Page 24 of Ronan

Idiots.

Experience has taught me when shit hits the fan, you don’t want to be on the front lines. Hugging the wall, I try to blend with the shadows.

“There are people in the hallway!” a man yells. “That’s Bruce!Bruce! Fuck, I think he’s got a key!” Feet thunder in every direction as voices shout into an unintelligible, ear-splitting roar, while the shrill screech of an alarm blares from outside the window. Disoriented, I can’t focus on a single thought.

“Stand back, motherfuckers,” a familiar voice booms. There’s a sharp squeal of the hinges before the heavy iron door slams against the stone wall. People rush out of the cell in a mob, and my blood runs cold when a single pair of heavy footsteps enters.

“Well, well… we meet again, don’t we?” Bruce’s scarred face sneers at me, and I glance around, trying to map my exit. “This was your fault.”

Indignation momentarily halts my escape plans as I shake my head in disbelief. “How the fuck is this my fault?”

“You led the monsters to us,” he says, a deep snort rumbling in his chest as he spits on the ground in front of me. “And you’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

“Pretty sure your attack on their supply convoys led them to you,” I point out, pulling my lip up in disgust as he spits again. “Oh, dear gods, do you have to be such a cliché? That’s gross.” A deranged smile spreads across his face as he pulls a knife from behind his back, the metal glinting in the sunlight. The blade looks dull, but in his hands, its threat is enough to make me move.

Based on the way he holds the handle and leads with his right leg, he’s right-handed, so I focus on his weaker side. Years on the road have made me agile, and I dodge a few swings easily, despite his impressive reach. He lunges for me, and I dart to his left, rushing past him and sprinting towards the door.

My body lurches as he catches the bottom of my jacket, and I lose my balance, pinpricks of light flashing behind my eyes as my chin slams into the hard rock. Thick, metallic blood gags me as it coats my tongue and slides down my throat. Scrambling to my feet, I try not to think about what’s bleeding.

Bruce seizes my wrist and throws himself against me, trapping the entire front of my body against the wall. A vise of rough fingers tightens in my hair as he drives my face against the stone, and everything explodes into a blinding white agony. The pain causes my ears to shriek, theworld swimming in and out of focus as blood trickles from my forehead, making my glasses slip on my nose.

Steel presses an indent into my neck as a deep, sadistic chuckle blows across my ear. It extinguishes any chance of escaping even as I continue to thrash against his hold. Icy dread seizes me as the blade’s cold bite breaks my skin, and I freeze as it digs deeper.

“Say goodnight, pretty boy.” His mocking voice is the final nail in the coffin of my fading hope, and I’m paralyzed.

Paralyzed.

Can’t move, can’t think, sure as fuck can’t escape as it hits me. There’s nothing left for me to do.

This is it… this is how I go.

Murdered in a damp prison cell by a smelly man who doesn’t have three brain cells to rub together.

What a fucking legacy.

The pressure on my neck increases until I’m unable to swallow. When I expel a strained breath, my lungs scream inside my chest, but I can’t fill them. A slow blackness overtakes my vision as my eyes try to close, my head swimming as I fight in vain.

No one will remember my name, I think as I realize my eyes are shut, and I can’t force them open.

The knife clatters to the floor as Bruce’s oppressive weight disappears with a grunt, and without the support, I collapse to the ground. I suck in a loud, ragged inhale as consciousness floods back into my body.

“Get your hands off my mate.” It’s more animal than man, a growl that slices through the room. Ronan’s thunderous voice is an octave deeper than I’ve ever heardit, fury burning in each syllable. The sound seems to rattle the entire cell as dust particles scatter.

I push myself to sit as I clutch my throat, leaning against the wall as my chest heaves in heavy breaths. Precious oxygen rushes into my lungs, staving off the dizziness as I turn to stare at my rescuer.

Bruce dangles a few inches off the ground, Ronan’s hand tightly coiled around his neck. Two of his tails pin the man’s wrists to the wall as his body quakes, his control on a razor’s edge. Bruce’s face is flushed crimson, the pale scar on his cheek prominent, and his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Ronan’s grip tightens, his knuckles bone white as he trembles in rage.

“You dared to touch what is mine.” Their faces are mere inches apart as Bruce attempts to shake his head, like he could rewrite the story that was unfolding in here.

As though he could ever be anything but the villain.

Using my shirt to wipe the blood from my forehead and mouth, I take a quick assessment of myself. Although my hands are still shaking, the damage doesn’t seem too severe. Cuts and bruises and a busted lip, but nothing feels broken, and my teeth are all accounted for, so I’ll take it as a win.

My legs are weak as I stand, using the wall for support as I focus my attention on Bruce and Ronan. Purple-blue lips contrast against cherry-red skin as the man fights for air, and the poetic irony feeds that vindictive voice inside my head. Once I make sure I’m steady on my feet, I stumble over and place a gentle hand on Ronan’s arm.

He twists to look at me, eyes black and features contorted into something monstrous. A creature… a deliverer of death. It should instill fear deep in my soul—should command my instincts to get as far away from the danger as I can.

But it doesn’t.

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