prompt: k/ronan, mafia!au, exes, “you had no idea, did you?”
“You had no idea, did you?” Detective Lynch murmured, leaning across the stainless steel table, all big shoulders and big hands and big fucking badge.
K had gone entirely still when he came into the room, moving like a jungle cat, hulking and soundless. Next to him, Jiang was as cool and collected as ever, even though K could practically hear him thinking, hear the gears turning in his head. The plans being laid. A hundred ways to get out of this, and all of them including either a loss of life, money, or reputation.
K had to do something, had to think of something, except he couldn’t. Not with Ronan goddamn Lynch sitting across from him, looking at him the same way he used to over a glass of whiskey and a bed of messed-up sheets, before he’d fucking died. Before he’d been running smack for K and gotten intercepted by the fucking feds, before he’d exploded like a firework in the New Jersey night, months ago now.
K had buried a handful of ash and the remnants of a silver crucifix, fished out from the burnt-out husk of Ronan’s car after it ran off that goddamn cliff.
“If you’ll direct all your questions to me instead of my client, I would appreciate it.” Jiang said smoothly, covering K’s stunned silence. His tongue ring was clicking on his teeth as he spoke; he’d come straight from a club, and it was only sheer dumb luck that he wasn’t drunk or high. He’d have come anyway, because none of his pack, none of his men would leave K hanging, but this was better. Not even Ronan could win a staring match with Jiang Hu.
“Okay, Mr. Hu.” Ronan said, and glanced down at the file in front of him with a sardonic sort of tilt to his eyebrows, like he was amused. Like he was the one in charge here, like he had K right where he wanted him. Once, K would’ve put him on his knees for that kind of look. Would’ve turned him into a mess, desperate for anything, for everything. Would’ve reveled in the miracle of that big body beneath him, under his control.
He’s a cop. He’s a cop. He’s a cop.
The words just kept repeating themselves in K’s mind. Over and over. Ronan was a cop. He wasn’t the fucked-up orphaned Irish mutt that K thought he was. Wasn’t the man with all that Catholic stoicism and repression, which meant he didn’t break easy, but when he did, it was something particularly spectacular. K had never seen the appeal of fucking the tortured, guilty types before he met Ronan. Hadn’t known how satisfying it would be. How enamored he’d become of the revulsion hiding just beneath the surface of Ronan’s frozen eyes.
He’d thought it electrifying, once. Now, he just felt like he was two steps away from being electrified, himself. From the goddamn chair.
K came forward suddenly, planting his elbows on the tabletop, come alive all of a sudden like a jack in the box, eyes on fire, teeth bared in the most vicious grin he could manage. Ronan did not flinch, but it was a near thing.
“So, was any of it real?” He purred, loud enough that he knew it would be picked up on the interrogation room’s sound system. Loud enough that it would go on the transcripts of this interview. “Or were you just pretending to rail lines of coke off my cock?” K licked his lips, practically foaming at the mouth. Nobody made a fucking fool out of Joseph Kavinsky.
“And what about all the other shit?” He shot out a hand and caught Ronan by the tie, gripping it tight. “You gonna tell them how you cried like a bitch for it when I made you call me Da-” the door to the interrogation room slammed open, people shouting even as Ronan twisted his arm around his back, cracking his cheekbone against the tabletop as he was pinned to it, positioned perfectly to hear the words Ronan spoke, right in his ear.
“I got you, you piece of fucking shit-” Ronan whispered hotly, before he was dragged off by some other detective in the same fucking suit, leaving K laughing, cackling, Jiang helping him up while simultaneously threatening seven different lawsuits against the department, the city, and Detective Lynch himself.
K didn’t speak until they were in the back of the car, outside, released without charges, for now, the partition up and Jiang satisfied that there were no bugs planted anywhere. “Lynch is fucking dead.” He bit out, flexing his fingers on his own thighs. Remembering the scalding heat of Ronan’s skin, the way he’d taken to wetwork like he’d done it all his goddamn life, except that was no doubt a fabrication, too, all of K’s assumed-dead enemies probably waiting in WITSEC to testify against him at trial.
Jiang didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t look up from his laptop, nor from the two phones he was texting furiously upon.
K leaned his head back, watching the city lights streak past through slitted eyes, simmering in his gut.
He’s a cop.
