Page 111 of Cruel Lies

"I told you to stay put," he says.

"I know."

"But you didn't."

"No." I step out from behind the rack. My heart is going hard, but not the way it should be, not therun for your life, girlway. I don't even know what you'd call this feeling. "I didn't."

He regards me coldly. The work lights make hard shadows on his face. "How much did you see?"

"All of it."

He nods slowly. But unlike Todd, he doesn't gaslight me. If there were ever a time to lie or try to explain things away—or even to tell me that I'm crazy and imagined it all—it would be now. He doesn't, though. Instead…

"Come here," he says.

I don't move. "What did I just see, Ronan?"

He walks to me instead. He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head to keep his eyes. "You want the truth, I assume?"

"I always want the truth. It's the only thing I want, actually. It's the only thing anybody ever owed me."

He nods, expecting no less. "That man owes me quite a lot of money. And when men owe me money and get behind on it, they sometimes forget that they should be frightened of the consequences. So I remind them, without touching them, that being frightened of me is the correct response and that the smart thing to do is pay what they owe and go home to their families." He exhales. "That's what you saw. That's what I do."

"You're a lawyer."

"Yes, a lawyer," he agrees. "That's true. It's just not all of it." He watches my face. "I've spent a great deal of energy making sure you never had to see the other parts."

I'm scared. But I'm not running. What does that make me?

"You didn't touch him," I say.

"No."

"You didn't even raise your voice. He was screaming at you, and you just stood there, and he fell apart."

"Yes."

"How?"

Ronan almost smiles, but it fails to reach his eyes. "Because he already knows what I could do. I don't have to actually do it; just the knowing is enough." He tilts his head. "You of all people should understand that. You didn't scream at Todd, either. You just put the truth on a screen and let him fall apart on his own."

I feel my jaw tighten. "That's not the same."

"No," he agrees quietly. "It's not. What I do is worse. I'm not going to insult you by pretending otherwise."

The last of the opera filters through the cinderblocks to reach us, dim and distorted. I can only look up at Ronan and marvel at how many things he makes me feel.

Disgust. Fear. The urge to run.

Amazement. Awe. The desire to yield.

Hope.

Horror.

Heartache.

Heartbreak.