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“There you are,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Can you not be a drama queen and pass out on us again?”
Mal shoots a low smile. “Anything for you, Cinderella.”
For once, I’m relieved to hear that stupid nickname. I glance at Ronan, who watches me with dark lust and adoration.
Shaking the shivers away, I glance back at Mal's weak state. “I guess it was a good idea to bring Bedford along. Chris wouldn’t have known shit about what to do,” she drawls lazily.
I snicker, shaking my head.
“How are you feeling?” Ronan says seriously with drawn in brows.
“Like shit,” she says, attempting to sit up.
“Do not move.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she groans, pushing it away.
“Jesus, Ro, I’m not a baby.”
He glowers at her. Though she only ignores it, sitting up, but keeping her leg straight.
I look away, licking my lips. “I’m going to call it a night. Get some rest.” I tap her arm, then turn to leave, but she grabs it gently, tugging me to her. I whip back.
She squeezes my hand, her lids lowering with a pinch to her brows. She sucks in a tight breath before looking at me with appreciation. “Thank you.”
My muscles tense like a brick wall. No one’s ever actually thanked me before because...well, I’ve never saved a soul in my life. Until I came along with Ronan. He was my first.
I swallow the bulge that's gathered in my throat. “Well, who else is going to make up terrible puns?” I joke, running my thumb over her knuckles.
She smirks, and I slowly pull away, stepping back to walk to the door.
“Anita.”
I tense, looking over my shoulder at Ronan, that warm glint shadowing his eyes. His lips part slightly as if he’s figuring out what to say. “Goodnight.”
My shoulders stiffen, but I nod. Walking out, I feel his stare piercing my back, and the heavy weight returns once again.
***
Ican’t sleep.
Every twist and turn in my bed does nothing for me. I attempt to find some comfort in the thick covers, maybe a cooler spot that can put me into a deep slumber. Sadly, there's no way to find serenity when all that plagues your mind are the incidents you encountered—the regrets, the fucks up. What I should've done, things I could've changed, the missions I should have said no to.
Or tonight, when I thought something was going to happen to Ronan.
I turn onto my side, looking off toward the adjacent door.
If someone had shot him, I would've killed every last person in that building with my bare hands and burned the world down along with it. It grips my heart to where my breathing comes out shaky as the image plays in my head. Each time someone pulled a gun on him, I could’ve choked from how tightly wrapped my throat became. The way Victor spoke of these scars, and how he called Ronan hideous.
What scars? The way Ronan reacted was unlike him; I could tell it triggered him. I have this intense urge to haunt Victor down. Despite the device he claims he has in his heart, I will brutally torture him until he apologizes for whatever he’s done. Then, I’ll stab him in the throat for all the other disgusting acts he’s committed.
I continue to stare at the door, as if it’ll randomly creak open and Ronan will appear. Do I want him to do that?
Yes.
Disappointment plagues a part of me knowing he didn’t come in the room while I was showering—or any time after that. His energy isn't aligning with his actions, and I want to know what's holding him back.
We kissed again, and it only made me desperate formore. I won't go another night torturing myself, not when tomorrow is never promised.
I want him.