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“You don’t have to—”
“I do.”
I nodded. He kept putting boundaries up and I was too tired to keep knocking them down. And then he was gone, closing the door and leaving me in the hushed dark of his bedroom.
All by myself.
* * *
Ronan
I stood outside her door. My door. Our door. Whatever. I stood on the other side of the door, my hands braced on the wall, forcing myself not to go back in there. Not to lay her down on that bed and wrap myself around her. Protect her from everything that was going to come her way.
“You fuckin’ fool,” I breathed, my head bent, my hands in fists. This was something worse than temptation. Something I’d never felt before, this crushing need for her. I was married to my addiction and I knew nothing good would come of this but still I wanted her.
I pushed off the wall and walked through my apartment to the guest room off the living room where I had a laptop and a desk, one of those ridiculous bikes everyone loved and a double bed that I kept around for the Irish kids Niamh smuggled out of the UK when they get in too much trouble with the law. Raj used this room for a month a few years ago.
Outside the door to the guest room, I stopped and looked at the pictures Poppy had asked me about. I had noticed them but never cared. What did a bunch of black-and-white pictures of sunrises and sand dunes matter in my life? I had the sense in Poppy’s life sunrises and sand dunes would rate pretty high. They would be things she needed to be happy.
I tipped the edge of the sunrise and the mountain, making it straight and then went into my office.
Every floor of the brownstone was filled with my men. Not Caroline’s. Not Morellis’. Mine. Men loyal to me and to Niamh. There were enough men with guns between us and the front door to make me feel like we stood a chance if any of the Morellis came calling.
I texted Raj, who was a good lieutenant. Followed orders. Understood the job. All clear, he texted back.
I sent a text to Caroline. I’m back, I wrote, and even though the number would be private, I had the sense she knew it would be me. You owe me some answers.
I lay down on the bed, over the covers, the phone on my chest. I remembered the feel of Poppy against my body. The strength in her arms as she held me as tight as she could. If only, I thought, if only I was that strong. And I waited for day to come.
It wasn’t even an hour before the screaming started.
CHAPTER SIX
Poppy
The girl in the shop was talking to me, telling me where the underwear was, pointing to the far wall. But I couldn’t understand her because there was too much blood in her mouth. And part of her head was gone. And her pretty brown hair was matted with gore. “Stop,” I told her. “Stop. You need to stop.”
“They killed me because of you,” she said. “And I don’t even know you. What’s so special about you that I had to die?”
“Nothing,” I said, sobbing. But the girl kept talking and talking and so I had to scream to be heard. Scream until my throat was raw. “Poppy?”
“I’m sorry!” I screamed.
“Poppy. Wake up.”
There was a hand on my arm and I bolted upright in the dark room. “Poppy, you’re safe.” It was Ronan. Ronan’s voice. His hands on me in the dark, and I collapsed into his arms, panic and fear and guilt cracking me wide open. “The girl,” I cried. “The girl in the shop. They killed her because of me. Because—”
“Shhhh, shhh. She died because of the Morellis,” he said, holding me tight against his chest. His body was a fire I could warm myself against. “You are as innocent as she was.”
That didn’t feel true. At. All. “No one else can die, Ronan. No one else.”
“They won’t. I promise, a chuisle. I promise.”
He held me and stroked my back. My shirt was sticking to me and my hair was damp with sweat but still I was cold. The kind of cold that would never get warm. I realized I was clinging to him. My hands in fists in his shirt. My hair stuck to his face. He wanted less of me and I kept giving him more. I let go of his shirt, patted down the wrinkle.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“It was just a nightmare,” I said and tried to smile, but I was going to cry again. And I didn’t want him here to see it. “I’m okay.”
“Poppy—”
“I’m fine. Honestly. I’m fine.” I sounded like a deranged chipmunk. But I needed him to leave so I could cry in peace. “Go back to your room.”
