Page 10

10

Ronan

N ow that was entertaining. My intention was to mess with her, and I was quite successful.

I’d already received the text from my brother asking if I would come for dinner, and agreed to go. I want to understand why it was so imperative to Calista that she stay here with me, and not her parents.

I’d been working out, turning the garage into a makeshift sauna, when a ping from the security feed alerted me to a car pulling into the driveway. It looked expensive—not the same as Eamon’s when he picked me up. I assumed it was one of her friends, but to my delight it turned out to be her mother.

I’ll be honest, I may have fucked myself over. I didn’t plan to touch her, but when I saw the goosebumps rising on her skin as my fingers hovered close, resisting her became impossible. I meant what I said to Ken. I don’t plan on fucking her, but I never said I wouldn’t touch.

Now, as I lean against the table I’d been hiding behind moments ago, Calista walks back into the house, her face flushed crimson, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I smirk.

“Thank you,” she says before taking a deep breath. “Please don’t go to dinner.”

I wet my bottom lip, sucking in air through my teeth before letting out a low tut. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, baby girl. Who am I to skip a family gathering?” My tone is laced with mockery, leaning into the edge of condescension. She lied and ran from me, so I’m going to be an asshole and tease the fuck out of her.

Her stunning green eyes finally meet mine, and I can see the silent plea in the slight quiver of her bottom lip. It’s cute, in that bratty kind of way. I shouldn’t be attracted to it, but alas, I’m fighting an erection.

She doesn't say a word. Instead, she throws her head back and turns toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

I take two wide strides and block her path. She’s getting better at not touching me, and if I weren’t such a prick I’d praise her for doing what she’s been told. Except, it’s the bare minimum I’ve asked—no, demanded. If she’s a good girl, like earlier, I’ll leave her alone. Until then…

“You know.” I tuck one hand into my pocket, and rest the other against the wall, leaning into it. “You smell so much better than you did before.”

Her sharp intake of air gets caught. “My pussy, or my body wash.”

Her cunt smelled fucking divine, and I imagine she tastes just as perfect.

“Be careful with that tongue of yours, or else.” I huff out a laugh. “Cucumber, I think is what that is. Now you don’t smell like ass.”

Her eyes widen. “Fuck you, I didn’t smell like ass. Just because you don’t like the smell of coconut and vanilla doesn’t constitute you being a dick!”

“Just use the lotion, it works perfectly fine.”

My head ticks, and I take a step back. “Keep in mind, I’ll burn this place down if you bring that smell in here again.”

She basically shouts in my face. “What is with you? Why are you so—”

“Violent?” I cut her off. “You have no idea what that word means if you think what I’ve done thus far is under that definition, baby girl.”

“Stop calling me that.” The defiance in her tone makes my cock twitch.

“Then, little niece.”

“I’m not your niece.”

“You’re my brother’s stepdaughter, I think that constitutes as you being that,” I state matter of fact.

When she balls up her hands into fists, I egg her to use them. “Go ahead, use them. I give you permission to touch me.” Before she can respond, I add, “For violence .”

Her breathing is choppy, pupils dilated as she slightly raises her right hand. I’d never hit her back, especially after giving her permission. Contrary to what she may think , punching a woman isn’t high on my list of wants.

I can’t say I won’t slap her, because something tells me I will. Whether it’s her ass or not, is still to be determined.

Just as I think she's about to actually follow through and hit me, she sidesteps, slipping between me and the wall. Her retreat quickens, and the sound of her door closing behind her only makes my grin widen.

I chuckle and place my hand down over my cock, needing to adjust. She probably just saved herself, because if she had hit me I don’t know where I would have found the restraint not to hurt her in all the ways she’s been begging for these past few days.

Calista left about an hour before me, and I took my sweet time riding the highway to my brother's place, regretting every mile. I’m not entirely sure what the point of this is, other than to learn a little about my step-niece. It’s completely out of curiosity’s sake, because I’ll be out of this damn state in a few months; leaving everything, including her behind.

No, scratch that—this whole continent feels too close. Honestly, anywhere I won’t run into ghosts of my past would be perfect. Most of them are dead, even if it doesn’t feel that way. It’s like they are still haunting my every free fucking step I take.

When I finally pull up to my brother’s place, I take in the large, historic-style house, its stone exterior and dark wooden accents giving it a solid, timeless look. The place is set in a neighborhood of older homes recently renovated under the Colorado UP Act—something I only know about because Calista and the contractors kept talking about tax breaks.

I’ve been paying way too much attention to her and her projects. It’s becoming irritating.

I cut the engine of my matte-black r125 and stand, eyeing the elevated house surrounded by mature trees and a perfectly manicured lawn. It’s past seven, and the lights inside cast a warm glow. Through the sheer curtains, I can see people moving around; one of them is Eamon. The thought of turning back, retreating to my solitude, hits me hard.

Then I spot Calista passing by the window, wearing a dress that hugs her figure—a far cry from the leggings and t-shirt she had on when she left. I can’t quite make out the color, but it’s enough to have me linger a second longer. She does have such a nice ass and set of tits.

I take off my helmet, making my way up the steps to the porch, which is flanked by thick stone columns.

After another deep breath, I knock on the door.

“I’ll get it.” Irrationally, I’m frustrated that it isn’t Calista that calls out.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got it.”

There she is .

I hear the rush of footsteps approaching the door, and I shift slightly, leaning to the side and tilting my head just as it swings open.

The dress is the color of red wine, and it’s the first thing I notice as light spills out onto the darkened porch. It clings just above her knees, the fabric stretched to fit every perfect curve.

She may be wearing a bra, but she sure as shit isn’t wearing any panties, I’d easily see the divots of them with how that dress frames her. The thought of finding out if I’m right or not would have me getting hard, but thankfully she says something.

“Evening.” I let my gaze travel up to her face, where a smug smile plays on her lips which are painted a dusty rose. “You must be Ronan.”

This is wrong—this game that we are playing, but fucking Christ , my cock is thickening behind my jeans. We are just living with each other, but keeping it a secret feels far dirtier than it is.

Dragging my hand down my torso, I unzip my leather jacket, giving her a half-smile. “You must be my brother's stepdaughter.”

Her nostrils flare slightly as she tries to maintain her smile.

The sound of approaching footsteps should break our gaze, but we both hold firm in defiance. I can sense how much I intimidate her and how desperately she wants to run, yet she still dares to taunt the beast within me. If I weren’t so hell-bent on controlling the surge of desire rising in my pants right now, she’d be in real trouble.

“Ronan!” Eamon says as he comes into view right behind my step-niece. “I’m glad you actually came—” Not yet… “—this is my stepdaughter, Calista.”

He places his hands onto her shoulders, and an irrational part of me wants to slam my fist into his nose for touching her. It’s the same sensation I got in the woods when that security guard had his hands on her.

Strange, because really, I shouldn’t care.

“I dressed a bit too casual, it would seem.” I finally remove my gaze away from her to look up into my brother’s brown eyes. “She’s dressed like a hooker, and you, a grown-ass man ready for prom.”

He laughs nervously, and I hear Calista huff before saying, “You look like you just crawled out of a Goodwill. Can’t always look our best, now can we?”

I bite my tongue, shaking my head with a chuckle. When I look back at her, I silently convey she will pay for that. A blush rises on her cheeks before she quickly turns away and rushes off.

The moment I’m moving into the house, Eamon steps in front of me, halting my progress.

“Hey, listen…” He releases an exhausted sigh. “My wife, Jasmine, she’s very straight edged. It’s the lawyer in her. She is also very protective of Calista.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I mean, I am... but you were obviously joking about the outfit thing.”

I wasn’t. She’s dressed like a hooker, while he looks ready to chaperone at a high school prom night. Not that I’m complaining at all about how Cal is dressed, I indeed like it. Far too much, honestly.

“Jasmine won't appreciate those kinds of jokes.”

I lower my voice. “Why’d you invite me, Brother?” I raise an eyebrow and step toward him. As if afraid, he instinctively takes a step back.

“I wanted to have you meet my family, maybe interact with some normalcy and get out of the cabin.”

I have to admit, it seems odd that Jasmine and my brother haven’t discussed the cabin, even in passing, in the three weeks since Calista moved in. Sure, they might just be too busy for it to come up, but I can’t imagine not mentioning something like that to my own partner. Then again, I'm hardly in a position to give relationship advice.

“I see.” I step to his side. “I’ll keep my jokes to myself.”

They had been setting up the table when I pulled up to the house, and I’m grateful it seems everything is ready. It saves us from that awkward period of lingering or sitting in the living room, nursing drinks and struggling with small talk.

I step into the dining area, taking in the more modern style, quite a contrast to the rustic exterior. I spot a woman bringing in a bottle of wine. Her long, thick white hair immediately reminds me of Calista’s, and I guess that’s where she gets it. Her dark hazel eyes are fixed on me, cautious and assessing.

I stop just a few feet from the table, which is dressed in what looks like expensive dishes and cutlery. Rich people , I scoff. I’ve never understood the point of a formal dining setup; it’s just for eating, so why dress it up like a showroom when it’s all going to get messy anyway?

Cal enters through a nearby door—the aroma makes it clear it’s the kitchen—setting down a dish that looks like mashed potatoes.

“You must be Ronan.” It’s as though her mother finds her manners finally and crosses the room. Her hand extends out to me, and I simply look down at it. “I’m Jasmine Byrne, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Is it now?” I tuck a hand into my pocket and offer her a basic ‘if I must’ smile. “Pleasure, Mrs. Byrne. You’ll excuse me, I don’t…” I wave my free hand toward hers, shooing it away. “Touch. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“Oh.” She quickly pulls her arm away and looks beyond me, just as Eamon walks past. “That’s okay. I’ve heard people coming out of prison have certain sensory issues. Never met one with a touch thing. Have you seen a specialist?”

I just know this bitch isn’t talking to me as though I’m a child . She has no business trying to teach me anything. I’ve probably lived through more in reality than she could ever imagine.

I’m opening my mouth to tell her to fuck off, when Eamon cuts in. “Prison didn’t do that, honey.” It’s all he offers, because he knows exactly what did do this to me.

Who did this to me.

My eyes drift to Calista, who looks slightly mortified staring at her mother. But as her gaze meets mine, that expression softens, melting into curiosity.

Wouldn’t you like to know, baby girl…

“Anyway,” Jasmine says through clearing her throat. “I hope you have no food aversions.”

“As long as there ain’t poison in it, I’ll eat it.”

Cal hastily takes the seat beside the empty one closest to me. Just as I’m going to sit beside her, her mother says, “Why don’t I sit beside you, sweetheart? Let your dad sit with his brother.”

Calista gets comfortable, and as if I hadn’t heard Jasmine, I sit. “Mom, please,” she says through a frustrated sigh. “What is he going to do, stab me?”

I might, but not with a knife.

Jasmine mutters something unintelligible, but I ignore it and dig right in. I’m not even that hungry, just wanting to get this meal over with.

I serve myself a small portion of everything—chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus—and eat in silence. My step-niece doesn’t ask; she simply pours me a glass of red wine, filling her own afterward.

About ten minutes pass in silence, and I find myself wishing I were a faster eater. I used to be, my first time in prison—you learned to eat quick, or someone else would finish it for you. By the time I went back, though, I was the one eating everyone else’s food.

“Ronan,” Jasmine says after finishing the food in her mouth. “Where are you staying right now?”

I look up at my brother, who is slowly going pale. Obviously he hadn’t expected her to be so blunt, but in my experience with the rich, I’m not surprised. Fucked a Mafia Princess during my small stint outside of prison and saw just how money can influence someone’s personality. It makes them feel superior and untouchable.

As much as I could give two fucks about ruining their relationship with the truth of my residency, I don’t want Cal to leave the cabin just yet.

“Why? You going to come stalk me?”

Her eyes widen, and before she can say anything, it’s Calista that interrupts. “Mom, that’s rude to ask.”

“I’m just wondering.”

“Here in Colorado,” I offer.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Jasmine says, but her eyes are on her daughter, not me. When she finally looks back at me, she continues, “So, what are you doing now?”

I take another bite of food and lean back slightly in my chair. I anticipated being drilled about my life, so it doesn’t catch me off guard. “Stroking my cock” —Calista snorts, and I’m pretty sure I catch a glimpse of food flying from the corner of my eye— “and working on going back to school.” Jasmine’s eyes widen, and I give her a lazy smile. “One of those is true.”

“Okay,” my brother says while grabbing his wine glass and taking a sip. “Calista has a master’s degree in architecture and design. She constructed the interior of this home, and has quite the talent in seeing the broken, then fixing it into something beautiful. This old Victorian was nothing but old wooden planks and ghosts.”

I turn my attention to her, resting my elbow on the table and leaning into my hand. Her eyes are wide and round, her usual siren gaze transformed into something more innocent, like a startled doe. The soft pink hue spreading across her cheeks makes me want nothing more than to see her embarrassed every single second I’m in her presence.

“You like to fix broken things?” My question absolutely has a double meaning, because I see the way she stares at me. While I could argue it’s because she’s attracted to me, there is more to her curious gaze.

She swallows. “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Nothing is truly broken; it just needs special attention to bring it back to what it used to be.”

Shifting my hand into a fist, I rest against my knuckles. “Interesting. Would you say the same about the Tower of Pisa? The Colosseum of Rome?”

Her shocked expression stirs a pang of anger in me. Does she really think I’m stupid? It’s as if she’s surprised I even know what those are.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Imperfect imperfections,” I say. “Not everything needs nor wants to be fixed.”

“And you—”

Cal is cut off by her mother’s abrupt question. “Did you go to college in prison?” I can’t help but wish I were having dinner just with my step-niece. “From what Eamon says, you guys didn’t travel when you were young.”

I struggle to tear my gaze away from Cal, but I know I have to, otherwise I’ll find myself under a different kind of scrutiny. Turning to face my brother and his wife, I force a smile. “No, I graduated high school. Everything else I learned was from my own self desire to be smarter, to keep up with the privileged.”

She offers a smile that deepens the wrinkles around her eyes. “A self-starter—that’s wonderful.” The way she speaks to me feels patronizing. I’m thirty-eight years old, a killer with a traumatic past, not some child who needs coddling.

As I’m taking one of the last bites on my plate, she continues, “Are you on parole?”

“Jasmine—”

“Mom!”

I don’t need either of them jumping to my defense. “No, parole isn’t for someone like me, I’m afraid.”

She tilts her head, and I can see the attorney in her. I’m about to destroy her little fragile self if she continues.

“Why is that?”

I laugh without any humor, shaking my head. “Parole is for those deemed worthy of help. Those who aren’t offered that gift are just expected to screw up and end up right back in.”

Cal shifts beside me, clearly uncomfortable.

“That isn’t right.” I’m not surprised at Jasmine’s dismissal. “I can look into it for you and see—”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me.” I deliver the statement slowly, and methodical, so she doesn’t miss a single letter. “I’m not here for help, or to tell you how fucked up our system is. I’m here for free food, and because my brother feels this will begin our healing process.”

But oh, how fucking wrong he is.

“The chicken came out lovely,” Eamon says, trying to cut into the tiff.

I push my plate back and rest my elbows on the table, propping my chin on the back of my laced fingers. I narrow my eyes at Jasmine, waiting for her to continue. It’s like everyone thinks they know what’s best for me and feels entitled to offer their unsolicited advice.

“You had to expect I’d ask. Now that you know where we live, I’m just trying to keep my family safe.”

Safe, huh?

“Why the fuck did you agree to it then?” Cal nearly screams, and a chill runs down the side of my body closest to her. “You’re being a cunt, Mother.”

“Wow, sweetheart, I’m not—”

“Yes you are, and you are embarrassing me, and Eamon!”

I don’t feel anything, currently, other than my cock growing because of her elevated tone. Everything is public information, especially for a lawyer. I have no doubt she’s already looked up my history. Maybe she hasn’t gone deep enough, or perhaps she has and that’s the reason for this aggression. Because who in their right mind would want such heavy baggage weighing down their perfect little family?

I hum. “All good, Mrs. Byrne. If I really cared to know where you lived, I’d have looked it up. After all… I’m a criminal, I’m pretty good at doing bad things .”

“I’m just saying that with your history, I have to—”

“Mother, stop.” Calista needs to settle down or it will look strange that she’s defending me. Even I find myself oddly intrigued. Why does she care?

“Honey.” Eamon leans into her and places an arm over her shoulder. “He isn’t that type of criminal. Don’t pass judgement.”

That type of criminal—thanks, Bro.

I’ve often wondered if my brother would ever have the courage to reveal the truth about why I ended up in prison at seventeen and was tried as an adult. Clearly, he hasn’t. I can’t help but think it might be out of shame for dismissing me like everyone else did.

Looking at him, I see our dad, and a wave of hatred flashes across my eyes. It’s a shadow of darkness, it’s evil , reminding me that I will always be the outcast. Always the one that fucked up because I never spoke up sooner.

I hate him—no, I hate all of them. Every man in my life who was supposed to be a pillar of strength and fortitude has played a part in my destruction, shaping me into this type of criminal .

Jasmine pulls me from my rage by excessively sticking her fork into a piece of meat. As I look at her, she forces a smile at me. “No judgement, just curious if you were put on parole after you were released the first time.” Her tone is smooth yet undeniably patronizing, tinged with that rich, privileged air.

“That’s it.” Calista slams her hands onto the table. “You are such a hypocrite, Mother. Drilling him when you are—”

“Calista!” Jasmine raises her voice over her daughter’s.

That’s my cue.

“I’ll see myself out,” I say while standing.

I’m not one to hit women, but my patience has its limits. It’s not so much about how she’s treating me; it’s more for Cal’s sake. If they start a heated argument, the only person I’ll be defending is that blonde-haired Barbie doll, and explaining why I care will be a whole other challenge.

I hear heavy feet coming up behind me, but I grab my helmet sitting near the entrance to the front door, and rush outside.

“Ronan, wait.”

Swinging around, causing him to immediately halt a few feet from me, I square my shoulders and make myself bigger. I’m already so to him, but I’m here to make a point.

“I waited far too long for you already, Eamon.” I’d waited and hoped that my big brother would come back to save me. Instead, just like all the other selfish men in our family, he did what he wanted and never looked back.

He shakes his head and I can see the pain in his eyes as they slightly squint. “I’m sorry.”

I tut. “I don’t want your apologies—I don’t want anything from you other than a roof to sleep under.” I take a step toward him, causing him to flinch. “Don’t invite me back to dinner. Don’t come and see me.” Pausing for a moment, a thought crosses my mind. “Don’t tell her I’m at the cabin. I’ll be gone by the end of the year, and Brother?”

Although he doesn’t say anything, I can see the very subtle nod of his head.

“I hope your guilt is unbearable.”