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“They’re not goin’ta hurt ye,” I tell her, tippin’ my head towards the club. There’s no reason fer her to feel the way she does, but deep down, I understand it. “And we’re needin’ ta get out of here fer the night.”
“Can ye stay and drink here, instead?” our shinin’ star asks.
She’s like a dove with that pretty hair, shimmerin’ in the dim light. She shines bright—an illumination that blinds me to everythin’ else around us—a radiant star.
I glance at Racer, and I can tell he’s already changed his mind about goin’ out. The fecker thinks I’m goin’ta confess my undyin’ feckin’ love fer her. I want ta chuckle at him, but I don’t.
“What do ye think, Ro?” he asks me with a glint of mischief in his gaze. I can only imagine the ideas currently runnin’ through his mind.
Nobody calls me by my full name, Ronan. It’s only Racer and Monster who are allowed ta shorten it and use it as a nickname.
“Ach, aye,” I finally answer, and I hear Lia sigh and see her shoulders sag in relief.
I want nothin’ more than to smile, but I don’t. She doesn’t need ta know I’m glad she’s happy we’re stayin’. It’s pure stupidity. This girl can’t be mine. Ever. Firstly, she’s too young fer me. And even if she wasn’t, I’m not the type of man she should ever want as a life-long mate. I’m bad news, and she shouldn’t be lookin’ at me like she is right now. It’s as if I’m her world.
“Go back inside,” I command her, and without debate, she obeys.
The idea of her listenin’ to me, followin’ my instruction, does somethin’ ta me. I want her ta be doin’ it a lot more.
Feck.
There’s danger ahead because the moment she hits eighteen my own rules no longer apply. My moral compass will shatter, and I’ll want ta claim her. I’ll have ta leave the feckin’ club if I can’t control my feelin’s.
I look at Racer, who’s watchin’ me intently. There are questions in his eyes, but I don’t want ta answer them. The thought of even considerin’ bein’ with her is nonsense. Bullshit. I can’t be with a woman like her. In fact I need ta keep remindin’ myself she’s not even a woman yet. I may only be a few years older than her, but it’s still feckin’ wrong.
“She’s trouble,” I remark, lookin’ at Racer.
The smile that curls his lips reminds me of the one he wears when we’re out partyin’ with as many women as we can find. We take one or two home and enjoy them together. I’ve never shied away from my sexuality. The fluid nature of desire is a drug.
But she’s different.
Callia is not one of those women. She’s so much more. That’s what makes her so feckin’ dangerous.
“And ye know ye like trouble,” Racer responds with a shove of his shoulder against mine. “Ye live fer it.”
“I’ll feckin’ break her heart,” I tell him, and it’s no joke. I’ll do it because it’s who I am.
Women don’t come ta me fer a happy ever after. They want a night of lust and desire, and then they go back ta their husbands right after. Sometimes, they’re still drippin’ my seed from their well used cunts when they do. The corner of my mouth lifts slightly as I hold back the chuckle. So many have wanted a second or third go. But I don’t do more than one night.
“Aye,” Racer answers me. “Ye might. Think about it, though. What if ye don’t?”
He poses the question quietly. He doesn’t shout it from the rooftops, which makes it even more dangerous because it settles in my mind, takin’ root, and I doubt I’m goin’ta be able to get it out anytime soon.
Most people are outspoken about their hopes and dreams. Ninety percent of them don’t achieve them. If ye want somethin’ in yer life, work quietly, silently, until ye achieve it, and then ye shout it fer the world to hear.
“And that’s the problem,” I tell him. “I don’t believe in forever. I don’t believe in fate, or all those other shite things that girls think about.”
Racer laughs out loud as I light up another smoke. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he says as he grabs the cigarette from my fingers, and putting it to his lips, he pulls in a deep drag.
“The day fer what?”
He meets my intense glare and says, “The day that the infamous Rebel is scared of a wee lass.”
All things considered, I could punch him out and leave him in the garden until tomorrow mornin’. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it’s probably the safest thing ta do. But I don’t.
“Ye’re a dick head.” My insult clearly doesn’t hit its mark, because he laughs at me. “I’m serious. Ye think ye know everythin’, Racer, when in fact, ye’re just as bad as I am.”
