Page 110 of Cruel Lies

But there's a key difference between letting a man keep his secrets and sitting still while one walks out the door in front of you.

Mind made, I get up and go through the curtain.

The hallway behind the boxes is empty and carpeted in more red, dim except for little wall sconces. I catch a glimpse of Ronan at the far end, turning through a door marked with a sign I can't read from here. I follow. I'm keeping my heels quiet on the carpet, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop.

The door leads to a stairwell. I go down. The music gets fainter above me, muffled, and the walls turn from velvet to plain painted cinderblock. I've crossed over into the part of the building the public doesn't see. Backstage. There are ropes and cables and rolling racks of costumes, and the air reeks like dust, old paint, and hairspray.

I stop behind a rack of what look like Viking costumes, all fur and fake armor, and peer through a gap between the hangers.

There's a small clearing back here, tucked between two big canvas flats leaning against the wall. Ronan is standing in it. And across from him is a man I don't recognize, a stocky man in a rumpled gray suit. He's sweating even though it's cool down here.

I can't hear everything. But I can hear enough.

"—told you I'd have it," the man is pleading. "Itoldyou. You didn't have to send Navi to my sister's house. She's got nothing to do with any of this!"

Ronan stands with his hands in his pockets, tall and intimidating, without saying a word.

"You hear me? That was over the line. That's not how it's supposed to work. There's awaythings are done."

"Is there?" Ronan drawls.

"Yeah! Yeah, there is. And I don't appreciate—" The man jabs a finger toward Ronan's chest, though he stops short of touching him. "I don't appreciate being treated like somenobody.I've been doing this longer than you've been?—"

"Mikhail," Ronan says softly. "Look at me."

The man looks.

And then his skin goes pale.

I don't know what's in Ronan's face right now. I can't see it from here. I can only see the back of him, the broad line of his shoulders in the tuxedo, so still it's like he's not even breathing.

But I can see theotherman's face, lit by the work lights, and I watch it go from red to white to the gray of a drowned corpse. His finger wilts and drops back by his side.

"I—" the man starts.

"I didn't send Navi to hurt your sister," Ronan interrupts in a quiet but menacing growl. "I sent Navi so you would understand something. Do you understand it now?"

The man swallows. His throat bobs. "Yeah," he whispers as he continues to shrink and shrink before my eyes. "Yeah. I understand it."

"Tell me what you understand."

"That you—" He stops and wets his lips. "That you can reach anything. Anyone. Anytime you want."

"That's right." Ronan takes one hand out of his pocket, reaches up, and straightens the man's collar, gently, like a father fixing his kid before prom. The man flinches at the intrusion but holds still, doesn't dare pull away. "And I'd rather never have to. I takeno pleasure in it, Mikhail. None. But that's up to you. You'll have what you owe by Friday. And you'll never raise your voice to me again, will you?"

"No. N-no, sir."

"Good." Ronan pats the collar flat. "Go home and kiss your sister for me. Tell her a lawyer helped you out of a jam. That's all this ever has to be."

The man nods fast, again and again, and then he turns and hurries off into the dark of the backstage.

Ronan stands there another few seconds, then he lets out a long breath. His shoulders drop, and for just a moment, he looks tired in a way I've never seen him look.

Then he turns.

And sees me.

I'm too slow getting behind the Viking costumes. His eyes find me through the gap, and there's no surprise in them at all. Like he knew. Like he always knows.