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Damaged souls have their own beauty. A dark, terrifying beauty. The same type of beauty I recognize in Ronan.
The Reaper. That’s what they call him in the MacKenna Crew. The name speaks for itself. Yet this man—this cold-blooded killer—can’t find it within himself to speak to me. His cheeks flush pink every time I look his way, and then his jaw strains with the force of his anger.
I want to be what she needs. What she wants. But I’m not. Someone else will. Someone who I may very well end up killing, too.
He nudges my legs apart and pushes his palm between my thighs like he owns that part of me. Who am I to argue? He does fucking own me. He’s polluted my mind so I can only ever think of him. Only ever want him.
“You have kind hands,” he murmurs.
“He says… he will protect you.”
I’m broken and tarnished. Yet he’s looking at me right now like he’s never seen anything more angelic in his life. His eyes are unguarded and open. It’s a rare sight, and I’m honestly surprised he’s here at all after what happened the last time.
Flyleaf’s “Set Me on Fire” and “All Around Me” followed by Starset’s “My Demons.”
It isn’t until the music cuts off that I realize he’s yelling at one of the guys in the audience, all the while I’m dangling over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Ronan?” I squeak. “Put me down!” His grip only tightens. “I’ll fucking kill ye if you ever look at her like that again,” he snarls.
I catch sight of Lachlan grinning. And then the bastard winks at me. He fucking winks.
He isn’t at all sweet. But if I wanted sugar, I’d eat a fucking cupcake.
This man is pure agony. My descent to hell. In fact, I’m certain he must be Lucifer himself because the poison he feeds me is too sweet to resist.
“Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye’re claimed.” His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that’s left to do is burn for him.
“Ye’re not leaving,” he says through the door. “Ye’re going to stay right here with me.” His footsteps move down the hall, away from me, and I slam my hand against the wood. “This is called kidnapping, you know!”
“He was so busy watching you that he never noticed anything else in that club. When you were there, you were the only thing that existed for him.”
Ronan watches closely as if he might miss something should he even blink. He’s seen me naked plenty over the last two years, but he still looks at me like it’s the first time. In his eyes, I’m not dirty or wrong or broken the way I often think I am.
“I’ll always look after ye, Sasha,” he says. “Nobody will ever hurt ye again.” “Okay,” I whisper. I kiss him because I know he means it. There isn’t a thing on God’s green earth that Ronan Fitzpatrick wouldn’t do to protect me.
This man resting on my lap is my whole world. The sun rises and sets with him.
“Sasha?” “Hmm?” I murmur sleepily against him. “I don’t know how I ever had the good fortune to find you.”
I just caught the boss and the underboss of the Irish mob blushing over a baby.
“My anam cara,” we both repeat. They’re the same words carved into our wedding rings in Ogham script. The words that mean, quite simply, his soul is mated to mine.
My life, my love, my breath. May we always have each other in this life and the next.
