"For lying to me." Ronan's voice rises to match mine. "For going behind my back. For marrying you without my permission?—"
"I don't need your permission!" The shout echoes in the dawn air. "I'm not your property, Ronan. You know better than that. I’m sorry I went behind your back. I’m sorry I lied. But I wastryingto protect you. Just like you’re trying to protect me now. Do you see where that gets us? Because I finally do. You want to be angry at someone? Be angry at me for not coming to you when I found out. But don't you dare be angry at Elio for keeping me safe when no one else could."
Silence. Everyone is staring at us—Finn, the other men, Elio.
Ronan's expression is unreadable. "We'll deal with this later."
"Ronan—"
"I said later." His voice is final. "Right now, we have bigger problems." He turns and heads toward the warehouse entrance.
Elio looks at me, his expression uncertain. “He’s not going to let this go,” he warns. “Annie, you should go home. After what happened?—”
“Don’t.” I stare at him evenly. “I’m not going anywhere except to see what happens to Desmond.”
We follow Ronan inside, and the warehouse is exactly what I expected—concrete floors, metal walls, harsh fluorescent lighting. There are rooms off to the side, and Ronan heads toward one of them.
Inside, Desmond is strapped to a chair similar to the one I was in earlier. One of the men is working on him, trying to stop the bleeding from the gunshot wound in his side. He looks terrible—pale, sweating, barely conscious.
I feel a flicker of satisfaction. He lifts his head to look at me, and there’s pure menace in his eyes. But there’s no reason for me to be afraid of him any longer.
He’s the only one who should be afraid now.
"Will he live?" Ronan asks the man working on him.
"For now." The guard finishes bandaging the wound. "But he needs a hospital if you want him to survive more than a few hours."
"I don't need him for a few hours." Ronan's voice is cold. "Just long enough to get some answers. Wait outside. I’ll call if I need anything.”
"Annie," Elio says quietly. "You don't have to be here for this. It's going to get ugly."
"I know." I cross my arms. "I'm staying anyway."
Ronan walks over to Desmond and slaps him across the face. Hard. Desmond's head snaps to the side, and when he looks back, there's blood on his lip.
"Wake up," Ronan says. "We need to talk."
Desmond laughs, but it turns into a cough that makes him wince. "Talk. Sure. What do you want to know?"
“Why the fuck did you think you could touch my sister?”
Desmond sneers. “Why should I explain myself to you?”
Ronan hits him again, blood spattering on the floor. “Start fucking talking.”
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Desmond laughs again. "I'm already dead. Every breath is harder than the last. So go ahead, Ronan. Do your worst. I've got nothing left to lose."
Elio steps forward. "You have a lot left to lose. Like the ability to die quickly. Painlessly. Because if you don't start talking, I'll make sure your last hours are the most agonizing of your life."
Something in his voice makes Desmond's smile falter. "You think you scare me, Cattaneo?"
“I should.” Elio's voice is soft, deadly. "And if not, you should be scared of him.” He gestures at Ronan. “But mostly, you should be scared of what we both want to do to you for everything you did to hurt Annie.”
He gestures at me, and Desmond's eyes follow the movement.
"Sweet little Annie." His voice is mocking. "How does it feel, knowing you're carrying the bastard of a man who'll never be good enough for you?"
I feel Elio tense beside me, but before he can respond, I step forward.
