Chester Santos. Chester fucking ‘Cherry Pepsi’ Santos. Or just Cherry, he hated whenever JC called him by his actual name. ‘Cherry you wanna go do somethin’ together later?’ She remembered Cherry backhanding her over a stupid name. A fucking name. He had made her so vicious she herself hated it whenever people called her Jennifer and not JC, though there were times he would and she felt like he was the only one allowed to call her that. Ever since she got away from that lifestyle she felt better about this. Able to move on and maybe feel normal. JC had a boyfriend who was went underappreciated. Ronan was everything if not more she could want, he was skillful and straight forward–organized and tedious, he kept her on a straight path and JC needed this discipline.
She was staring up at the ceiling of his large bedroom. It was probably bigger than her living-room. His walls were marvelous, blemish-free. JC was living in the less-lavished part of the city as oppose to her boyfriend’s penthouse. His head between her legs and as appetizing as it was to gaze into those big violet eyes of his, tongue dragging over her skin in a way that made her feel sticky and sinful–she just couldn’t. Ronan had mentioned that fucker’s name in the middle of their movements, JC couldn’t ignore the flooding memories and torment she felt being with someone so merciless. She had loved Cherry like any normal girl who loved their first, but it is or be killed by the thing you love the most. JC wasn’t ready to sacrifice her life for Cherry’s sickening psyche. He was a sociopath and he knew it. If he asked her if he could set her on fire she’d probably let him. “Just–Stop.” JC’s fingers reached down below, stretching over her abdomen as she caught a fistful of his hair in her grasp.
It felt like she was being suffocated, tension in her face. She was a sad woman and she hated being reminded about it. JC didn’t want to let go, nor interrupt what he was doing. Ronan was a God and she was ruining her chances being graced with his abilities all because of words–meaningless words. “I don’t want to do this–I don’t.” Pulling her hand away she sat up, her entire demeanor changed so drastically within minutes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He drew back, let JC’s legs fall from his shoulders, yet arranged them carefully after, closing her thighs. He covered her lower half with the thick, black duvet before he bothered addressing himself. Ronan had to make sure JC was comfortable, aptly attended first. All he had to do was slip himself back into his trousers, fasten and zipp his fly, and buckle his belt swiftly. Ronan sat beside JC, silently grave. He considered putting his shirt back on, pondering whether his half-dressed state was appropriate or not, given the radical shift in mood.
The desire to wrap JC in his arms was powerful, but he knew she wouldn’t respond well to that. She was not an affectionate woman, even when she needed it most, like right now, and guilt hollowed his stomach for being the cause. He regretted his reckless impulse earlier. If he’d only waited until later, until a better time, JC wouldn’t be so troubled, swimming in turmoil.
Head tipped back against the height of the headboard, Ronan wasn’t sure how to answer or where to begin. Would she get angry? Cuss him out, attack him? Or would JC shut down, reverse all the work they did together to get to the open, vulnerable point they were at in their relationship now?
Better to come right out with it.
“These past few months I’ve been digging into Chester Santos. Crimes, associates, everything... I looked into your time spent with him too, so I could learn his patterns and habits, who he targets.” Ronan paused a moment, allowed JC to absorb that, then dropped the bomb: “I found his location.”
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