Page 92

For the first time, I want to…?sleep. I haven’t had the best rest since I left. All I could think about was the memory foam bed back at Ronan’s. It was so bad I was researching similar beds just to replace the one in Oliver’s camper.
Ronan leans over the table. “I thought it through. I also understand if you all don’t want to go and put yourself in a predicament.” He glances around the table. “I’m going to go to London. Meet this fucker head on. It’s now or never. There’s something off about the invitation, meaning he’s trying to figure out my identity. We will tie him to a chair with a gun to his head before he makes that discovery,” he says with a hard stare, his voice full of retribution.
A knot builds in my throat, witnessing him go from zero to one hundred in a blink of an eye. The passion behind his vengeance matches mine in a way no one could possiblyunderstand. And it turns me on so fiercely my pussy might burst like an overfilled balloon.
Leaning back on the chair to relieve the buildup between my thighs and to get comfortable, I cross my legs. “My only concern is that we are walking right into the devil’s lair. We have to do this smartly.”
At that instant, his eyes slice toward me, trailing up my legs like a well-defined route with checkpoints. For someone who doesn’t want to kiss me again, why does he stare at me like I’m fresh meat on a stick?
Heat swirls up my body, burning every part of my skin.Whydoes he do this? He pushes me away after the most mind chattering kiss while I’m near orgasmic release, then switches route like a bad interception, offering my own room, practically forcing me to wear a coat. Is it his intention to mindfuck me? Play me like an idiot?
I shouldn’t care.I don’t care!The kiss was part of a deal that I lost like a missing tooth. So, it meant nothing.
I wouldn’t be surprised if you two are fucking.
He finally lands on my face. His stare is hard and eyes dilated, as if he wants me to hear his thoughts, or to melt my soul away and keep it for himself.Stop.My eyes skate to Wicked Mal and Boone, who don’t seem to notice.
Boone watches me intensely, his fingers intertwined in a fist pressed to his chin. Gosh, I thought Ronan was terrifying. His piercing green eyes are wildly unbearable. While Wicked Mal leans fully back in her chair, her legs pushed straight out with one foot over the other. As if they are waiting for me to give them an answer.
“What do you suggest then, Cinderella?” Wicked speaks, tilting her head.
I flick my gaze at Ronan, who continues staring at me. “I say we go two days before. Thisball isin another week, ampletime to prepare, of course, and enough time to expect the unexpected.”
“Get ahead beforehand,” Boone adds in, cracking his neck.
“Yes, exactly; at least we can see what we are working with—either way, we may get blindsided. But at least we can be prepared. We don’t know how strong this guy became. If he can pack up a full warehouse and leave no trace behind, then he has hefty connections.”
Everyone nods their head slowly in agreement. “I’m coming along.”
Our heads all snap to the voice. Bedford stands a few feet behind me, eating what looks like white soup. Clam Chowder. Disgusting.
Ronan shakes his head. “No, I need you here. We will take Chris.”
Bedford lowers his soup with one hand, a bugged expression plastered on his face.
“Why not? Chris isn’t as good as I am. Let me come.”
I look over to Ronan, his fingers pinching the roof of his nose from agitation and eyes shut. I contain a smile from spilling out. The relationship between the two reminds me of an older brother dealing with his younger, more carefree brother.
“Plus, I’ve never been to London before.”
“It’s not a party, Bedford; it’s not to have fun.” Wicked Mal spits out.
I shrug lightly. “Well. Technically, it is a party.”
There’s a tiny soft spot in my heart for Bedford. After speaking with him yesterday and seeing the pictures he showed me, it tugged at a place in my heart that I thought I stowed away forever.
Hope. Hope that you can have?…Happiness?I don’t fucking know; let me ignore that.
“Not helping,” Ronan groans, pointing his long fingers at me with a straight palm. The smile breaks free, and I wink at Bedford, who looks pleased I stepped in.
Threading his fingers through his wavy hair. He daggers his eyes at Bedford. “You’ll stay in the hotel. You will not step foot outside of it unless it’s from us coming and going.”
Bedford spreads a wide smile on his face, nearly jumping up. “Okay. Daddy Headman.”
Ronan narrows his eyes, his molars clenching. Bedford raising his hand up. “I mean, yes, sir.” He salutes Ronan before backing away and out of view.
Wicked leans forward, raising the side of her mouth in wary. “He’s right; he is better than Chris.”