Back on Ronan’s couch under the blanket, a fresh mug of tea in my hand and my belly no longer empty, I start to relax. I can’t let my guard down completely. Not even with this man who looks at me like he’s already decided I’m worth fighting for.
Be careful. Fighting is one thing. Dying is another.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten where we were,” he says, drawing me out of my worried thoughts. “You stayed fifteen years.”
I run my fingers over the edge of the blanket, the feel of the rough wool enough to keep me grounded. “Alex used to say we’d never take a job that hurt another person physically. He made us learn how to fight—Aikido, boxing, some Krav Maga, even a little Muay Thai—but only so we could defend ourselves. ‘We never throw the first punch.’” After a sip of tea to soothe my dry throat—I haven’t talked this much in at least a year—I stare into the mug. “But his brother joined the organization seven years ago, and François…he had an agenda.”
A low rumble sounds from across the couch. Did Ronan just…growl? He wears his protectiveness like a second skin, but I haven’t scratched the surface of all the hell François put me—and the rest of us—through. How long until he loses his shit completely?
Reaching for the whiskey, he drains the glass and waits for me to continue.
I’m so tired, I want to beg off. This couch is more comfortable than anywhere I’ve slept in the past six months, and while I won’t truly relax—I can’t—I could close my eyes and be asleep in seconds.
“He and Alex fought a lot the first few months. But before long, Alex backed down, and François took over. Right before I…left, I found out why no one had seen or heard from François before he showed up on Alex’s doorstep. He’d been in prison for assault with a deadly weapon, drug trafficking, and manslaughter.”
“Fuck me,” Ronan mutters. “François Strauss?” He leans over the arm of the couch and pulls a tablet out of his bag. My heart leaps into my throat. If he puts any of this in his case notes or—God forbid, tells his boss—I’m dead.
“Stop!” I snatch the tablet from his hand so quickly, it takes him a few seconds to react. But when he does, his blue eyes darken, and a vein at his temple throbs.
“Zephyr, hand it over,” he snaps.
“No. Not unless you swear to me you won’t tellanyoneabout me, François, Alex… My life depends on it.”
This was a mistake. Trusting him. Letting him in. My ownfamilywants to kill me. I might not be related to any of them by blood—other than Oliver—but they’re the only family I can remember. And here I am putting my trust in a man I met six hours ago who tied me up, kidnapped me, and…and then took a bullet for me.
Ronan scoots close enough he can drape his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen and try to pull away, but he holds tight. With his other hand, he cups my cheek, and the fresh bandage grazes my chin. “You don’t know me, luv, and I don’t expect you to trust me. Not completely. But I swear on my mum’s life and on the Holy Father himself, I won’t do anythin’ to put you in danger.”
Luv.
It’s just an expression. One so very Irish, I don’t think he realized he was using it. But it puts a tiny crack in my armor. I should be more concerned. Hell, I should run as far and as fast as I can. Instead, I relax against him and nod. “I believe you,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t. The last time I believedanyone, I almost died. But for reasons I don’t understand one bit, I trust you.”
Chapter Ten
Ronan
Zephyr’s so tired,she can’t sit up straight, and while I want—no, I need—to know the rest of her story, she’s starting to slur her words, and no amount of tea is going to replace quality sleep.
“When was the last time you slept?” I ask, easing the empty mug from her hands.
“Caught an hour here and there today. Managed two straight last night.” She yawns, not meeting my gaze.
“Shit, luv. Come on. I need to get my phone charger out of the bedroom, then you can catch some shuteye.” Before I can get to my feet, she squares her shoulders and shakes her head.
“No.”
The absolute certainty in her tone has frustration prickling over my skin. “No?”
Zephyr shoves the blanket off her legs and sweeps her gaze around the room. “Where’s my pack? I need my toothbrush, and then I’ll take the couch. I won’t kick you out of your bed.”
It doesn’t take much for me to scoop her into my arms and carry her where she seems determined not to go. I’m not as built as Dax, Ford, or Trevor, but Zephyr’s light enough—even if my injured shoulder does scream at me.
“Put me down, asshole.” She shoves at my chest until her palm smacks into the freshly stitched muscle, and I double over as my vision dims. “Shit.Shit!”Zephyr tumbles out of my arms, but lands on her hands and knees. Scrambling to her feet, she grabs me around the waist to steady me. “Ronan? God. I’m so sorry.”
“Prove…it,” I manage. “Take the goddamn bed.” Ripples of fiery pain spiral out from the wound, and I stagger over to the bed. Once I have my pillow and phone charger in hand, I turn to find her watching me. “What?” I can’t be gentle with her. Not now. “It’s a good couch, but I saw where you were sleepin’ last night. That piece of shit air mattress was half deflated when I got there. No pillow. No heat. I could see my breathinside. Why are you makin’ it so hard for me to be a nice guy?”
“Because I’m not going to sleep!” Her fingers clench into fists at her side. Are her eyes glistening? Fuck me. She’s close to tears. I don’t say another word, and after several long moments, my silence has the desired effect. Her shoulders heave, and she runs a hand through her hair, pulling at the black and teal strands hard enough I’m shocked she doesn’t pull them right out. “Four years,” she whispers. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder every single day since Yoden was killed. The only time Ireallysleep? On planes. The moment the fasten seatbelt sign turns off, I walk the whole length of the aircraft, checking outevery single passenger. If no one gives me the side eye, if I don’t recognize anyone from the cartel, then I know I’m safe until landing.ThenI can sleep. If I’manywhereelse, I’m always listening. Always on edge. Always looking over my shoulder. Waking up ten, twenty times a night at every noise, every siren.”
“Fuck, Zephyr. That’s no way to live.”
