his being so short and blunt. But then I think about him and Crow, and how close they are. Crow always pushes him for more answers, and I’ve never seen Ronan get angry with him for it.
So I decide to test it out myself.
“Why don’t you know, Ronan?”
He eats a potato and thinks about his answer before he replies.
“Where I was reared, there was sometimes a sort of strange smell in the food. I don’t know exactly what it was. But it made us sick. So I always check, just in case.”
“Oh.”
The room is silent again while I gather the courage for my next question. “That was at the compound, right?”
He sets his fork down. And I can’t read his expression. I never know what he’s thinking. But I know that I never will if I don’t work at it.
“Lachlan said you were raised in a sort of training camp,” I add, hoping he will explain further.
“Aye,” he answers. “I was.”
“Would you tell me about it?” I ask softly.
He frowns, and then, “what would ye care to know?”
“Did your parents live there with you?”
“Maybe,” he says. “I only met my father once. Never met my mammy.”
There’s no emotion in his voice. It’s like he’s telling me the weather outside is cold. Or it’s Monday. It’s just a fact to him. Nothing else. And that devastates me.
“So who raised you?”
“A lady,” he says. “I didn’t know her name. She reared us until we were eight, and then our training began.”
“Training for… killing, right?”
“Aye.” He nods. “But mostly just war. They believed a war was coming. And they were making us into soldiers.”
“So how did you meet Lachlan?”
“I met him in a church,” he explains. “After I left the compound. His mammy took me home and looked after me until she died.”
This time, there is warmth reflected in his voice. Even though he doesn’t say it, it’s obvious he cared for her very much. His relationship with Lachlan becomes so much clearer with those simple words. And I find myself wishing that his mother were still alive so I could hug her and thank her for helping Ronan. For raising him to be the man that he is today.
“Will you tell me what kind of things they made you do at the compound?”
He’s quiet, and his eyes are dark again, shutting me out. This is a question he doesn’t want to answer. And I have to accept there are just some things I may not ever know. It’s up to him to tell me if he wants to. But I will break down his barriers, one by one.
“You could show me,” I offer instead.
“How do you mean?” he asks.
I leave the plates on the table and stand up, taking his hand in mine. Ronan stares at our linked fingers for a moment before he relaxes in my grip and follows me where I lead him. To the bedroom.
I release his hands and step in front of him, nervous.
“I want to feel you,” I explain. “All of you, Ronan. I want to feel your skin against mine. To know you. Will you let me?”
He’s frowning. His eyes are downcast, and I can’t get a read on him. I’m afraid he’s going to say no. So I reach up and touch his face, stirring the magic that lingers between us every time we come together. I want him to feel it too. To take comfort in the knowledge that he’s safe with me. That I would never hurt him or judge him. Because at this point, I can no longer deny that we ar
e connected on some strange level. And I know I can’t be the only one who feels it.
“Tell me what you’re worried about,” I say.
“I don’t know,” he answers.
“But you like it when I touch you?”
“Aye,” he says.
“Do you trust me?”
He nods without a moment’s hesitation. I stand on my toes and brush my lips against his, giving him the softest of kisses. His body relaxes into me, and he tries to pull me closer, but I stop him.
“I want to feel you,” I insist.
Our gazes lock, and then finally, he nods. That mournful look is back in his eyes again, and a part of me hates that I’m making him uncomfortable. But the other part of me, the one that wants to help him see there’s nothing to worry about, wins out.
I unbutton his suit jacket and slide my hands inside, over his broad chest. I peel it back off his shoulders and then go to work on the buttons of his undershirt. Once I’ve got that off too, I grab his hands and guide him backwards to the bed. He follows and sits down, and I kneel before him to remove his shoes and socks.
My palms slide up his trouser clad legs, soaking in the full power of his strained muscles before I reach his belt. I unbuckle him and tug down his zipper. He’s wearing black briefs beneath, swollen from the outline of his hardened cock. My instinctive urge is to touch him. To please him. But first, I want to explore everywhere he’s never let me venture before.
He lifts his hips and helps me with the business of removing his pants. Then I stand before him and remove my own. I’ve done this hundreds of times at the club. For an audience of other men. It meant nothing then. But it means everything now.
Ronan watches closely as if he might miss something should he even blink. He’s seen me naked plenty over the last two years, but he still looks at me like it’s the first time. Like I’m not dirty or wrong or broken the way I often think I am.
His tendons are strained from how badly he wants me. How much he’s struggling to maintain his self-control. So I don’t make a long production of it. Tonight’s not about putting on a show for him. Tonight’s about learning the landscape of his body. Connecting with him in a way that’s more intimate than any other. Knowing his skin. The story only his body can tell me.