Page 56

FIFTY-SIX

I miss you, I’m sorry - Gracie Abrams

I rip into Dakota’s kitchen, my heart racing. Is Ronan still here? Is Dakota still here? My eyes lock on Dakota, sitting on the couch in the mid-afternoon sunshine.

“Where’s Ronan?” I can’t keep the breathiness out of my voice.

Dakota looks disheveled. His hair is sticking up, and his sweats are slightly offset. Is it because they were fighting? Did he hurt Ronan?

“Just thought you could keep a kill from me?” Ronan stalks into the room, leaning against the hallway.

It’s like someone filled my lungs with hot water, the weight and comforting warmth making me want to fall to the ground. Ronan is okay.

He looks at his nails. “Been stuck inside too long, boss. Trigger finger’s feeling itchy.”

I can’t help myself. I have to make sure Ronan is real. I move over to him, grabbing his shoulders. His very real shoulders. Very warm shoulders.

“Okaaay.” He looks at me, narrowing his eyes. “You good?”

I look into his eyes, which are so similar to the ones I just saw in the car. But his are glassy and vibrant and fucking real. I want this Ronan to stay real. I want him to stay here and alive. I don’t ever want to see a hallucination that looks like him again.

So, I default to the only way I know how to get rid of them. “I have a mark.”

Ronan’s gaze shifts, and he looks between both my eyes and then down to my mouth. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

Suddenly, his lips are crashing down over mine in the most consuming kiss. The smell of whiskey crushes over me so powerfully that I feel it catch in my lungs. His kiss feels like pain. The raw way he bites and nips at me matches what I feel in my soul.

I slam Ronan back against the wall, kissing him back with just as much energy. Ronan and I are fucking bombs, just waiting to be triggered. It’s dangerous and destructive and fucking addictive.

Movement catches my eye, and I dart my gaze over to Dakota, who’s moving toward the garage door.

Christ. I rip myself away from the mutually destructive tornado and point my finger at Dakota. “If you leave, you know what happens to your mom.”

Dakota freezes.

I almost forgot about the other piece in our puzzle, and a little sense of balance folds over me. Keeping Dakota in line gives me something to do other than spiral about the man in front of me and the man inside my ball cap.

And fuck, I needed that grounding. Because this isn’t just me anymore. I have to plan a murder where I keep Ronan safe. Where I wrangle Dakota to help us. And where I can still achieve justice.

I clear my throat, letting go of Ronan as much as I don’t want to.

“Where we going?” Ronan watches me with hooded eyes.

“Nowhere until I get some things taken care of.” I spend the next hour or so prepping. Researching the cop, finding out where he lives, what his schedule is, and how far up in Apex he is. Which isn’t far, considering he’s now retired. I briefly check the location of Damien’s goons. It’s been bothering me that they haven’t come after us again. I know we’ve been hidden, but they haven’t even tried . Either there are bigger fish to fry, or for some reason, Callum and Vox aren’t carrying out orders.

Once I have everything nailed down and I’ve briefed them a hundred times on how this is going to go, I load both men into the car.

“Can we do it my way?” Ronan is practically vibrating. His pupils are huge, and he looks manic as fuck.

“No,” I answer for the tenth time. Ronan’s way is dangerous. Flashy.

This is all dangerous. Fuck. I look back at Dakota in the rear view rearview. “If either of us gets hurt,” I motion at myself and Ronan, “then we’re going straight to your mom’s house. Got it?” I’ve already told him this. Probably three times. But I need to know he understands.

“Yeah. To fuck her,” Ronan mutters.

I whip my head over to look at him.

“Fuck, I forgot the gay thing.” Ronan throws his head back. “I can’t even make your mom jokes? This sucks.”

Dakota is looking between the two of us. I turn my glare back on him.

“Got it?” I ask again. I need Dakota to be very, very certain. Because I only want to worry about one thing on this trip—doing things right and keeping Ronan safe.

Dakota’s nostrils flare, and he looks like he wants to snarl at me. “G-g-got it.”

“Good.”

It’s time to kill a man with my boyfriend and our lapdog. It’s not justice because if it was, this would have happened a long time ago.

But it’s the best I can do.

And for the first time, I’m not doing it alone, which squeezes my heart and makes me think that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.