by Diana Gardin
Shit. No wonder she’s scared. The thought of this dude having the nerve to even glance in her direction again, much less contact her? Fury.
I pull her to me, holding her against my chest. With a sigh, I press my lips to the top of her head. “Okay, Red. Listen to me. You don’t do anything. You let me handle this dude. I need all the personal info on him you can remember. I’ll find him, and make sure there are no more messages. Okay?”
“What if he doesn’t want to leave me alone? You didn’t know him back then…there was nowhere for me to turn. The night I ended things…he squeezed my arms so hard he left bruises. My roommate walked in on him losing his shit completely…she’s the one who gave me the courage to break it off then and there. There was a time in my past when I felt completely helpless…I never wanted to feel like that again. And then M.J. happened.” Her eyes fill. “I thought I had put that part of my life behind me, Ronin. Having him show up here now, like this. It feels like it’s starting all over again. Like he wants to hurt me for hurting him.”
Fuck. I’ve never seen her like this…didn’t know it was possible. Suddenly, I want the asshole’s throat in my hands more than I want my next meal. “I’ll guard you, Red. Until we’re sure you’re safe.”
Her eyes widen, on the verge of disagreeing with me. “You have a job. You don’t have time to be my bodyguard. Even saying it makes me feel ridiculous.”
My hands tighten on her shoulders just a little bit. Her expression becomes obstinate, and I want to roll my eyes. “Listen, woman. I know you’re all independent and that’s great, but this is serious. You’ve been threatened, your home has been breached. I’m qualified to protect you. Let me. If not me…”
I inhale, because I want it to be me. No, I need it to be me.
But should it be me? What if I fail? What if he gets to her? It’d be just like Elle…
Shaking my head to clear it, I drop my hands from Olive and ball them up at my sides. “If you don’t want it to be me, that’s okay, too. I’ll call Dare or Grisham. Or we can get Jeremy and Rayne back on the first flight from Aruba.”
Before I can list any more options, Olive stiffens and practically shouts, “No! Don’t you dare call Jeremy and my sister. Fine. I choose you.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I pull my phone out of my pocket. “You sure? Because Jeremy’s number is right—”
She reaches for my phone and I lift it out of her reach. Then she actually leaps for it, and I can’t help the rumble of laughter that bursts from my chest. This woman…Jesus.
“Ronin.” She glares. “I said I choose you, okay? Put the damn phone away.”
Sliding the phone back in my pocket, I focus on her. “And you swear to listen to me, even when you don’t want to?”
Listening to her mumble something under her breath about never wanting to, I chuckle and wait.
Finally, she sighs. “Yes. I’ll listen. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.”
The term “good girl” in reference to Olive doesn’t seem far-fetched, but it does draw all kinds of dirty pictures in my mind that I can’t erase.
I gesture toward her desk. “Good. Let’s get out of here, then. You’re riding with me. We’re going to the police station. You’re going to show this to the detective working on your B and E from last night. If you think it could be this M.J. dude, it’ll be good to have him on their radar. We’ll go from there.”
11
Olive
The day has taken such a toll on me that I don’t even bat an eyelash when, after the police station, Ronin asks me if I mind stopping at his friend’s bar for an early dinner so he can check in with him.
Bars like this aren’t in my comfort zone. If I’m at a bar, it’s usually the kind with glossy surfaces and polished floors, where most of the people sitting on stools are sipping cosmos and martinis. In the past, before Rayne arrived back in town, I’d often been out with Berkeley and her friends. So I know the places they gravitate toward are more casual, and I’m totally fine with that. It’s just that the people in my usual circles of friends dance to a very different beat, and it’s difficult to decide where I fit in best.
As soon as we walk through the front doors of The Oakes, the warmth and comfort of the place seeps into my skin. It’s dim, and a little worn, but it’s clean, and the scent of deliciously fried food snakes around me like a cloak.
Ronin leads me to the bar, and I gaze at the handsome man standing behind it. He drops the rag he’s using on the bar top and leans back, folding his arms across a broad, strong chest. The biceps, on display in a soft gray T-shirt that stretches tight across his pecs, bulge with chiseled muscles that could be cut from actual stone. Winding ink swirls over one complete arm, colorful and vibrant in a way that matches the mischievous twinkle in his green eyes.
The smirk drifting across his lips is both welcoming and taunting. I don’t know who this guy is, but the dog tags around his neck inform me that he’s served our country, and the immediate respect I feel for him is instant, much like when I met the men of Night Eagle Security.
I eye him warily as we sit down. The square set of the bartender’s jaw, coupled with the general roughneck look of him tells me that he has a past, filled with secrets and darkness the world knows nothing about. I shudder slightly in my seat.
“Bennett Blacke,” Ronin announces as he points to the bartender. “Meet my guest for the foreseeable future, Olive Alexander.”
One of Bennett’s thick brows lifts inquisitively. “Guest, huh? Sweetness, I’m guessing that means you’re in some kinda trouble, and Ronin here stepped up to help. Not surprising, knowing him.”
I can feel my face heating, surely turning crimson in the dim light of the bar. “He’s…helping me out with something, yeah.”
Ronin chuckles, and Bennett bursts into loud laughter. “You sound real thrilled about it.”
Rolling my eyes, I rest my elbows on the bar. “Can I have a drink, please?”
It’s been a day straight out of the ninth circle of hell. I needed a drink two hours ago, and now all I want to do is play catch-up.
Ronin turns to me, his eyes scanning my face. “We’ll order food, too.”
Waving my hand in the general direction of the swinging door at the end of the bar, I’m too tired to think anymore. “Sure. Whatever you like here is good enough for me.”
Ronin’s eyes widen just a tiny bit, outright shock swirling in the depths of the sage irises. “Damn. I might never hear you say that again…why didn’t I get it on camera?”
I shove his shoulder, my lips curving in a smile. “Don’t you dare get used to it.”
He places a hand over his heart, shaking his head. “Never, Red.” The corners of his eyes crinkle when he truly smiles, something I’ve missed in the handful of times I’ve been around him before this. It’s endearing, this soft side to him. The playful side. Usually he seems like he’s all-business, or either he’s taking in everyone and everything around him in this intense way. But right now…he’s lighter. More jovial. And even though I can’t deny the pure, instinctual attraction I have to that other side of him, even as it drives me mad, this side of Ronin? I’m startled to find that I like it.
And I won’t lie…every time he calls me “Red” my toes curl and my heart thumps a little more wildly in my chest.
Our eyes catch, and hold.
My phone rings, breaking the strange and unnerving spell Ronin Shaw has temporarily placed me under with all his charm and intensity and delicious heat.
“Hello?” I’m unable to tear my gaze away from Ronin as I answer, but as soon as I hear the voice on the other end of the line my spine stiffens.
“Olive? Where are you? I’ve been ringing your doorbell for five minutes!” Ken’s agitated voice snakes across the line.
Oh, dammit! I cringe, and Ronin leans forward slightly, his eyes scanning my face. “Oh, my God…Ken. I’m so sorry! It’s been a horrible day.”
I can almost see Ken’s blond brows furrowing, the a
nnoyed tick of his jaw. “So, what? You’re not coming? I paid a lot for these theater tickets, Olive.”
The breath I huff out blows a loose strand of my hair. “Yeah, well, I’m happy to reimburse you, Ken. I should have called.”
“Yes, you should have.” The quick snap of his voice lets me know that he’s past irritated, well on his way to pissed-off.
An uncomfortable silence drifts across the line, and I clear my throat. Don’t worry about me, Ken. No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.
Ronin’s still scrutinizing my every move, but the taut, lean muscles in his forearms relax.
“Again, Ken, I’m sorry.” Swiveling on the stool, I place my elbow on the bar and lean into it, finally tearing my gaze away from Ronin’s. “I’ll call you next week to reimburse you on the ticket.”
I end the call and place my phone down on the rough wood. Lifting my hands to rub gentle circles on my temple, I try to bring one of the bottles racked behind Bennett to me through telepathy.
“Kenny feeling left out?” Ronin’s remark is casual, but the sharp edge to his tone makes me pause.
“We had plans tonight. I forgot.” My tone is flat, because I’m beyond tired. I’m unraveling. I nod at Bennett.
“Vodka cranberry, please.”
With a short nod, he turns to start preparing my drink.
“And,” Ronin adds. “Go ahead and put in a sampler platter for us to share.”
Back to us, Bennett’s voice drifts over his shoulder. “Roger that.”
I’m not even concerned enough to ask what’s on the sampler platter, but as soon as Ronin says the word a loud growl emits from my stomach and I cover it with an embarrassed hand. He chuckles beside me.
“So,” I say, turning in my stool so I can face him once more. “You come here often?”
His chuckle grows louder and he shakes his head at my silly line. “Matter of fact, I do. Bennett and I were both overseas, and he’s a friend now. I come here sometimes after work. It’s a relaxing place for me to shake off the stress of the day. ”
Turning, Bennett pushes a crimson drink in a tall glass my way, and I toss him a grateful smile. He didn’t skimp, and the first sip goes down nice and smooth. I watch as he slams a squat glass of golden-brown liquid in front of Ronin. He picks it up, and I watch in fascination as he swirls the glass in his hand.
Ronin has nice hands. They’re big, capable, and I have a feeling those hands have done a lot of really dangerous things. His fingers are elongated and strong, his nails clean and cut, but I’d be willing to bet that if I studied his palms I’d find calluses roughing up his skin.
“And you? How was Paris?” he asks suddenly. He turns those intense green eyes on me and I find that when I look closely, I can see swirls of gray running through the irises. That’s what creates the unusual color. I bet if I could stare at him at length without seeming like a complete weirdo, I’d find all kinds of little puzzle pieces that contribute to the whole picture of his gorgeousness.
“Great. I actually stayed at my client’s chateau outside the city. The French countryside is absolutely beautiful.”
A wistful sigh leaves me as I recall how much I loved sitting on one of the balconies and catching sight of rolling green hills peppered with wildflowers. The scene of Parisian splendor sprawling in the distance only made it all seem that much more exotic and amazing, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I could have stayed there forever.
“Judging by that dreamy look on your face, you must have really loved it there.” His eyes sparkle.
“I did.”
He finally sips from his glass, and I wonder what kind of liquor he likes. He swallows, his throat working with the movement, and my gaze is drawn there momentarily. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, not only is it stunning there, I had a friend in my client. Her name was Mrs. Dubois.” The little slice of happiness I’d felt when remembering France dims as I think of dear, sweet Clara. But I won’t ever forget the safety I felt in her home, especially after I was contacted by M.J. right before I headed there. Being in France—and a world away from my problems in Wilmington—seemed like heaven.
Ronin’s brows pull together and his eyes are sharp. “Was?”
I take a long sip of my drink and take a deep inhale. “Was. She died two weeks before I returned to the States. We never got to finish the reno on her chateau.”
He observes me, his eyes jumping all over my face as he tries to read me. “I’m sorry, Olive. You must have grown close to her?”
Nodding, I avert my gaze. “It’s difficult to explain, but yes. I’m not close with my own mother, and the way Clara swept me into her home and her heart like it was nothing at all…I’ve never known anything like it. It sounds silly, but I felt safe there. It broke my heart to lose her and I’d only known her a few months.”
I feel a strong, warm hand on mine, and when I glance down, my hand is being dwarfed by Ronin’s much larger one. “At least you had the time with her you did. At least you got to feel that kind of bond.”
His voice has changed. It’s softer, more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it. There’s a sliver of rawness in it that lets me know he understands the pain I feel when I think of Mrs. Dubois. He truly understands it. And the only way someone can understand loss like that is if they’ve lived it themselves.
“Having it and losing it?” He clears his throat. “A thousand times better than never finding it at all.”
When I look at him, his eyes aren’t on me. He’s staring straight ahead, like he’s maybe not all the way in this moment with me. And suddenly, more than anything, I want to know where he’s drifted off to.
His hand is still warm on mine, and I squeeze gently. “Ronin…”
Bennett appears in front of us again, this time with two huge platters of food. Placing the steaming plates down in front of us, he gives a slight, comical bow. “Bon appétit.”
Ronin sucks in a deep breath and releases my hand, pulling the small plates Bennett also brought closer and separating them. Putting one in front of me, he names everything on the platters. There’s a variety of bar classics, from buffalo chicken wings to fried pickles, and even though I don’t usually eat like this, it smells like the best thing I’ll ever put in my mouth.
Digging in, we’re both quiet for a few minutes while we eat. I finish my vodka cranberry and Bennett brings me another.
We’re about three-quarters of the way through the meal when Bennett, who’s been helping other customers seated at the bar, stiffens. The atmosphere around us changes, shifts, and a shiver runs through me in response. Ronin places his fork on his plate and wipes his mouth with a paper napkin as he eyes Bennett, and then he slowly turns in his seat to face the front door, which has just banged shut.
I whirl, too, and the sight of the man sauntering forward toward the bar sends a shot of pure fear jolting through me.
It’s like fate is playing some kind of cold, cruel joke. No…please, no.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a plain button-down, and although his sandy brown hair is shaggy, it’s not messy or greasy. His face is slightly rounded, with a pointed chin and prominent cheekbones. The dark shadow on his jaw is neat, like he’s only been a day without shaving, and overall he appears pretty well put-together.
He’s different, he’s older. But he’s still very certainly M.J.
It’s his eyes that scare me most. They’re icy blue and they keep moving, roving all around the bar. Searching, appraising, and I don’t even want to know what he’s looking for. They gloss over Ronin, then Bennett, before landing on me.
And it feels like the whole damn world stops turning.
He peruses me like a hungry wolf, and the only thing I want to do is turn and run.
Every muscle in Ronin’s body goes taut, and I draw back involuntarily.
The man continues forward, pulling out a stool beside Ronin and plopping into it. Looking at me, he grins, but it’s twisted and ugly. It’d be better if he just
sneered.
“Well hey there, baby. Finding you here sure does save me a whole lot of work.” His tone is casual, like we’ve never lost touch.
His words slide along my skin like the blade of a knife, and I recoil.
I can’t speak. I just can’t understand why he’s here right now. How did he find me?
Ronin leans toward me, blocking me from M.J.’s sight.
M.J.’s grin falters just a little bit, and then his eyes narrow on Ronin. “You again, huh? What was your name?”
Ronin’s words are monotone. “I’m Ronin Shaw. And if you call her baby one more time, I’m your worst fucking nightmare.”
M.J. laughs. “Oh, man. Don’t worry, Olive. I’ll get to you in a minute. I have some business to attend to first.”
He turns to Bennett. “Guessing my old man clued you in. I’m runnin’ shit here, and you can either fall in line or move on.”
The tension rolling off of Ronin is practically vibrating, but Bennett doesn’t move.
“Your old man,” starts Bennett. He leans forward and aims a solid glare in the newcomer’s direction. “Seems to think that you’re finally gonna do right by him and this business. But I have a feeling you have him snowed. You don’t look out for anyone but yourself. That about right?”
M.J. cocks his head to the side, studying Bennett. “What I do is none of your business. You wanna stay here and manage this dump, go for it. But just know that you answer to me. And what I say goes.”
Leaning round Ronin, M.J.’s eyes wander down from my face to my cleavage, peeking out over the undone button on my top, and his grin grows wider. I swallow down the disgust and wipe the expression from my face.
“Oh, baby…I missed you.”
Ronin stiffens beside me, but I open my mouth to speak before he gets the chance.
“Did you break into my house?” My voice trembles, but I swallow and try to keep my expression hard. Showing M.J. my fear would be a mistake I don’t intend to make.