Page 89 of Ronan

“That’s classified.” There’s a cold bite to my tone and his head tilts up, recognizing the threat.

“Right…” The sly smile slips back onto his face. “Well, we can afford a tank of gas for a fellow soldier. It’s coming from the same coffers anyway, am I right? We’ve even got a cage that’ll make a nice sleeping spot for your pretty friend there.”

“What’s taking so long?” A voice booms with such depth, it vibrates all the way to my bones. The driver steps out, and I force myself not to react to the dread that chills my veins like ice.

A Bhotan.

Elite warriors from the other side that are built with a muscle structure so broad, Commander Bravis was a wilting flower in comparison. Their sheer power and aggressive nature make a one-on-one encounter unthinkable, let alone with two others as backup. Regardless of who sits in the back seat of that car, I have to play along.

His presence is a game-changer, and I pray Cameron can stay quiet while I figure this out.

“If you’re sure it won’t inconvenience you to top me off,” I say, my voice tight with skepticism as Cameron stiffens beside me. “A hot meal sounds nice.”

“Great! Hey, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Regalis.” The sound of my father’s name is bitter on my tongue as it feeds the lie.

“Well, Officer Regalis, I’m Khuth…” He points at the ruddy-skinned Bhotan, who continues to glare. “That’s Brukduuch, but you can just call him Bruk, and the idiot in the backseat is Kek.”

“Shall I follow you?”

He thumps his hands on the edge of the rolled-down window, nodding. “Yep, fall in behind us. Camp is thirty miles from here, so try not to lose us in the traffic.” There’s a suggestive nature to the wink he tosses me before he saunters towards the car. Bruk stares at me for another long second before following, his massive torso barely fitting into the driver’s seat.

“What the fuck was that, Ronan?” Cameron keeps his head pointed at the ground, recognizing that he must maintain the act. “Are you seriously driving us to a military camp? How many soldiers are there that want to squash me like one of their rebel ants?”

“I don’t know,” I grit out, frustration making me want to rip the steering wheel right off the dashboard.

“Thenwhy the fuck are we going?!” The volume of his voice takes me aback, and I realize it’s panic I hear, not anger.

In that moment, seeing his fear and knowing I’m to blame, I hate myself. I loathe being the one that’s hurting him.

My hand reaches over and covers his. “Did you look up long enough to notice the driver of the car?”

“Sort of,” he mumbles, twisting his hand and lacing our fingers together.

“That man could rip me apart, limb by limb, and not even break a sweat while he watched my blood stain the ground beneath me. The others I could’ve easily handled, but not him. We’ll go to their camp, I’ll spout the same military bullshit I’ve been spouting for the past ninety years, we’ll fuel up the van, and then we’ll get out.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Ro.” I squeeze his hand tighter and stay silent, unable to bring myself to disagree.

Chapter 27

Ronan

Eight soldiers total.

Telltale signs around the camp show there were a lot more fighters here recently, coinciding with Khuth’s claim that most of their platoon had been sent home. The area is scarred with the evidence of recent activity—crushed, brown grass where tents once stood, and muddy tire tracks from loaded-down vehicles leaving.

Now only the clean-up crew remains.

Aside from Bruk, none of them are a threat, but they have numbers, and I’m not an idiot.

Generally.

Hands clasped submissively in front of him, Cameron stands with his head sagging as he stares at the ground. The slight tremble in his limbs doesn’t appear fake, and I hate it.

I hate all of this.

Everything inside me screams at the sight of him so uncomfortable, my monster gripping the iron bars of my ribcage and thrashing until the entirety of my being quakes.It growls and gnashes its teeth, fuckingbellowswith the need to make this right. But somehow, I fight the beast and keep my shoulders thrown back, a firm grip on Cameron’s arm as my fingers flex against the mark hiding under his jacket.

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