by A. Zavarelli
But when I catch the shadow of a man hovering over me, followed by his gloved hand sliding over my mouth, I try to scream. The hand clamps down tighter over my mouth, and all I can taste is the leather of his glove while I thrash beneath him.
He climbs on top of me and pins me with his weight, and tears leak out of my eyes unbidden. But when he leans forward, his scent lingers between us. Malt liquor and roasted pine nuts. And it has the immediate effect of calming me.
“Ronan?”
The question is muffled behind his glove, but when he senses me calming, he smooths my tangled hair away from my face. I can make out his eyes now in the dim light, wild with rare emotion. He isn’t wearing his glasses. And his suit jacket is missing, leaving only a crisp white button up stretched across his chest. His neck is corded, his breathing harsh. He’s angry. But I’m not afraid.
I reach up and pry his hand away from my mouth so I can talk freely.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you even get in?”
Those are the two most logical questions to ask in this situation, rather than why he’s sneaking into my room, scaring me half to death. Ronan always goes about things in odd ways, and it’s almost comical that I’ve come to expect this sort of behavior from him. He doesn’t answer me though, as usual, so I continue to push him.
“Talk to me,” I insist. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I don’t actually expect him to answer. He never answers me. So this time when he does, it shocks the ever living hell out of me.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says.
His voice is accusing, tinged with hurt and anger.
“I didn’t tell you what?”
“About Donovan.”
Shame wells up inside of me, and I blink back tears as I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to try to explain my logic. It will never make sense to him. These guys, they all think the same. He would be offended if I told him I was trying to protect him. But the alternative is even worse.
“I knew what you would do to him if I told you,” I whisper. “I don’t think you would be able to help yourself. Just like with Blaine.”
He’s quiet and still, studying me with his eyes. Those eyes make me feel exposed. Like I can’t hide from him. But right now, I don’t want to.
“Am I right, Ronan?”
Silence. I hate his silence. I don’t understand why he can’t just talk to me. Why it’s so hard for him to talk to me, but not everyone else.
“I knew what the consequences would be if you killed him,” I say. “And I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let anything happen to you because of me. Because of what you did for me.”
He doesn’t blink. Or move. Or show any sort of a response to my confession whatsoever, except for an overwhelming sadness in his eyes. It makes me feel like I betrayed him. He can’t understand. He could never understand.
“I know what you must think of me,” I attempt to justify. “But I never gave him my body. I did things I’m not proud of to keep him quiet. But I just wanted him to keep his mouth shut. I just wanted…”
A sob bursts from my lips, and Ronan lowers his body over mine, swallowing me up completely. He’s got me pinned, the heat of his body soaking into mine. He expels a deep breath. And then another. He’s wrestling with himself. Eye fucking me while he tries to talk himself out of it at the same time. But it’s too late. We both know it.
He’s on me then. His hands are on my body, groping me. They feel huge against me. Rough and calloused. The hard to my soft. His face is buried in my hair, wrecking it as his nose drags along my neck. He’s breathing me in. Taking another hit of me like it’s the thing he’s been jonesing for all this time. His cock jams against my hip bone when he grinds into me.
He nudges my legs apart and pushes his palm between my legs like he owns that part of me. Who am I to argue? He does fucking own me. He's polluted my mind so that I can only ever think of him. Only ever want him.
My hands slide up his back as I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer. My breath is hot against his ear, murmuring his name. Any shame or confusion has dissipated into a haze of manic craving. I will never understand what it is about this quiet, enigmatic man that renders me completely senseless.
Ronan feels it too. This explosive link between us. All I have to do is enter his orbit, and I’m a slave to his power. I suspect that’s why he’s always avoiding me. He doesn’t want to give in to the same force.
But right now, in the darkness of my bedroom, he’s already surrendered. He’s fumbling with his belt buckle, even as he pleads with me to put an end to the madness.
“Tell me to stop,” he chokes out. “Tell me not to touch you.”
I don’t. Instead, I drag my fingers through his hair and watch him shudder.
“Take off your clothes,” I counter. “Let me feel you, Ronan.”
He ignores me, too far gone to hear or make sense of my words. He yanks my panties aside roughly and plows into me in one hard thrust. A strangled sound of shock and pleasure bleeds up from my throat, and he freezes to look down at me.
“Keep going,” I beg.
He couldn’t stop if he tried though. He’s fucking me like he’s drunk. He’s manic and out of control. Banging into me so hard it’s going to leave bruises. His eyes keep falling shut, but he’s trying to keep them open. Watching me.
He’s searching my face, but for what I can’t tell. I feel like he needs my reassurance. That he hasn’t killed me in his insanity. That he’s doing this right. I don’t know why, but there’s vulnerability in his eyes.
I stroke my fingers down the base of his neck and pull him closer. I want to kiss him. He’s never let me kiss him. I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel, but I know once I have a taste I’ll be ruined forever.
It takes him a moment to understand what it is I want. And when I brush my lips against his, he hesitates. But it only lasts a second. A visible shudder moves through him when my breath mingles with his, and it triggers something inside of him. His fingers grip my face roughly, holding me in place as he tastes me too. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s something wild and three long years in the making. A kiss that purges the memory of all other kisses before him.
Ronan devours me with his mouth and with his body. His thrusts are erratic and out of control. I think he’s trying to be gentle, but he can’t rein himself in. His hands are cupping the back of my head, our tongues and teeth clashing with the force of our want for each other. He looks like he’s in agony. Drugged, so high on me I can’t bring myself to look away for even a second. This man’s strength is unrivaled in anyone else I’ve ever known, but right now he’s a slave to me.
It isn’t one sided. Every part of my body responds to him. To his taste and his touch. It’s chaotic and hot, the way our hips bump against each other and we can’t seem to find a comfortable medium. We’re caught up in the madness, and I’ve never been more turned on in my entire life. He’s fucking me like I’m his prize. His trophy.
And then he’s not fucking me at all. His head falls back and his entire body shakes as he lets out an agonized groan. Warmth fills me, and it surprises me. I’m not the only one.
There’s a beat of silence before Ronan pulls away awkwardly, searching my eyes again for something he doesn’t want to see. Even if it isn’t there, he’s seeking out anything he can latch onto. A reason to leave. I grab his face and pull it back to mine, mauling him with my lips.
It works. Because whatever was on his mind only a moment ago is soon forgotten as he grows inside of me again. The longer we kiss and touch and feel each other, the harder he gets. And then he’s thrusting into me, again. I kiss my way down his throat, tasting his skin and his scent. I’m moaning against him, and every time I do, a sound of relief and pleasure echoes from his own chest.
My hands find his ass and I try to pull him deeper inside of me, but he pushes my palms up to his back. I don’t question it. Ro
But it doesn’t stop me from testing them. When I slip my hands beneath the fabric of his shirt to feel his skin, he sighs out his pleasure. His movements are still jarring. Hard, brute thrusts that he can barely control. His body is powerful and solid in my hands. But he’s unsure of himself.
When he yanks down my chemise and my breasts bounce free, he becomes distracted and stops moving altogether as he pauses to stare at them. His eyes are heavy with hunger when he dips his head to taste me. He pins me down and licks at my nipples. And then he’s sucking me into his mouth, groaning against my skin.
He’s a mixture of brutal and sensual. Sweet and hard. Rough and thoughtful.
Everything about him is so fucking male. His hands, his mouth… they dwarf every part of me. In his arms, I’m small and fragile. Completely at his mercy. His cock inside of me stretches me to the point of pleasure and pain.
He starts moving again, and I can’t do anything but lay here and take it. His perfect hair mussed from my hands, his pants hanging just off his hips as he fucks me into the bed. I never want it to end. But the pressure I so desperately need to escape is building inside of me, and I can’t hold back any longer.
My head jerks back against the pillow and I dig my fingers into his back as I come hard and clamp down around his cock. Guttural and unfamiliar sounds vibrate from my throat against Ronan’s chest as he echoes me with his own. Warm spurts of his come fill me as he tips his head back and closes his eyes.
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, terrified that he’s going to go away now. Like he always does. That he’ll leave and pretend this never happened for another two years. I’m not ready for that. I can’t handle that.
I don’t want to stop touching him. I don’t want to stop feeling this way. The way I do when I’m with him. Maybe it makes me weak, to want someone so much. But if he were to say the word right now, I would be his. I’d do anything he asked of me in this moment.
But just as I feared, when his breathing has calmed, he pulls away. He won’t even look at me as he fastens his belt buckle and zips up his pants before smoothing his hair back into place.
“Ronan?”
There’s no response. He just ignores me as if I’m nothing. And I can take that treatment from everyone else in my life, but not him. So when he gets up to leave, I lash out at him the only way I can.
“When can I expect you back?” I yell at his retreating form. “Another two years from now? You just gonna’ come in here and fuck me as you please like every other man in your outfit tries to? Well next time, make sure you bring a condom because I’m not on the fucking pill!”
His shoulders draw together as he reaches for the door, and I know I’ve hit a nerve with him. I shouldn’t have said it, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t have to worry about these things as he goes on his merry way, but I do.
Just like the last time.
I saw the way he watched me after it happened. For months, he kept glancing at my stomach. Wondering. Fearing. Worrying. I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid he’d gotten me pregnant.
That only makes it hurt worse.
And if I had needed any confirmation that leaving this place is the best thing for me, this is it. But when he slams the door behind him, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
11
RONAN
TIME in this black space does not exist.
I haven’t any clue how long it’s been since I’ve seen another human. Not even Farrell or Coyne. The closest I come is when the door opens and a small sliver of light spills in for a moment as they toss me a mesh bag with my rations for the day.
The bread is always moldy and stale, but I eat it nonetheless. I miss the lady in the room. The one who cared for us. But they told me I will never see her again. I’m a man now, they say. It’s time to forget all else apart from my training and my purpose.
The racket never ceases. Every day, it’s loud music. And then crying babies. Tortured screams. An endless reel of noise. I’ve become immune to it. Learned to sleep with it. But the bugs and the rats, I cannot. They are always crawling on me, and I can’t see them.
I feel as though I’m going mad. I think that’s what they want. Then I question if the bugs are even real. If perhaps I only imagine them in my head.
I don’t know the day or even the year when they come for me again. Coyne and Farrell. They look different. They have beards now, and when the cool air hits my skin, I realize the season has changed too. They speak to me as we walk, but the words don’t register.
My mind has drowned everything out. Even them. They lead me to a big building I’ve never been in before. And then to a kitchen, with a metal door. Farrell opens it and shoves me inside. He points at the corner, where there’s a bucket and a blanket. His lips move, but there’s only the screaming. Wailing. Loud music.
And then they leave.
It’s cold. Even colder than the cellar where they kept me before. It’s a freezer, I realize. Soon, Coyne and Farrell come back with another lad. I’ve seen him during parts of my training. Alex. They shove him inside and point to the other bucket and blanket.
He tries to speak to me too. I sit down and wrap the blanket around my shoulders and question how old I am now. Twelve, I think. Maybe even older. I haven’t a clue. Only the darkness exists, even out here in the light.
The air becomes colder with each passing minute, and soon my eyes grow heavy. I fall asleep, and it feels nice. I’m warm. And comfortable. But then someone’s kicking me with his boot. I look up to see Alex, and the ringing in my ears has finally stopped. I can hear him now though it’s still distorted.
“You have to keep moving,” he says.
I kick him away with my foot and try to go back to sleep. But he persists.
“If you go back to sleep, you will die. You have to keep moving to stay warm. It’s a test. When you get really cold, you feel like you want to go to sleep. But if you do, you’ll never wake up again.”
I blink up at him and process his words. I don’t know if he’s right or not, but maybe he is. Maybe that’s why I feel so warm. Why I feel like I don’t want to move.
When I finally do, my body is stiff, and I can’t feel my fingers when I press them to my lips.
“We have to keep moving,” Alex says. “It’s the only way to stay alive. We have to do it together. Keep each other awake.”
I stand up and wait for Alex’s lead. I don’t know how he knows so much, only that he was brought here a lot later than I was. He speaks of the places outside of the compound. Of school and the things he learned there. I know none of these things, but when he speaks, I believe him.
He paces the length of the freezer, and I follow suit. And then he tells me more about the places. He talks about a church. A big white church where him and his mammy used to go every Sunday. He never tells me what happened to her, but his voice is sad when he says her name. He tells me a lot of things about her, but never what happened.
I don’t have a mammy. Or a da. Only Coyne and Farrell.
And now Alex too.
We aren’t supposed to speak to each other. But he always speaks to me. And we always seem to be in the same phases of training together too.
Throughout the next hour, he tells me all sorts of things. But we’re both slowing down. My eyes will barely stay open, and Alex is slurring his words.
When Coyne finally comes back for us, I am relieved. But that relief never lasts long. He doesn’t take me back to the pit. Instead, he takes us to the pond where Farrell is already waiting.
We stand in line with some of the other lads, and they bind our hands and feet. And then one by one, they shove us into the water.
Ten of us go in. Only seven ever come out.
As I’m heading off from Sasha’s, Crow rings me. As always, his timing is impeccable.
“Aye,” I answer. “What is it?”
“Niall’s received word from the Russians that Andrei is back in town,” he says. “They want you to take care of it.”
“Where?”
“It’s a house,” he replies. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Fine.”
“Just scope it out first,” Crow tells me. “They don’t know if he’s there alone.”
Silence falls, and I think of Sasha upstairs. How I’ve made an arse of myself with her again. How I haven’t a clue what I’m doing with her or how to pleasure a woman. When she touches me, I have no control over my reactions. It feels too good. And I know I’m going to embarrass myself. Just like I did tonight.
I could ask Crow about it. But the notion of that is even worse. At this stage in my life, I should have worked these things out by now. But I haven’t.
I’ve only ever been good at one thing. And it isn’t this.
“Fitz?” Crow breaks the silence. “All good?”
“It’s all in hand,” I tell him. “I’ll sort out Andrei.”
“They want it done clean,” Crow says. “OD or suicide would be preferable. Anyone he’s been working with needs to know he’s dead.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I reassure him.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind ye how you mentioned you wanted more responsibility,” Crow says. “This job is an important one, Fitz.”
I don’t reply. He doesn’t need to spell it out for me. He wants me to prove my worth. To the syndicate. To him.
To Sasha.
I had a notion that taking on more responsibility might make me worthy of her. But as it stands I’m clearly not, and I doubt I’ll ever be the sort of man she needs. My weakness tonight only further proved that. It wouldn’t do to be cocking it up every time I’m around her. It’s the reason I’ve kept my distance.
“Are ye sure everything’s alright?” Crow asks again.
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