Page 140 of Lady and the Hitman
My throat tightened as I clicked the most recent one—nearly eighteen months before me.
Inside were photos.
A woman. Late twenties. Auburn hair. Pale skin. Wide-set eyes that reminded me of my own. She was beautiful. Not in a polished, magazine-cover way. But in that honest, quietly magnetic way that made you stare too long without meaning to.
She looked happy. Relaxed. In some of the images, she wore a silk blindfold. In others, she was laughing on what looked like a private beach. And then there were videos.
The kind of videos Ronan might’ve taken if he’d wanted to remember her forever.
Intimate.
Gentle.
And then … the last one.
I hesitated.
The thumbnail alone made my stomach turn. The angle was off. A static frame, as if the camera had been placed on the ground. The woman was curled in on herself, crying. Not sobbing. Not screaming. Just this low, wracked sound like her chest had caved in.
There were no words. No context.
Just pain.
And blood.
It took me a second to register the smear of it on the tile beside her. Dark. Sticky. Too much. I could hear her breathing—shallow, uneven—like her lungs were fighting for every inhale. Like her body was trying to decide whether it wanted to keep going.
She didn’t move.
Not even when someone stepped into frame—justboots, black and silent. The camera didn’t shake. The angle didn’t change. But I knew. Somehow, I just knew.
He’d been there.
And by the time the boots stepped out of frame again, she still hadn’t moved.
Still hadn’t made a sound.
I closed the video before it finished.
But it didn’t matter. The ending had already happened. She was gone.
And he had recorded it. Saved it. Filed it away like it was just another job.
I couldn’t breathe.
I backed away from the screen, my legs hitting the chair behind me, forcing me to sit. My hands were shaking. I stared at the screen, willing it to make sense. Wanting an explanation Ronan hadn’t given me. One he didn’t think I’d need.
She wasn’t me.
But she had been.
And he had let her go.
Or maybe … she didn’t make it.
Did the details even matter?
My stomach turned violently.
