“Pleasure to meet you.” My voice flows out strongly in defiance of my mental instability.
“Same.” He can’t tear his shrewd eyes off me, and it’s so uncomfortable, all I want to do is peel myself out of my skin. “Shall we?” He motions for us all to sit.
Ronan snaps for the waiter’s attention, and I debate ordering an entire case of red wine and a funnel. This lunch is gonna seriously suck. Like, sitting on a saddle of thorns while riding a thoroughbred suck.
I let Ronan order for me. I don't even hear a thing he says, I just nod in agreement. I try not to fidget as Ronan and Liam engage in light conversation, but it feels like bugs are crawling all over me, especially near my ears. I keep pushing my hair out of my face, hoping to alleviate the sensations, but every time I do, Liam looks at me as if he’s undressing me with his eyes. It’s nauseating. I’m not trying to be sexy. I’m trying not to go postal.
When our first course arrives, the clam chowder looks like regurgitated chunks of last night’s dinner. My stomach gurgles loud enough for both Liam and Ronan to hear.
“You good?” Ronan asks, shockingly concerned.
“Fine.” I fight to smile. “But I think I need to excuse myself for a minute.”
Both men stand out of courtesy, and I walk as calmly and coolly as I can until I'm out of sight. Then I run. I run through the lobby as fast as my feet will allow in six-inch heels and straight into the nearest bathroom, where I throw up. Just barely making it to the bowl.
I hurl up the only thing in my stomach. The wine. It looks like I’m bleeding from the inside out. Dry heaving disgustingly until there’s nothing left. By the time I’ve purged it all, I’m shaking, cold, clammy, and weak.
After, I slump to the floor, exhausted. Sickening memories invading me from all sides. I hide out in the stall devising an escape. Seriously considering leaving Ronan and Aisling and abandoning this whole stupid plan. I just want to disappear into thin air, the way I did ten years ago.
If I were another Fallon, from another time, I would do it. But I’m not. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I became a different person. I started to care. Which, if any worthwhile assassin knows, is the kiss of death.
I’ve been gone too long, and I’m certain Ronan is going to start getting suspicious. And no one wants that. So I force myself to get it together. Fixing my makeup in the mirror and utilizing the buffet of hygiene products the hotel leaves out for guests, I perform a magic trick on my face. There are even miniature bottles of mouthwash to assist me. I help myself to two.
Once I feel halfway myself, I exit the bathroom humming “Janie’s got a Gun” by Aerosmith just to keep my sanity in check. An active shooter running around won’t bode well for Ronan’s lunch. Or for any of my plans.
Dr. March and I are going to have a nice long therapy session after this day is said and done. I honestly don’t know what I would do without that man. He’s definitely my person. My ride or die. My rock.
It’s hard to admit, but everyone needs someone, even redheaded contract killers.
I swing open the bathroom door, my mental state rebuilt on a cracked foundation. To my horror, though, I don’t get far because Liam is trolling the lobby. I attempt to blow past him, but he throws his tall, lanky body in front of me.
“Get out of my way,” I threaten.
“Fifi, wait.” That disgusting pet name does nothing but make me homicidal.
“That’s not my fucking name,” I hiss like a poisonous snake.
“Where have you been?” Liam places his hands on my arms, like any concerned, loving father would, wonderment twinkling in his heinous brown eyes. But I’m not a missing child who was abducted from a loving family. I’m a runaway who wants nothing to do with the household she escaped from.
“Get your fucking hands off me before I break them off your wrists.” Liam removes his hands straightaway, that wonderment dying in his eyes.
“How did you get involved with a man like Ronan Kennedy?” He is genuinely interested.
“Why? Jealous?” I’m as petulant as a teenager. “There’s a lot of bad shit I’ve been involved in,Dad.And none of it you have to worry about. I’m a big girl now, and I take care of myself.” I knock past him, and he grabs me again.
It takes everything I have not to punch him in his fake-tanned, Botoxed face. “Your mother has been worried sick about you.”
“Oh, please, that bitch couldn’t give a fuck whether I lived or died.”
“That’s not true,” he contests, but I know it’s all horseshit. He’d say anything to keep me in his clutches.
“No one gives one flying fuck about me in that house.” I rip my arm out of his grasp, knowing full well we have to get back to Ronan before he becomes suspicious. That’s all I need, having to explain exactly who Liam McNamara really is.No, thanks.
“What about Farrah?” He stops me dead in my tracks with the mere mention of her name. I turn to him, a murderous rage clawing up my throat. “Don’t use her as a pawn. She doesn't even know me. And I want to keep it that way.”
“She doesn’t,” he argues.
“Yeah, well, we don’t get everything we want in life.” It’s a dig directly at him. He can’t have me anymore. I am free.Fuck you.“We better get back. And if you breathe one word about who you are to Ronan, I will hunt you down and kill you in your fucking sleep.”
