Page 17 of Ronan

The press of his lip between his teeth is an almost imperceptible sign of his annoyance, and it gives me infinite pleasure. “You said you are not with the rebels?”

“Finally! Someone gets it! Give this man a prize!” The otherwise silent room echoes with the thud of my palms as I slow clap for some added pizzazz.

Other than the flex of his narrowed eyes, he ignores me. “Surely, you can understand how we’ve come to that conclusion, seeing as you were in their camp.”

“Yep,” I say, popping the P at the end of the word. My mom always told me it drove people crazy, and sure enough, his right eye twitches. Something about getting under his skin gives me immense satisfaction.

“Explain.”

Absentmindedly, I rub the tender, swollen skin of my forehead wound, taking a deep breath. “You’re actually going to listen?”

His gaze moves up to the bandage on my head, and a range of emotions crosses his face, starting with pity and ending somewhere in the realm of anger. The full weight of his attention is a physical drag over my skin, an awareness I can’t shake. “I’m listening.”

“What’s your name?” His head tilts the other direction, a tiny crease forming between his eyes. “It’s a simple question,” I say, not bothering to cover my condescension, and a vein bulges on his forehead as a muscle in his jaw flexes. “But if it’s beyond your ability to answer, I struggle to see the point of sharing my story.”

His eyes close and his chest rises on a slow, deep inhale, and a smug smile remains on my face as he pushes the air from his nose and opens his eyes again. Not a singleounce of his irritation is gone, but it was a solid effort, and I flash him a quick thumbs up to show I approve.

From the corner, Blue’s snort of laughter is covered by a cough that isn’t fooling anyone. Across from me, the monster leans forward, drumming his fingers on the table as he attempts to force calm into his voice. Instead, he sounds like a pressure cooker about to combust, each word strained. “My name is Ronan.”

“Cameron,” I offer, and he quirks a brow at me. “My name. I figure it’s only polite since I asked for yours.” A quiet, nervous laugh blows from my nose as his head tilts again, and I realize where I’ve seen the motion before. Wildcats move in the same predatorial way, right before they ambush their prey.

“Oh, we’re being polite now, are we… Cameron the non-rebel? Alright, then, Cameron…” An involuntary thrill travels up my spine at the low drawl of my name rolling from his lips, goosebumps rising on my arms as I shiver. Dark eyes drift from my face to my neck, then lower, stopping on my upper arm before traveling back up. “Tell me your story.”

So, I do.

My childhood and the village I lived in are summarized in a few brief sentences before I move on to the more recent part of the story. I explain my adult life has been nomadic, rarely staying in one place for longer than a few days at a time—weeks, if I find a safe spot.

“Wait,” Ronan interjects, drumming his fingers again. “If the community you were raised in was so great, why did you leave?”

My eyes drop to the table, fixating on the rhythm of those fingertips as they tap against the wood. “I’d rather notdiscuss that right now,” I say, voice soft, before glancing up at him. He furrows those dark brows but seems to pick up on my distress, and gestures for me to continue. Fast forwarding to current events, I replay my attempt to slip past the rebel camp when I was captured. I tell him about the room I was locked in, and how I was trying to convince the colony’s leader to release me when his people attacked.

“The raid gave me a window to sneak out, and I almost made it when I got bashed in the head a second time.” Ronan stares at me, unseeing, and I frown as that vein pops again.

“The rebel man who hit you in the forehead…”

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I clear my throat. “It was a, uh, woman,” I mutter, not mentioning the fact that she was very petite, much smaller than me. “A giant warrior woman, actually… so, so big. And in my defense, there was a gun pointed at my face, so I was a little distracted.”

Muscles in his jaw tense, and his breathing speeds up, huffs of irritation pushing from his nostrils. “Give me their names.”

I shake my head, confused at the shift in his demeanor. “Wha—”

“Theirnames!” he bellows, slamming his palm onto the table as my eyes get wide. “They think it’s okay to attack an unarmed man and pull a gun on him? I’ll show them how it feels to get smashed in the face with a bat. I’ll—”

“Whoa, hey… easy, big guy,” I soothe, and I have no idea what’s come over me as I reach out and cover his hand with mine. A burst of pure thrilling energy arcs between us at the contact, and I gasp as I rip my hand away. Those crackles under my skin explode into a full-blown electrical storm, lightning charging down my forearm to the tips of my fingers. I fixate on the table, his gaze a palpable weight as it bores into me.

“It’s fine,” I finally mutter, trying to fill the ear-splitting silence.

“It is notfine. They took you against your will and held you captive.” My indignation shoves the confusion aside, and my eyebrows lift as I stare at him again, waiting for the irony of his words to sink in. For a few seconds, he’s confused, but I catch the exact moment realization dawns on him. “No,” he scoffs with a dismissive shake of his head. “This is different.”

“Different how?”

“What do you mean,how?”

“Both of you bashed me in the head so you could take me, both of you threw me in a cell… hell, at least they gave me a bed! How are you any better than them?”

The cadence of Ronan’s fingers speeds up as they drum faster on the table, growing more and more agitated. “Those people that you’re with inside that cell? A few weeks ago, they attacked a supply convoy headed to our base. The drivers of those vehicles were civilian contractors who’ve probably never hurt another person in their lives. They were men and women with families, children and lovers that now have to live without a parent or partner, and why? Because those rebels decided the supplies were worth more than the lives of the people transporting them.”

He leans forward, and the intensity of his stare makes the hairs on the back of my neck raise. “But they didn’t stop there, Cameron. It wasn’t enough to steal the supplies and slaughter the drivers. They strapped their mutilated bodies on top of those vans and drove them toour doorstep… left them in the open, where the vultures could peck at their decaying corpses.”

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