Untamed (Hearts 3)

“What did the house look like when you went?” Ronan asked from the doorway to the kitchen. He had his arms braced on the frame, his body tilted towards us.

“Like there’d been a fire, a flood, and a robbery.”

“A robbery?”

“Everything has been gone through,” Zilla said. “Every drawer, every cupboard. The place is trashed.” She looked at me with sympathy, like I cared about those dresses and dishes. The only thing I cared about were the people in this room. And the pictures my sister had brought back to me.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” I whispered, grabbing her hand.

“Likewise. That trip to London was no fun. And hey.” Zilla turned around on the couch to face Ronan. “What’s the deal with the guy following me? Killer accountant? I thought after the senator died he’d vanish.”

“What guy?” I asked.

“Eden’s man,” Ronan said.

“The guy who broke into my room at Belhaven. We talked about it, remember? When I checked myself in.”

“That was months ago.”

I suddenly remembered Jacob’s face in that Red Hook bar when Zilla’s name was mentioned. That short, sharp look of worry and recognition. “Eden’s been having you followed for a while.”

“Well, someone tell him he can stop!”

“I don’t mind him keeping you safe,” Ronan said.

“I do!” Zilla cried, but her cheeks were all flushed with some emotion that wasn’t just anger.

Ronan and I shared a quick glance, and in that glance we had a whole silent conversation. This was a new trick of ours, born maybe in Ireland, when he’d been unable to keep up his walls. Of course, he’d been reading me like a book all along.

I’m worried.

I know. But I think he can be trusted. And I feel better if someone is watching her. I don’t trust the Morellis.

I don’t trust Caroline.

Zilla looked at us, her eyes bouncing from Ronan’s expressionless face to mine. “What’s going on between you two?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said too fast.

“Poppy. You just survived a relationship with a man who would have killed you if he could get away with it—”

“Zilla,” I snapped.

“And now you’re jumping in with a literal killer.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Ronan said.

“You won’t mean to,” Zilla said quietly. She turned to face me, and I saw our whole lives in her eyes. The way she seemed to learn so early that the only way to stay safe was to turn inward and I kept reaching for more. More love, more acceptance. More hope.

I went to Caroline time and time again, giving her more chances to hurt me. The same with our mother. It took the senator to cure me of such things. But my sister stood there reminding me that I only thought I was cured. I only thought I was smarter than those old instincts of mine.

That I was, in fact, doing it all again. Giving myself away for scraps. For hope. For fairy tales I wished were true.

“She only loves the things that don’t love her back,” Zilla whispered. “That’s how you’ll hurt her.”

The problem with having someone in my life who knew me so well was that she knew me so well. I couldn’t hide. And she was right. I was very good at loving people who didn’t love me back.

But this was different. Ronan was different. I knew it. This wasn’t hope. What I felt for him was real.

“Come back with me,” Zilla said. “To my apartment. The killer accountant can look after both of us. Or we’ll sell that bag of jewelry and buy an RV. Hit the road.”

I shook my head. “Maybe when it’s over. When we have the answers we need and…” I glanced up at Ronan. “When we’re all safe.”

My sister looked between us, her knowing jaded eyes seeing too much. “Fuck, Poppy,” she breathed. “You just never learn.” There was a sudden buzz from a phone and Ronan pulled his out of his pocket. He listened for a second.

“Does he have any weapons?” Ronan asked, sharpened once again into the killer king I knew. “Take them and let him up.” He put his phone in his pocket and pulled—from a drawer in the kitchen—a gun.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Zilla groaned.

“Go into the back room,” he said, walking towards the door just as there was a sudden pounding on it. I grabbed Zilla and we hustled into the back room, watching through a crack in the door as Ronan checked something on his phone. I imagined he was looking at the security feed, and whatever he saw out there did not make him happy.

He glanced back at us and then opened the door, letting in a man whose chest was heaving, the back of his shirt soaked in sweat. He turned as Ronan shifted to shut the door, each of them careful to keep each other in sight. They looked like boxers in a ring.