Page 192
“I told Beau,” she said, meeting his gaze, “about the men. Vasily. About what happened that Christmas.”
Every muscle in his body tightened.
“And what I did afterward.”
He took an involuntary step toward her. Stopped. “What did you do, Felicity?”
“I found them.”
A cold weight settled in his chest.
“One by one,” she whispered. “It took years. But I hunted every single one of them.” She drew a shaky breath. “And I killed them.”
He said nothing.
He couldn’t.
“I need you to know because you almost sacrificed yourself for me.” Her voice wavered. “And before you decide whether there’s still a place for me in your life, you deserve to know the whole truth. To know exactly who I am. At any point, my past could catch up with me, and I could end up behind bars.”
She lifted her chin, but he caught the slight tremor in her voice. “I’m no better than my grandfather. My uncle. Their blood runs in my veins, and I, too, am a cold-blooded killer. Unworthy of you.”
“No.” The word tore from his throat.
And he couldn’t stay still.
He took the porch steps in two strides.
She immediately retreated, both hands raised between them. “Don’t touch me. I need to finish this.” She swallowed. “Please.”
Ronan stopped.
“I don’t want kids. That is not negotiable. I don’t want to be a wife. Girlfriend? Lover? Yes. Partner? Sure. Wife? Never.”
She gave a small, humorless laugh. “I went to Texas. To Murphy’s Bend. Met your family. Saw where you come from. Saw what runs in your veins. I am the antithesis of that.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You were raised by good people, Ronan. I wasn’t. Your family builds. Nurture’s life. Loves. Mine destroyed everything good and pure.
“You believe people deserve second chances.” She glanced over his shoulder, then quickly met his gaze again. “That things deserve restoration. I spent years deciding who deserved to live and who didn’t.”
She swallowed. “We’re not the same.”
“Liss.” He held out a hand.
She immediately warded it off. “But I also know what it feels like to have your choices stolen from you.”
The dig landed.
Hard.
“So, think about what I’ve said.” She stepped back. “And if, after everything, you’re willing to accept me as I am, meet me at Fitzpatrick’s tonight. Eight o’clock.”
“Fel—”
She backed away another step. “For once, choose with your head, Ronan Murphy. Not your heart.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Ronan watched her climb into the ugly green van and drive off.
He turned and looked up at Gertrude.
