“You weren’t doing what I wanted you to do,” she says, voice strained and broken.
Ronyn pushes to sit, dragging his hand through his hair.
“I’m not a fucking puppet, Jax. Sex is for connection—youandme. Not control,” he murmurs, swiping his hands down hisface. His voice breaks on the last word despite his obvious effort to stop it.
Pain flashes across her face. “Control is how I keep breathing.”
And for one dangerous heartbeat, he understands her completely.
“Laughing is how I stay human,” Ronyn admits.
A heartbeat passes.
Then another.
Then softer, more dangerous, Ronyn asks, “What’s controlling everything doing for you, Jax?”
Her jaw tightens.
Her voice drops.
Low. Defensive. Sharp.
“It keeps me safe.”
Ronyn exhales sharply. “From what?”
She doesn’t answer.
So he does.“From needing anyone. From the risk of loving someone.”
Her eyes flash, and her voice comes out a low growl.“I don’twantto need anyone. Need is leverage. I’d rather die than hand someone that kind of weapon.”
He can feel the truth in that.
He leans forward slightly, voice rougher now, more exposed.“Iwantyou to need me.”
The words hit her like a blade slipped between ribs—clean. Precise. Deadly.
Ronyn’s breath is unsteady, ragged.
“But you don’t let anything happen unless you’re the one making it happen,” he snaps, growing impatient. “Every relationship worth having requires you to let yourself—even a small piece—be held by another. But you… you hold every piece behind a fucking fortress.”
Her voice drops low, tears rolling freely down her cheeks now.
“If I don’t control it, it can be taken. If I depend on it, it will be ripped away. If I love it, it will die,” she admits, and the words sound like a confession she’s held inside for a lifetime.
Ronyn’s anger dissolves instantly. Because there it is: the real wound beneath all the teeth.
“Just because it’s happened before, doesn’t mean it will happen again. Not everything is an attack.”
“It always becomes one.”
Silence again.
Thick.
Heavy.
