I settle into the back seat of the car, pulling Ronan’s jacket closed to keep my bare breasts from showing. Ronan climbs in, his dress shirt splattered with blood like a cannibal, yet somehow he still looks completely refined. Ronan stares straight ahead and the car instantly fills with a crackling tension. I know I'm in for it.

Boris pulls away from the dirty hotel, leaving Pedro's body for the local law enforcement and, in turn, The Horseman to discover.

Ronan tenses beside me, a low groan rumbling from his throat. He's staring at his phone, the muscles in his jaw set. When he lifts his eyes to look at me, there's that all too familiar fire raging within them. "You kept information from me," he says through gritted teeth.

"I simply withheld it until the opportune moment,” I say. There's a slight tic to his lips. "I thought, seeing as it was information brought to me by my brother of the lowly cartel, you weren't interested." I inspect my nails, picking at the dried blood by my cuticles.

"Mario Luca..."

"What about him?"

A disbelieving laugh slips through his lips. "His bank has just received a payment..." He types something over the screen, anger radiating from him like a nuclear device. "For missiles. Missiles I did not sell." His gaze swings over to me, pinning me to the spot. "Missiles you supplied information to my enemy for!"

Oh, he can go fuck himself. "You know, the more time I spend with you, the less I regret that," I snap.

A fog falls over him, almost like he's somewhere else. He leans back against the seat and crosses one leg over his knee. His chest rises and falls unevenly as he scrubs a hand over his stubble. I expect at any moment, he's going to snap. The car winds through the city, motorists whizzing by the windows unaware of the pending apocalypse inside this car. Without warning, he has me pinned against the seat by my throat. "You gave them ten years of work!" He's panting, struggling to form words. I feel the tip of a knife dig underneath my chin as he presses my head further back, exposing my throat for him to bleed. "I cannot trust you."

The blade bites into my skin and I grit my teeth. "Because you think I betrayed you? No, Ronan. I made a move against my enemy at the time." I lift my hand, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at me, to see through his blind rage. "You'd have done the same thing."

"This is not about me.” His nostrils flare. “It's about you."

I huff a small laugh. "Ah, it's always about you, Ronan. I didn't love you then.”

His eyes close and the knife cuts deeper into my skin a slither of fear causing my heart to beat just a little harder. "I'm losing," he says so quietly I'm barely certain of what he said. "I should have killed you when I took you."

"We are not losing."

The knife drops to my lap and he grabs my face, sweeping his thumbs along my jaw. "You make me weak, and a man with a heart never wins the war."

"Only if you fall in love with a weak woman. You promised me the world would burn at our feet. Let me help you," I whisper.

"Don't give me another reason not to trust you."

"Don't shut me out and I won't keep things from you. We can do this together or separately, Ronan, but I'm in this every bit as much as you. I'm more than capable of fighting a war on my own." I lift a brow. "But I'd rather stand beside the devil while I do it."

His phone rings and he settles back in the seat, speaking in Russian. I glance through the window, lifting my fingers to the fine line of blood at my neck.

A low, droning sound starts up outside the car, a haunting echo that seems to permeate everything.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask, turning to face Ronan.

"Air raid siren," he says as though it's nothing at all to be concerned with.

I stare at him for a beat longer. "Oh, is that all?" I wave a hand through the air and he turns his attention back to his phone. I slap his thigh. "Ronan!"

"Boris," Ronan says, still staring at his phone. "Please do pull over on Fifth and Seventeenth."

The high-pitched whining continues and people run down the street like rats running from a flood. "This is just a drill, right?"

"I don't believe so." He grins. He grins!!

My phone pings. I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. A text pops up all the writing in Russian. "What does this say?" I shove the phone in his face.

He holds his finger up. "The same thing the siren is saying." He sighs. "Boris, we have about fifteen minutes. Fifth and Seventeenth."

"Oh my god." I want to put my head between my knees or get a paper bag or something. I'm too young to die like this. "Is this one of yours?"

"Hard to say." He shoves his phone inside his breast pocket and smirks.

"You're an asshole."

The car screeches to a halt and Ronan throws open the door, the sound of the siren deafening. He grabs my hand and yanks me out. People are running in every direction. Cars have been abandoned in the street. Panic saturates the air in a choking fog. And in the center of it all, stands Ronan, a cigar between his lips as though it were any other day on any other street—aside from his blood covered shirt that is. He really is the devil. He has to be. I cross myself and start mumbling a Latin prayer that my madre used to say under my breath. I'll return to Jesus right now if I have to.

He strolls along amidst the chaos before stopping to look over his shoulder. "Do you prefer to stay out here?"

"Look, your satanic ass might be impervious to fire and nuclear fallout, but I am not." I glance around. "Shouldn't we be inside?"

He sighs, shaking his head and grabbing my hand. "Come on, Boris."

A crowd of people hurry toward a subway station and Ronan weaves between the hysterical masses, blowing his cigar smoke through the air.

The packed subway is filled with crying children, panicked women and men. Ronan shoves his way through the crowd and we reach the edge of the platform. He hops onto the tracks and turns around, holding out his hand. I drop to the edge and his hands land on my waist, lowering me to the ground.

Boris hops onto the tracks beside me, and Ronan stalks away. I jog to catch up with him, winding my fingers through his. Very little scares me, but right now, I'm terrified. I know all about his weapons of mass destruction and how easily his clients can buy them. Not to mention The Horseman apparently has the means to make the same weapons. This is not some bullshit news piece about the possibilities of nuclear attack in some country far away. This is very fucking real.

We walk down the tracks for a while before Ronan stops outside a service door. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocks it. The hinges squeal in protest as he pushes it open to reveal the darkness beyond. He flips a switch and an overhead light blinks to life. The low electrical hum buzzes over the distant sound of the air raid sirens as I stare down the concrete stairwell with cobwebs clinging to the walls.

Ronan lets go of my hand and descends the steps before unlocking another door at the bottom. I follow him into the dark room, only a strip of tiled floor illuminated from the stairway. When he turns the lights on, I still.

"What the fuck, Ronan?" It's a sleek apartment, everything pristine and white. There's a kitchen to one side of the room and a large lounge in front of me. To the side there are a couple of doorways, a bed visible through one of them.

"A smart man is always prepared."

"You have an apartment… in the subway?" I walk into the kitchen and open one of the cupboards finding it stocked to capacity with tinned food. "What are you preparing for? The apocalypse?"

"One would be foolish not to."

"Oh, sure. Of course." I glance at Boris, hoping he's half as freaked out as I am. He does look kind of pale, but then he's always pale. "So now what?"

He shrugs, his eyes lighting up. "We wait. It is exciting, isn't it?"

"A motorbike is exciting.” I point a finger at him, narrowing my eyes. “This is...I don't even know."

"Oh, come now. We're living through history, little kitty." He grins. "Who knows, we may very well be one of the few people left in mere moments."

"Why do I think you'd like that," I mumble to myself. "I need a shower." I slide Ronan's jacket from my shoulders and toss it over a chair. Boris literally looks at the ceiling. "Oh, suck it up, princess. We might be stuck in here a while. Get used to it," I snap.

"Do not look at her."

Boris continues to look at the ceiling. "Yes, sir."

I raise a brow and unbutton my jeans, slowly lowering the zip. "You can't kill him. Where would you put the body? It would smell terrible after a few days." I reach behind me and release my bra. Ronan's jaw clenches as I allow the straps to fall from my shoulders. Dried blood flakes from my skin, dusting the bright white tile at my feet. Boris now has his eyes screwed shut and I fight a smile. I have to get my kicks somewhere.

Ronan crosses the room, grabbing my shoulders and backing me through one of the bedrooms and into the bathroom before he slams the door in my face. "Ah, sweetie, don't you want to help me get the blood off? It's everywhere," I say to the closed door, fighting a laugh.

After I’ve showered, I wrap myself in a towel and step into the bedroom. Ronan is sitting on the edge of bed, furiously typing something out on his phone.

"Any news?" I ask. His eyes drift up the length of my body before settling on my face.

"It's fine, we're well away from the fall out range." He types away on his phone. "We're going to New York."

"So there is an actual missile? Somewhere in the vicinity of Moscow?"

"There was."

"Okay." I pace in front of him, nodding my head. "New York. That's safe, right? No one would bomb New York." I small laugh slips from my lips as the hysteria starts to rise again.

"Would you stop pacing!"

I whirl around to face him. "I'm fucking nervous!" I drag a hand through my hair. "Why are we going to New York?"

He groans. "Mario Luca is in New York."

"Okay. Good." I focus on the task at hand rather than whatever carnage Ronan is undoubtedly responsible for outside. "So, we go to New York and end The Horseman." This I can deal with.

"We go to New York to find out who The Horseman is."

I tilt my head to the side. "You don't think it's Mario?"

"No."

I sigh and walk over to the set of wardrobes against the wall. When I open the doors, I find a rack full of dresses, shoes tucked neatly beneath, lingerie—all brand new. "Do you bring all your girlfriends into your bomb shelter?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder as I pluck a dress from the rack.

"No."

"Well, now I feel special." I smirk, dropping the towel and sliding a pair of white lace panties up my legs. His eyes drop to my naked body before moving back to my face. "When do we leave?" I step into a black dress and shimmy it over my hips before walking over to him. "Zip me."

"In two hours." He pulls my zip up.

"Don't you have to wait until there's not a possibility of being shot out of the sky before you fly anywhere?"

"Oh, I'm certain the airports do." He smirks.

"Of course." I turn around and press my lips to his. "You're Ronan Cole."

That garnishes a smile and his arm bands across the small of my back. "You need to shower. Blood is nowhere near as fun once it's dry." I say, kissing him again.

His fingers trail around my throat before his lips tease the corner of my mouth. My pulse pitter patters in my chest, anticipation rising in my stomach, and then he moves away.

"Pack some clothes," he says. The bathroom door closes behind him.

I've been dismissed.