Chapter Three
Ronan
“What does it eat?” I ask.
Conor points at a bag of dog food, and I grab it without looking at the label.
“It’s got a pink collar,” Conor observes. “And it looks like there might have been a tag on there at some point.”
“So?”
“So it probably belongs to somebody,” he says. “I don’t see Donny buying a dog a pink collar. Or even taking care of one for that matter. There weren’t any dog toys or even food in the house. Maybe it’s one of his whores.”
The lad does have a point, but it makes little difference now.
“I could take it to the pound,” he offers. “Someone might adopt it.”
I imagine the place he’s speaking of, and all I see are four cement walls and nothing but darkness. I don’t like his suggestion. I ignore him and grab a few other things off the shelves before I walk to the checkout.
When we get back to my house, I hand Conor the key and pop the boot on the beamer.
“Feed it for me, will ye? I have business with Crow.”
“You know you can’t just leave it for days at a time, right?” Conor asks. “You’ll have to come home every few hours and let it out. Make sure it has food and water. You know, actually keep it alive.”
“That’s what I have you for,” I tell him.
He grunts and shuts the door, and I wait until he’s inside before I drive back to the club. Once inside, I head straight to the bar and order two glasses of Jameson neat. Crow won’t be here for another thirty minutes, so I’ve got time to kill. I walk towards the rear of the building, slipping into the VIP room unnoticed. Or so I’d hoped. Within two minutes of entering, Kaya slinks in my direction.
“Hey, Ronan,” she greets me. “Want some company tonight?”
“No,” I answer tersely.
The same answer I always give her.
She rolls her eyes and follows my gaze to the stage. It’s no secret I’m here every night that I’m able. When Sasha works. She doesn’t know that, but Kaya does. She found me back here in the shadows one night and has taken it upon herself to bother me ever since.
Lately that hasn’t been as frequent on account of me having to babysit Crow’s troublemaker Mack. She came into the club and turned everything on its arse with her lies and her agenda. But regardless of that fact, Crow was mad for the girl and I was saddled with guard duty until he sussed out her motives. That, I reason, is how Donny must have been getting to Sasha. Coming here when I was preoccupied so he could put his filthy hands on her.
“You know,” Kaya’s voice breaks through the silence, and I blink up at her. I don’t know why she’s still standing here. “I think we might have a problem on our hands, Ronan. And I’m really not sure who to talk to about it.”
She’s making a whole production with her lips. Pushing them out like she’s pouting. I tilt my head and try to work out what it is she wants from me.
“What sort of problem?” I ask.
“Sasha’s been popping an awful lot of pills lately,” she says. “I think maybe she’s turning into a junkie or something.”
My response is hasty and uncontrollable. Before I can cop onto myself, I’ve got a hold of her by the arms, glaring down into her terrified face.
“Do ye like working here at Slainte?” I ask her.
“Y-y-yes,” she stutters.
“And do ye like waking up every morning?”
She nods her head spastically, but no words come out this time. It’s just as well, because I don’t know what I’m doing. Only that I can’t control myself where Sasha is concerned. Which is why I stay far away from her.
“Do not ever so much as mention Sasha’s name again,” I tell Kaya. “In any form, or conversation of the sort. Do ye get me?”
She nods again, but I’m not through with her yet.
“Her mother is dying. And she thinks that ye’re her mate. If you even so much as whisper something about her to one of the other girls, or any of the lads for that matter…”
“Alright, Ronan.” She tries to pat me on the chest to placate me. I shove her away and she nearly falls off her high heels.
“I get it,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be catty.”
“Aye, you were,” is my reply.
She presses her lips together and crosses her arms. “I won’t say another word on the subject.”
“I don’t want to see ye back here again,” I tell her. “Let me be.”
She does as I ask and toddles off towards the dressing room.
I already know about Sasha and the pills. I found them in her purse last week when I noticed she’d been acting a wee bit off during her performance. And every night since then, I’ve followed her back to her house and checked the bottle.
It’s a problem. One I haven’t worked out how to handle. Like everything else when it comes to Sasha. But I will not stand for anyone speaking about her that way. She isn’t an addict. She’s wrecked over her mammy’s illness and it’s clearly making her a bit mad.
I don’t understand it myself, but Crow was the same when his mammy passed. I’ve seen it before with the lads too, any time one of our mates meets his maker. It’s the natural progression of things, I believe. But I’ve indulged Sasha’s recklessness as long as I’m willing to. This issue with the pills is going to stop. It’s going to stop tonight.
I collapse back into the leather seat and check my watch. Five minutes pass while I wait, and I spend them chasing up one glass of Jameson with another. When the music starts up and the stage lights come on, I lean back in my chair and give my sole attention to the dancer onstage.
Her long silky dark hair nearly touches the curves of her ass when she arches her back and tips her head back. She has a body that was made for the stage. That’s what Niall said when he hired her. I wanted to punch his teeth in, even if it is true.
Her skin glows under the lights and captures the attention of every male in the room. My own body responds when I remember what it felt like to touch. The few small parts of it that I did touch. When I lost control. When I allowed myself to be reckless with her.
It’s something not even time can wash away. My mind knows every inch of her body, including the parts my hands have never felt. Round hips and a small waist. Soft, full breasts. Everything about her is sensual and feminine, and every animal in the room has his eyes on her. I have an urge to gouge them all out when I catch them looking at her.
I never wanted her here. In this environment. But without claiming her as my own, I had no say in the matter. And I will never claim her as my own. Which leaves me with one solution. I’ve no choice but to bear it. To watch the lads leer at her and make comments.
She hasn’t any idea that none of them will ever have her. The ones who feel up to trying leave here with a few broken bones if they’re lucky. She doesn’t know that either. Crow and I have an agreement. She isn’t mine. But I still don’t want them touching her.
As she performs, her face scans the crowd as it usually does. I often wonder if she’s looking for someone. I often wonder if that someone could be me. Sometimes, I prefer to sit out of the shadows, where I know I can be seen. Her blue eyes always meet mine for a second. In that moment, I try to sort out what she’s thinking. They are so pure and gentle. Filled with a goodness that I’ll never know. Everything about her is like that.
Her lips are soft and pink and only speak kind words. She doesn’t talk like the other girls. She doesn’t gossip or speak just for the sake of talking. And she’s always nice to me. She never laughs at me, like some of them do.
I often dream of her. Small fragile hands exploring my body. Hands that could never hurt. Hands that- when they touched me- made me feel things I didn’t understand.
I like to follow her. To watch her when she doesn’t know it. She only ever sees me when I want her to. She hasn’t a clue that I’m with her every night. Watching, obsessing, craving her in a way that I’m not accustomed to. She brings to life my baser functions. An urge to be inside of her so strong, sometimes I worry I will succumb to it again.
That would be wrong.
Because I can’t give her what she needs. I don’t even know what she needs. I only know that touching her again would be like dousing the fire with gasoline in hopes of calming it. I know once I have another taste, there would be no choice in the matter. I fear that I would continue to draw from her goodness until there was nothing left. Until she could only ever hate me.
I don’t know how to avoid that. I don’t know anything other than that it’s always been her, from the moment I saw her three years ago. She’s the thing that I’ve yearned for more than anything else. And for that reason, she’s the thing I can never have. I cannot control my urges. My instincts.
Because when I think about her with those other men, it makes me angry. So bloody angry. She gave herself to them. And she shouldn’t have. Logically, I know I don’t own her. But I want her just the same, and yet I’m too paralyzed to act on it. But all I ever have to do is think about her with someone else, and it makes me want to take her for my own. Give her no choice in the matter.
I don’t ever want to be that way with her. She could only ever see me as the animal she saw tonight.
In the darkness, as her performance goes on, my frustration only grows. It isn’t often that I feel angry over the things in my past. The things that made me what I am. But watching Sasha in the shadows, knowing that someday another man will have her, it triggers my rage like nothing else can.
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.