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No attachments.It’ll only lead to being hurt at the end.
So, most days, I roam the school or work on my combat skills in the boxing zone. And if I’m not there, then I’m in the greenhouse. I find being there nostalgic. I don’t get to see my mom, but I can remember her and the little things we did together.
“Are you ready, Cinderella?” Wicked’s voice cuts in as I stroll down the steps to the front foyer. It didn't take too long to pack my things, besides the little hiccup when I found my favorite red thongs soiled and stained with something white and dry. If I were to guess, Ronan had something to do with it. The thought of him sneaking into my room and coming all on my underwear should've infuriated me. But it only turned me on. I couldn't help the arousal that settled, screaming for me to fuck myself. I didn't. I just stuffed them in my bag and continued on.
I make it to the bottom step, my bag strap sinking into my shoulder. Bedford rolls his luggage in through the left side hall, waving at me with a lighthearted smile. His smile makes me want to smile every time.
Then I send her a stiff grin. “Readier than ever, Wicked,” I respond dryly with an eye tip.
“Oh, don’t be like that. You’re going to enjoy being with me. I’m fun.” She smirks, grabbing her black luggage from the floor and strolling out.
The skylight meets my eye in a tight sting. “What’s your definition of fun?” I follow along to the truck.
“Her meaning of fun is getting shitfaced until you have no idea what your name is,” Bedford answers as his Louis Vuitton luggage wheels drag across the ground.
“Which is the exact definition of fun.” Wicked pops the trunk.
I toss my bag in with a fold to my lips. “If that’s fun to you, then I want no part of it. I’d rather hang off the side of a building.”
Bedford cackles, placing it in his bag, and Wicked Mal shrugs with a chuckle of her own.
We gather in the truck and head off. Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at GenCre’s private airline, board the jet, and get ready for takeoff. To say I’m not impressed he owns his own airline would be a lie.
Nonetheless, the nine-hour flight is as long as I imagine it would be. But it gives me that time to myself before the inevitable happens. I have to see Ronan. No more avoiding. No more leaving before he wakes up. No staying in the room.
The reason for it all is that I’m humiliated by what happened. Not only by that but… Me finally asking why did he never show at Carter’s funeral? I tried so hard to push the question away, but it ate at me like how piranhas eat at flesh. It wounded me, and…hurt me. I had to know.
Now he knows I truly don’t hate him and that I don’t mind kissing him. The only thing that fills my brain is afterward. The humiliation. Why did he not want me to touch him? And why did I have to practically beg him to have a release?
Freaking submission.
I tried my best to play it off like it meant nothing to me, but my stomach flops like a ruined pancake when I think back on it.
I inhale a heavy breath before disembarking the jet. Time to focus on the plan. Not things I can’t change or fix.
A truck is already ready for us—compliments to Ronan and the accommodations. But it’s a mind-numbing ride. Being tortured by Wicked Mal on the drive to the hotel is truly horrendous. All she does is make confusing jokes with weird puns. The jet lag is tortuous and Mal’s attempt at comedy makes my ears pop worse than when you’re being catapulted into the air. It’s one of those moments that makes you cringe so hard that you have to laugh.
Bedford, on the other hand, is tolerable. He sits in the back, listening to music on his headphones and typing away on his laptop. Ronan needs him to get full signals of everything around us.
We reached our destination—a beautiful, luxurious hotel. Tainted with milky colors, bold panels, and Greek architecture. Valets span the front of the building; cars honk as they pass by; all forms of rich and powerful people walk in and out of the doors.
“Now this is what pleasure is,” Wicked quips, bouncing her eyebrows at me. I furrow my brows, ignoring her statement.
The city of Croydon is nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ve come here twice. The first time was to kill a corrupt pope. He will NOT be missed. It’s disgusting how many people allow someone to stay in control, even knowing the sick shit they do. And the second time was to get rid of a lady who sold illegal bombs. They almost landed in the hands of someone very, very dangerous. After that, we killedhimtoo.
Now I’m here for an entirely different reason with a completely different group.
We stop in the lobby and check into our rooms; as we make our way up, Bedford and Wicked trail behind.
“I am so ready to lay down on a bed,” she says, stopping at a door that matches the light-brown colors of the hotel.
“You slept the whole time on the plane.” I glance at the numbers posted on the walls to find my room. We are all on the same floor and in opposite rows. Wicked Mal is across from me adjoined with Boone’s room and mine is adjoined with?—.
“Looks like you’re next to Ro.” Mal snickers, opening her double door to her room.
My throat squeezes like an orange getting juiced. I really can’t avoid him now. Why does he bother having me in such close vicinity? And is he here right now?
“Toddle Loo girls,” Bedford sings, strolling into the room adjoined on the other end of Boone’s room.