Page 20 of Dead By Dusk

His eyes are the most remarkable shade of dark blue, and paired with his lighter skin tone and dark hair, the contrast is inhumanly beautiful…at least that’s what I would’ve thought if I hadn’t already done my research on everyone here. But I did, and I already knew he was my number one competition.

Ronan Callaghan.

Boss Man’s number one go-to for any mission due to his personable personality, planning, endurance, and well, the fact that the man knows how to get shit done. The other two were great, very strong muscle men for sure, but they weren’t like him. Maybe no one was. Maybe he’s one of those “once in alifetime” kind of men that everyone hopes to have on their side when things go awry.

I was not mindless enough to believe I would be exactly like him. I don’t think I needed to be, though. Not when I knew I could be better.

But suddenly, months had gone by and I couldn’t find it within myself to hate him like I had at the start, though I would never say that to him. Our banter was something I lived for while sparring and working together. His outlandish remarks, and my animosity-filled ones suddenly carried a lot less heat behind them as I began to learn more and more about how he became the best. Despite it all—everything I had learned about him—I knew that if people were books, I’d only gotten a glimpse at the few chapters leading up to where he is now. There’s more to him than he lets on, but I guess that could be said for anyone, especially me; however, I had been far less open about my past. Lord knows that any time he had dared ask me about myself, I ended up putting him on his ass.

“In your dreams, Blue,” I would say to him, but he’d laugh it off like the good sport that he was.

“One day you’ll let me catch up to you,” he’d say, and I would just quirk a brow in response. “Let me crack open those pages, Killer. I don’t care how dark you feel your story may be. I want to know it all.” His words often threw me for a loop. So serious yet paired with a goofy grin, like he was waiting for me to catch up to him instead.

“Maybe when you can stop calling yourself Number One around here, even though you’ve never been able to pin me, I’ll let you in on a few more of my secrets,” I’d retort, and his laugh would deepen. Like a lie on a polygraph, he’d jump and sputter as each new wave of laughter hit. I couldn’t help but watch the way his head would tip back and a full smile would grace his face. He was devastating and these moments were the onlytimes I would let myself fully drink him in. It’s painfully obvious the man has an ego through the roof and does not need to know he has me completely captivated at any given moment.

“Like I said, you’ll let me catch up to you eventually.”

I hadn’t been as confident about that as he was in that moment, but over time, I found myself wanting him to be right. I guess that’s how we ended up where we were now: sharing a small apartment right outside the Delgado estate’s property line and cooking together every night we could. We shared secrets and small nothings about versions of ourselves that we had already quietly mourned long ago. How we got to the point when I told him my suspicions about Mr. Delgado and how they had been confirmed by his own daughter. How she begged me to find a way out, not just for her but for myself—Ronan, too, if he was willing to leave.

She called her father a monster—a term I believe to be more relative than anything else—because, what is a monster if not the things we fear most about our own capabilities? If not what we fear is hidden within ourselves? What is a monster if not someone who doesn’t hide from, but embraces the darkness within them?

No matter how relative the term, I don’t feel like her sentiment is far off. Ronan wasn’t so sure and asked for whatever time I could give him to investigate on his own. I knew that he would come to the same findings, so how could I have denied him?

“For you? Always, Killer. Always,” he had said before he looked at my gathered evidence and then stalked off into the dark to find his own. He left with a few more parting words, “We need undeniable proof before we make any moves. Don’t trust anyone else with this, love. You’re the one thing I cannot risk in this life. We’re treading a very fine, dangerous line digging into this man.”

“Ronan, I—” My words stop when the door shuts behind him, and suddenly it’s just me staring at the space where he once stood, where the scent of him still remains. One I could never place but will always give me a little sense of what heaven must smell like.

“I love you,” is what I was going to say. It would’ve been the first time those words had escaped me in years. The first time that I trusted myself to not just speak them, but mean them with every part of who I am. That night I had thought it best I didn’t get the chance, especially when I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night leaving me in a restless state while lying in our bed. Thankfulness that I didn’t get a chance to say those three fickle words coursed through my veins when I didn’t see him at our normal sparring session the next day and had to train with Adonis instead. I continually repeated this sentiment until I was rotting away in my baggiest pajamas that night and watching my favorite film before I hear the sound of the lock turning.

Immediately grabbing the pistol we keep holstered underneath the living room sofa, I make sure a round is chambered and duck behind the arm of the furniture and wait. But the second the door opens, I hear three small raps against the door frame. I exhale in relief and return the weapon to “safe” just as his head peeks around the corner of the door, and he hits me with his most infuriating smirk.

“Easy there, Killer. I might start believing you actually want me dead if you don’t put the gun away,” he huffs out as he shuts the door behind him and makes sure the lock is firmly clicked into place before turning back to me. I regard him with uncertainty, curious as to where he’d been all night and day. While he’s in a fresh set of clothing and appears to look normal, his body language doesn’t indicate that to be the case. His shoulders are slightly hunched, normal for most, butnot for him. His dark sapphire eyes look slightly duller, and the dark circles under his eyes add more contrast against his light skin and dark hair, which tells me he hasn’t slept much and he’s more exhausted than he is letting on.

“Where were you all night? And today?” I demand the second he tries to reach for me, pulling out of his reach. His shoulders straighten, and his body goes rigid. He looks around as if ensuring it’s just the two of us.

“I went out looking for more proof, gathering evidence, listening in on and following some of the other employees to see if I could find anything you didn’t already have yourself,” he says cautiously. With raised eyebrows I motion for him to keep talking, but he just tilts his head up and swallows deeply before reaching into his coat pocket and setting an SD card into my hand.

He locks eyes with me as he slowly closes both of our fingers around the small object, and then looks down at our joined hands. I follow his gaze and softly gasp at the sight of the irritated black ink now on his thumb. Right in between his knuckles is the letter S.

“Ronan.” His name is so gentle when I say it. So at odds with the wild, erratic beating of my heart. “What is this?” I ask, but I already know. He never did anything without purpose and careful consideration. I know what that is and what it means, but I need him to say it out loud.

“I told you last night that you were the one thing in this life I could not risk. I meant it.” His long, calloused fingers gently rub over my closed hand, sending chills up my spine. Ripping my gaze from the movement, I look to him only to find his eyes already locked onto me. His attention feels like a light caress on my skin as his eyes trace every part of my face with fascination and an openness I’ve never seen before. Is he always open and honest? Yes, but this…this was different somehow. Thismoment…it feels like raw, unconcealed care, and I need him to say it.

“I choose you, Silene. From now until the world, one day, burns to ash. I am unequivocally yours in every way possible. If you want to fight, I will follow you to whatever end meets us on the other side.”

“And if I want to run?” I ask as tears begin to well up and fall on their own accord.

“And if you want to run—-which I know you enough to know is not the case—I would run with you. Everyday, anywhere you wanted to go. I’d run to every corner of the Earth, sail the seven seas, hide in every shadow, as long as I could say you were by my side through it all,” he declares. No trace of humor laces his words, but a light smile, small and caring, remains plastered on his face.

I choke on a laugh as tears continue to fall, and even though I know he means every word, I still push a little. After leaving me alone, worried about him all night and day, I’m not ashamed of the fact I want to hear these proclamations. I’m not ashamed that I want tohearhim.

“You’re scared of the ocean. You’d never sail across any sea and you know that,” I counter. He smiles, a soft sad smile. If he knows what I’m doing, he shows no signs of it as he shakes his head.

“You’re wrong. If you asked me to, I would. You make me feel like I could do anything. You make me fearless just as much as you make me fearful, my love, and if the ocean is the only sanctuary for the two of us, I would brave it every day.”

A small, breathy laugh escapes me, and his hands leave my own to cradle my face as his thumbs brush away each teardrop that falls down the expanse of my cheeks.

“I don’t want to run,” I whisper, the words dancing in the small space between us. His lips gently kiss over both cheeksbefore he presses his forehead and nose against my own, and warmth blossoms across my face.

---