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Romy
The elevator rumbles faintly, taking my new husband to fuck knows where.
Now it’s just me and the sour-faced beefcake in the hallway. Ronan. Arms folded across his chest, he glares down at me, blue eyes daring me to make a move. I don’t. I can’t. I’m frozen to the spot, dumbfounded. But it’s only a few seconds before the panic creeps in.
Maybe it’s the way my breathing stutters or how every muscle in my body constricts, but Ronan senses something brewing inside me and hisses, “Don’t you dare.”
I’m not listening to his threat or the polite and professional chatter floating down the hall. All I can hear is the voice in my head and what it’s screaming.
Run.
Get the hell out of here.
Don’t let them cage you.
Clawing at my throat, I take a step back, drinking in the white walls. They’re closing in. The hallway in front of me grows narrower while Ronan grows bigger, blocking any gap that I might be able to slip through.
“You need to calm down,” Ronan says sternly. His voice sounds a million miles away. With one last dubious glance at me, he lifts his radio to his mouth and mutters into it, tone low and serious.
“Get everybody out of here. Now.”
A crackle from the speaker. Then a very faint, “You need help, boss?”
His eyes flicker over me, then he shakes his head in disbelief. “Nah. You can all go on break.”
“Copy.”
The activity behind Ronan grows louder. The scraping of chairs, the rumble of deep, authoritative voices. Over Ronan’s shoulder, a sea of suits pours toward the elevator, surrounded by the guards in black. They do a great job of pretending I don’t exist, but the suits struggle a bit more. Their eyes dart toward me, then back down to their shiny heels or Starbuck’s cups. But when I lock eyes with Abe Cooper, it’s like a dam breaks.
“Help!” I scream at him, “They won’t let me leave!”
The ghost of an apologetic smile passes his thin lips before he steps into the elevator with everybody else.
That bastard. He knew.
Heart slamming against my rib cage, my attention slashes back to Ronan. “Let me go,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Or so help me God.”
He laughs. Yeah, the prick actually laughs. An acidic chuckle that bubbles at the back of his throat. “Don’t make threats you can’t make good on, little girl.”
The air is thick, and I’m choking on it every time I take a drag through my nostrils.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It can’t happen. There’s too much going on outside of One Diabhal Square for me to be caged here. I have a life, I have a job—oh, god, I have Mak.
He’ll get back from his trip and wonder what the fuck happened to me.
Staying here isn’t an option.
I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly reminded of what the Devil said he knew about me in the hotel room.
You get angry and can’t think straight.
I’ll show that bastard how straight I can think.
I turn my back to the brute and steady my breathing. Force synthetic calmness to trickle into every muscle, nerve, and vein around my body.
Looking over my shoulder, I give Ronan my best defeated expression. “What am I supposed to do until Donnacha comes back?”
His brows knit together. “I don’t know, lass. Take a nap? Call your therapist?” He grunts.
