Page 23 of Ronan

Cameron

“Aww, whatsa matter? Teacher’s pet losing his status as favorite in the class?” I ignore Julian, the annoying woman who’s taken a fancy to riding my ass any chance she gets. My face might not show it, but the fading light outside fuels my worry. It gives weight to her words that once again, I’ve been forgotten.

That he’s left, because that’s what people do.

A lifetime of buried insecurity causes self-doubt to creep into my thoughts, but I push it away, frustrated with myself for letting her get to me.

For the past three days, an hour after a pitiful dinner is served to the inmates, Ronan and Elas collect me from the cell. They take me to the interrogation room, where I’m given clean, cold water and extra food, while they update me on their search for Boomerang. Each day that passes amplifies my dread, but so far, they have come up empty. I don’t know whether it makes me feel better or worse.

Ronan has kept his distance physically since his explosion the first night, but each time we find ourselvesreaching for each other. Fleeting touches and brushes of our fingers, and somehow it feels significant as my body begs me to take just a little more.

Inevitably, the more time we spend together, the more we learn about each other. He’s realized my sharp tongue is a defense, nothing more than a shield, and I fucking hate that he’s figured me out so easily. It leaves me vulnerable, inevitably just causing me to be more sarcastic.

Insults and jabs take the attention off how scared I really am and throw the attention back on him. Most of the time, he sneers and fights back, slinging a few barbed words of his own.

Those are the moments the world doesn’t feel like it’s constricting around me.

When his teeth are bared and his temper is short, I can breathe.

It’s when his dark eyes flare in understanding and he becomes soft that I’m suffocating.

Because he is.

Soft.Gentle.

He hides it well, but I’m learning to see past his prickly exterior. It’s nothing more than armor, crafted over a lifetime of protecting something easily broken. A shield of his own to match mine.

I despise my awareness of this… ofhim.

But I also love it, and I despise that, too.

Even with my insistent questioning, Ronan remains tight-lipped about their grand plan. “The less you know, the safer you’ll be,” he insists, and as much as his words make sense, they force me to focus on howunsafehe will be. He’s risking everything for me.

A man he doesn’t even know. One who plans on abandoning him the first chance he gets.

“Whatcha doin’ that makes them want to pull you out of class, anyway?” Julian teases, bumping me with her shoulder and making my temper flare. “I’ll wager you can suck a dick real good with them big ol’ lips.” My eyes close as I try to continue ignoring her. “That purple man is awfully pretty. If I offered him my mouth, think he’d take it? Bet he’s gotallthe goods to back up that attitude.”

“Would you shut up already?” I groan, shoving my fingers through my hair and trying not to think about the goods that Ronan’s packing.

Every night, the magnetic pull between us gets stronger, the mark buzzing and burning when I’m with him and tingling when I’m not. The glow on my arm is like a branding iron—a constant, searing reminder from fate that I’m destined to be with a monster. They’re determined to show me that my path is immutable.

But I am no puppet, and strings can be severed.

No matter how soft he might be at his core, Ronan is a means to an end. He’s my ticket out of this cell and back to my freedom, and then I can forget this entire mess ever happened.

The mark will fade with time, and this will all be a distant memory.

Dust motes dance in the weak sunlight filtering through the tiny, barred window, and I frown again, wondering when I became so dependent on Ronan and Elas’s predictable visits. So, they’re a few hours late? Maybe they won’t even come today.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t.

That invisible string in my stomach gives a harsh yank, so intense that I push off the ground, walking to the window because my anxious body needs something to do. I swallow past the sudden nerves taking flight in my gut, pushing up on my tiptoes to glance outside. Nothing seems out of the ordinary—there’s the usual shuffle of feet, the low hum of conversation between soldiers, and guards staring off into the distance.

So why am I so ready to run?

An explosion of shouting crashes through the hallway, and the prisoners in my cell surge against the door. A disorganized mass of bodies pushes and shoves, faces pressed against the bars like monkeys in a cage. More voices band together, and a clatter of metal adds to the chaotic chorus. My cellmates huddle tighter against the door as I take a few pointed steps back.

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