Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I sit down in a spare seat and continue to play with the dog. “What about Daisy?” I ask him. “I think it suits her.”
He watches the dog for a few moments and then shrugs. “That sounds… grand.”
“You hear that, Daisy?” I coo. “You’ve been upgraded from dog. You have a real name now.”
She whines and then gets overexcited, bounding off to go see her beloved master.
“Why am I here, Ronan?” I ask finally.
He won’t look at me. And the tension in his body is only growing with every passing minute. He stands up and makes a gesture with his hand.
“Will ye come with me?” he asks. “I’d like to show ye something.”
“Okay,” I agree cautiously. He’s acting really strange. Even more so than usual.
He walks down the hall, and for the first time I notice that the layout of his house is very similar to Lachlan’s. But the furniture is much less prevalent, and I highly suspect that he pretty much never has company. This is a house designed for function only. Eat, sleep, and read from the looks of it. Everything is clean and tidy, but not overly so. There isn’t much in the house at all for personal belongings. No photos, no knitted blankets or other personal effects that one usually collects over a lifetime.
When I stare at his back as he leads me down the dark and empty hall, it makes my heart ache for him. The only things this man has in his life are literally his brothers in the syndicate. And a dog that he didn’t even know should have a name. I want to ask him more about his background, and there’s a question on the tip of my tongue, but then he pauses in front of a room.
His room.
It’s obvious from the scent alone that lingers there. It’s Ronan’s personal space. Where he sleeps at night. There’s a bed with stark gray blankets and a closet full of suits and shoes and little else. A couple of books on the nightstand and a lamp to read by. That’s it.
I look up at him and wonder if this is some misguided attempt at flirting with me. Or getting me into his bed, which doesn’t seem likely. He’s very fond of taking me up against walls and then making a quick getaway. He doesn’t even like to remove his clothes.
“What did you want to show me?” I step inside the room and take a look around.
But Ronan doesn’t follow. Instead, he shuts the door behind me, and a lock clicks into place from the other side.
“What the hell, Ronan?” I walk to the door and slap my hand against the wood. “What are you doing?”
“Conor is bringing over the rest of your belongings from your apartment,” he says from the other side. As though this statement is totally reasonable and should explain everything.
“Excuse me?”
“And if ye need anything, you can call out for me.”
“Ronan.” I rub my temples in frustration. “You aren’t making any sense. Tell me what’s going on.”
There’s a long pause of silence, and I wait, hoping he hasn’t disappeared. But then his voice is soft and slightly nervous as he explains.
“Someone broke into your apartment,” he says.
“What? How… I mean how do you even know this?”
“Because they sent me a photo, to my phone,” he replies quietly. “With a picture of your bed and your… um… your knickers and such.”
A tremor moves through me, and suddenly I’m glad for the sanctuary of Ronan’s house.
“Why would they do that?” I ask.
I don’t understand. But the longer he remains silent, the more I start to piece it together.
“They know you,” I speak into the wooden door. “Are they threatening me?”
Another pause, and I can almost imagine him taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes the way he does when he’s stressed.
“I fucked up,” he says. “They’ve been watching me, and I came to your apartment. They must have had someone following me. I got the text tonight, and I went looking for you. And then I saw you at the club…”
His words die off, and I understand now why his reaction was so crazy. He probably thought I was dead. And then he saw me up on stage and snapped.
“Oh,” I reply. “Well it doesn’t matter. Because I’m leaving tomorrow, so they won’t know where I’m going.”
“Sasha,” Ronan cuts me off, his voice agonized. “I can’t allow ye to leave. They know your name. Your face. This isn’t just someone I’ve pissed off. It’s one of the blokes who worked for the Russians. Andrei, his name is. But he’s better known as the butcher. I botched up the job I was meant to do, and now he’s going to come after you to get back at me.”
“I don’t understand,” I clip out, even though I do. I understand perfectly well.