Page 15 of Heavy

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Don’t answer that. Ken, time to go.”

“Oh, come on.” He swings his fist in my direction, just missing my upper arm by a few inches. It’s no accident; he learned early on that no matter how natural his gestures might seem, I don’t tolerate touch unless I allow for it, which is basically never. Fist bumps—that’s as far as it goes.

“I’m just messin’.”

“Let’s go, Romeo.”

“As long as you are my Juliet.” Only after he winks at me, does he turn to Calista, who’s laughing.

If only she knew this flirt’s best friend is connected to the Cartel. It’s crazy to see the other side, theignorantone. Where she sees a fresh, likely innocent face, when he is anything but.

Ken’s appearance is deceptively clean-cut: no visible tattoos, no piercings. He looks almost respectable, but I know better. Unlike me, he conceals his danger. I wear mine openly. I don’t want people seeing anything but what I am—a monster. Ken, though, hides his darkness with precision.

“See ya, Ken. Nice meeting you” is all she says, before climbing into the open hatch of the van.

As we walk away, he whispers, “I’ll text you the location. I’ll put some good shit in the seat for you, maybe even some condoms.”

“I don’t need them, but the other shit, yes please.” Could use a mind blast to get out of my own head at night, not that I imagine I’ll ever get good sleep, something to knock me dead would be great.

Calista

Why does he have to be so damn hot? Why couldn’t he be ugly? Missing teeth, a swollen belly from all the alcohol he’s downed these past few days—and not those piercing blue eyes that make my knees weak and panties wet with the thought of them staring at my pussy.

I need to pull out Big Bertha and fuck myself dry or I’ll be climbing into his bed just for release.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

What’s his deal with that? Even his friend—who I’m watching Ronan talk to as I hop out of the moving van holding a lamp—keeps his hands off him. No playful punch, no shoulder pat while he joked about my relationship status.

Nosy bitch that I am, I need to know him: Ronan Byrne.

After lingering too long, staring at the ink covering his bare back, I rush inside and nearly crash into Johnny.

“Wow, watch it, Cal.”

“Sorry, do you need my help or do you got it?”

“All good, I measured the wall in the guest room. Give me a few days, I’ll have a desk set up for you.” He looks over my shoulder and I roll my lips together, nervously playing with the lamp. “Anyway… the contractors should be out here tomorrow for the kitchen. It won’t be usable for six weeks once they get started.”

I grin. “Sounds good. I can get a coffee machine hooked up in the garage. Let’s put the old fridge there as well, I’ll stock up drinks and eat out.”

He laughs, then his gaze drifts over my shoulder again. Curiosity wins out and I turn to see what’s pulling his focus. That’s when I spot Ronan, his eyes locked—not on me, but on Johnny.

“Is he part of the contracting crew you’ve requested on this job?”

He doesn’t know my parents. He’s just a guy from one of the contracting firms my employer hires, mostly here for deliveries. There’s really no harm in telling him no…

“He’s family,” I say while shaking my head.

Shrugging my shoulders I turn away from Ronan, my eyes meeting Johnny’s. “Thanks again, you can put everything into the garage that you think I can carry myself, everything else can be left in the living room.”

“You got it, Cal.” He gives me a toothy grin. “Josh has asked about you.”

Laughing, I rub my upper arm nervously. “Right… Well, I need to do something” —I deflect swiftly— “but if you need me, I’ll be in the guest room.”

After a quick goodbye, I turn into the cabin and head straight to my room. Time to dig deeper into this enigma. Honestly, I'm not sure why I hadn’t done this sooner. It probably would have been smarter to check into him before stepping into this forced arrangement.

Grabbing my laptop, I toss myself onto the bed and open it, immediately typing “Ronan Byrne” into Google. Unsurprisingly, the first result is a Wikipedia page. I skip over it—anyone can edit that, and the last thing I need is unreliable information filling my head.