Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Iwoke up to a dark sky. The day gone. Feeling stoned—not that I’d ever been stoned, which actually at this moment in my life seemed criminal. I was a twenty-two-year-old. How had I never gotten high?

I’d learned how to drive; maybe smoking a joint would be next.

Starving, wrapped in the pink silk robe, I wandered downstairs looking for a cup of coffee and my cell phone.

Instead, I found Caroline in the kitchen’s breakfast nook, a glass of wine and an open manila folder in front of her. Behind her the sky was indigo. The dark shadow of trees taking bites out of the slightly lighter blue. The lamp over the table was glass and gold fixtures, and cast angular shadows over Caroline’s face.

She wore a pair of yoga pants and a cashmere sweater. Her feet were bare. I’d never seen her so . . . undone. She looked somehow even younger. More beautiful.

“Hey,” I said.

“You’re awake,” she said with the kind of smile that always felt motherly to me.

“Finally.”

“You want a glass of wine?”

“No, but could I get some coffee?”

“I can get Denise to make it.”

“I got it—”

I turned to find Ronan leaning against the counter, blending into the shadows. His feet crossed at the ankles. His white shirt pulled taut over his shoulders. I realized I had not ever seen his body. He’d seen me naked and crying. And he’d only been dressed and distant.

“Oh,” I said, my face suddenly hot. My nipples beneath the robe, hard. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I can leave.”

“No. You’re not interrupting anything,” Caroline said. “Well, you are, but . . . it concerns you.”

“Me?” I turned, coffee forgotten.

“Come sit,” she said, patting the spot at the wooden table across from her. I slid across the bench seat, and she handed me the folder.

“What is this?”

“Something I wasn’t going to talk to you about. But, after last night and the fire, I think . . . I think we need to talk about it.”

I opened the folder.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, looking out the window, trying to blink away the image of my husband, bone white with a black and red hole in the middle of his head.

“Sorry,” Caroline said. “I should have warned you.”

“What is this?” I asked, still not looking at the image.

“I hired a private coroner,” Caroline said.

“It was suicide, why would you hire a coroner?”

“Because the Bishop’s Landing coroner has ties to the Morelli family. Ulrich—he’s our private investigator, you know—suggested it after getting wind of possible Morelli involvement.”

“The Morellis?” It was like she was speaking French. And she had a private investigator and coroner on call? “What . . . what do they have to do with anything?”

“Your husband and I were working together on several issues,” Caroline said. “And many of those issues worked in opposition to the Morellis’ plans.”

“Plans for what?”

“Listen to me, Poppy.” Caroline was talking to me like I was a kindergartner which I resented but also probably needed. My brain was on fire. “Your husband had plenty of enemies. But I didn’t trust the coroner’s report, because of the Morelli connection. That’s why I hired a private coroner.”

Ronan set a cup of coffee at my elbow, and I jumped so high I nearly smacked it out of his hand.

Caroline reached over and opened the file again. I closed my eyes.

“Poppy. You can’t close your eyes against this. Jim’s gunshot wasn’t self-inflicted.”

I gaped at her. Laughed, incredulously. I was still dreaming. I had to be. “You’re saying someone else shot him?”

“That’s what the coroner report says. Someone shot him and tried to make it look like a suicide.”

“He’s a US senator,” I cried. “That’s . . . that’s an outrageous cover up.”

“I know.”

Ronan faded back into the shadows, but I was aware of him there. In the room. A magnet I could not ignore and felt myself bending towards, despite knowing I would get hurt. Despite knowing he did not want me bending towards him.

“How?” I cried. “How could someone cover that up?”

“The Morellis have a lot of power,” Caroline said. “And it all starts with the crime scene and with the original falsified coroner report. And with your statement.”

“My statement?”

“You told the police he’d been acting strange. Not sleeping. Home more than in the office. Combined with a falsified doctor’s report—”

“The doctor lied?” I asked.

“People will do anything for the right amount of money.”

“But why?”

“That’s not what’s important right now, Poppy,” she said.

“Not important?” I cried. “Am I still sleeping? Is this like . . . a stress dream?”

“Between your husband being murdered and the fire at your house; I fear that someone might be trying to hurt you, Poppy,” Caroline said.

“But why?” I was literally NO ONE. Hurting me, killing me would have no impact on the world. None whatsoever.

Caroline pushed her wine glass away and grabbed my hand. “Your sister—”

I jerked my hand back. “No.”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me. Zilla wouldn’t hurt me. I mean, killing the senator, maybe . . . if she was in one of her manic phases. But covering it up like that? She doesn’t have that kind of power.” I stood up. Frantic and strange in my body. Two families had that kind of power—the Morellis and the Constantines. “How do they know he was killed by someone else? The coroner you hired, what did he find out that the other guy lied about?”

“The angle of the bullet through his skull.” Caroline said. “No residue on his hands.”

“This can’t be true.”

“It’s true, Poppy,” Ronan said. I whirled to face him, and his stillness was not threatening in this moment. It was a comfort. A rock in a storm. “It’s true.”

“What about the medical records. The cancer?”

“The doctor who signed the paperwork is gone.”

“Gone?”

“He’s just . . . vanished.”

Oh god. Officially this was too much. Officially, the room and my world were spinning.

“So,” I said. “What you’re saying is that someone killed my husband. Made it look like a suicide. Bribed a doctor?” I shrugged, manically. “Killed a doctor? And the coroner was somehow in on it, and now they want to kill me?”

“Please, calm down, Poppy,” Caroline said.

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Of course,” she said calmly. “Of course you are supposed to believe me. I have only ever had your best interests at heart.”

“Which is why you married me off to Jim. Right? All part of my best interests?”

It was like the room cracked. Or my brain? Was it my brain cracking?

Caroline sat up straight. God, she looked like a queen. Regal even in her bare feet. No one ever doubted her.

Except Zilla and now, apparently me.

“He was looking for a wife, and you needed money,” Caroline said.

“A wife. Hilarious. He was looking for someone he could hurt with impunity. And you gave me to him.”

“You sound like your sister,” Caroline said.

“Maybe I should have listened to her more.”

“Right. When she was restrained at Belhaven. After she burned down your childhood home. After she went after that priest? Who made all that go away? Hmmm?” Caroline asked. “When you talk about listening to your sister, who kept her out of jail?”

“You did,” I whispered. And I let my gratitude for that carry me into whatever she asked of me. I looked at Ronan who was standing to the side, arms at his sides like he could grab me and wrap me in a strait jacket if he needed to. “I’m going to go home,” I said.

“I know you’re upset,” Caroline said. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I know. It is a good idea. It’s a great idea. It is in fact the only idea.” I walked out of the kitchen towards the front door, walking down hallways past rooms filled with bad memories. “Where is my phone? I just need my phone and maybe some shoes?”

“Poppy, you are being ridiculous,” Caroline said.

Sure. Yep. Probably. But I wasn’t exactly sure what else there was to do in this situation. I needed some distance. A chance to think. A goddamn cup of coffee.

Denise arrived from some dark hallway. “Do you need some help?” she asked, her eyes taking in everyone.

“Shoes, Denise. Any shoes will do. And my phone.”

Denise looked back at Caroline as if to get permission. “Look at me!” I barked. “Talk to me. I want my shoes and my phone.”

Denise vanished for a second and came back with the boots I’d worn last night and my phone, which was of course dead. “The clothes are still in the wash. They smelled of smoke.”

“This is great.” I shoved my feet in the boots and grabbed my dead phone from her. “Perfect.”

I was out the front door before I realized Ronan was behind me. “I don’t need—”

“I’m driving you,” he said.

“I—”

“I’m driving you.”

We walked down the front walk, around to the side of the house where there were a few cars parked. One of them a sleek black sports car. “Get in.”

“Are you mad?”

“Get in the car.”

I slipped in the passenger side as Ronan got in behind the wheel. The engine started with a roar, and we took off so fast my head hit the headrest.

“Why are you mad?” I cried.

“I’m not.” He shifted gears like we were in some kind of car race, and I grabbed the seat belt, slipping it over my body.

“You just always drive like you’re behind in the Indy 500?”

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh.

“Was all of that true?” I asked. “Someone killed the senator?”

“Yes.”

We rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill. If we turned right, we would head down to the highway. Left we went up to my house. He didn’t turn the car. He didn’t press on the gas.

“I’m that way,” I said, pointing left.

“I can take you anywhere,” he said. “Right now. Any place away from here.”

He wasn’t looking at me and it wasn’t . . . romantic. It wasn’t about me and him. It was about the Constantines and the Morellis. It was about Caroline and being clever.

I realized with a sinking heart that maybe everything, every moment between us was about Caroline and being clever.

Motherfucker.

“I need to go home,” I said. “Frankly, I don’t know if any of this is true.”

“The fire chief—”

“Talked to you? And not me? That’s convenient.”

“You think I’m lying? You think Caroline is lying?”

“I think I’m being manipulated. You talk to the fire chief; she has some private coroner. Suddenly every terrible thing that’s happened to me is about the Constantine and Morelli feud. I mean . . . listen to how ridiculous all that sounds.”

“Call the fire chief.”

“I will. When I’m home. When I’ve had a goddamn cup of coffee.”

“You can’t stay there, Poppy. It’s reckless. Stupid. You could—”

“I know!” I shouted. “I know I can’t stay there and I won’t. Okay. I won’t stay. But my stuff is there. My . . .” I looked down at my dead phone. “My phone charger. My purse. Money. I need to get organized to leave. I can’t just vanish.”

He turned and looked at me. Really looked at me. And my mouth was dry and my anger fizzed and popped but so did everything else I felt for him.

“There’s something going on,” he said. “Something . . . I don’t know about. And I know about everything. Everything, Poppy.”

“You mean the fire?”

He glanced away, to the right and the highway past it. And for a second I thought he was going to ignore what I was saying and drive me away. I put my hand on the door handle, thinking I would run before I’d let him take me away.

“I don’t know if the fire was to hurt you or warn Caroline or destroy something.”

“Destroy what?” I asked. “The house doesn’t have—” Oh. The paperwork from the lawyer? That would be . . . ridiculous.

“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m not thinking anything. Just take me home,” I said.

He turned left and gunned the engine.

The front of my house was covered in yellow tape. There were black scorch marks on the side of the house. Half the trees were blackened sticks. It was so much worse than I thought. So much more real.

Ronan sat, stone still, eyes on the house.

“I’d invite you in,” I said with a laugh. “But—”

“Go,” he said, like he was just so done with me.

All-righty. Carefully trying not to show him any part of myself beneath the robe, which was ridiculous when I’d already shown him so much, I opened the door. “I suppose I’ll see you,” I said. “Lurking in the shadows somewhere.”

“Just be careful,” he said, and when he looked at me, the words dried up in my mouth. Anger, such pure anger it was like being frozen in place, radiated off him.

“Goodbye,” I whispered and got out of that car. Away from him with as much of myself as possible. God, when would I learn to stop giving men pieces of me just because they wanted them? I ran to the front door of my house, which had been unlocked after all the drama of the night. The floor inside was wet and sooty. Muddy.

I followed the cold draft coming in the back of the house from the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” I breathed. The glass was shattered from the sliding glass door and shards of it were blown all around the kitchen. More yellow tape fluttered in the breeze on the patio outside.

I looked at all this damage. The absolute ruin of my house and wondered . . . why I didn’t care. My cage was finally destroyed.

I pulled my dead phone out of the pocket of my silk robe and plugged it into my charger sitting on the counter like nothing had happened.

They’d turned off the gas last night in an effort to prevent my home from going up like a bomb. But my electricity was still on, and my little coffee pot was working and so was my fridge. Within a few minutes I had a hot cup of coffee with milk. And in the closet, I found my sweatshirt and put that on over my robe. The phone was going to take a few more minutes so I found myself standing in front of the door that led to Jim’s office.

The night he died . . . killed himself? Was murdered? The gunshot woke me up, and I lay in bed for a long time, freaking out and scared. Expecting, any minute, for the senator to come upstairs and tell me he’d shot an intruder. But the more time that passed I thought maybe I’d been wrong and there wasn’t a gunshot. If something was wrong the senator would be sure to let me know. And I fell back to sleep.

I slept until 7 am, went downstairs. Made my coffee. And it wasn’t until 8 am when I heard his secretary scream that I knew something awful had happened.

That picture of him in the folder had been taken on a gurney. If there were pictures of him in the library after the shooting, I’d never seen them. I’d never actually seen him. His secretary had had the foresight to throw a blanket over him. All before I even made my way down the hallway.

I’d been grateful all along that I didn’t need to look at my dead husband. But now it threw another layer of suspicion over everything. Had I seen him, would I have been able to tell if he’d been murdered?

Not likely. But still.

I stood at the door to Jim’s office, the desk in front of it where his poor secretary sat, judging everyone who came to visit. Including me. Especially me. Ugh. I hated her. There was something about that door. The big gold doorknob. The hinges were so big they looked like something out of a medieval prison.

This had been the senator’s space, and I’d cared not at all about it.

I didn’t want to be in this room then, and I didn’t want to be in this room now. I didn’t want to believe a word of what Caroline had said. But I had lived with my head in the sand for a long, long time. And it was time to be done.

I had to find some answers for myself.

I pushed open the door to reveal his wood-panelled study. The desk a wide raft that could have held four computers or at least another Jack from Titanic. The walls were floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Full of . . . I didn’t even know. I never even cared. There was a fireplace and two chairs pulled up in front of it. A drink cart beside it. I wondered who ever sat with him in front of that fire. Because it certainly had never been me.

Had the Morellis sat there? It actually wasn’t hard to imagine. Jim had been evil, and evil men usually liked other evil men.

But where did that leave Caroline? Who’d thrust me into Jim’s world.

The box from the lawyer was there behind the desk. He’d said there was paperwork regarding the foundation. And Ronan that night in my bedroom had asked if I’d gone to the Morellis to get answers about the foundation.

I grabbed the box and put it on the desk.

“Poppy?” I jumped at the sound of another voice, and the door was pushed open to reveal Theo.

“Hi!” I said. I grabbed the box and put it back behind the desk, kicking it into the shadows.

“I saw the light on in the house and wasn’t sure—”

“It’s me.”

“You’re . . . all right?” he asked with a careful smile.

“Never better,” I joked. “You want some coffee?”

“It’s nine o’clock at night,” he said.

“How about a drink?” I asked, pointing to the senator’s drink cart.

“Sure.”

“Bourbon?”

I set my coffee mug down on the corner of the desk and walked over to the cart to pour half the bottle into one of the tumblers.

He was leaning against the desk, and I handed him the drink and grabbed my coffee cup by his hip. “Have you talked to the fire marshal?”

“Not yet,” I said. “My phone is charging.”

I sat down in one of the chairs in front of the cold fireplace and took a sip of my coffee. The heat and caffeine waking me up bit by bit.

“You can’t stay here tonight,” he said. “It’s not safe. The whole back wall is gone, and I don’t feel good about the roof.”

“I know. You know, considering the fire was mostly outside there is so much damage inside.”

“It’s the water from the hoses. You’re going to go back to Mrs. Constantine’s?”

I shook my head, had another sip of coffee. “No.”

“You want me to drive you into the city?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I needed to call my sister, make some kind of amends. But I’d stay in a hotel in the city. I just needed some space. Some room to try and understand what had happened to me. A chance to go through the box in quiet. “I’ll pack a bag, call the fire marshal, and if there aren’t any problems I should be ready to go soon.”

I said all of that but did not get up from the chair.

He sat down in the chair next to mine. “You all right?”

“You know, I’ve never really spent much time in this room.”

“I understand that.”

“Did you know?” I asked. It was a stupid question, really. Of course he knew. “About him? I mean the senator?”

“Know what?”

I stared at him until his cheeks turned pink. “We . . . I mean, some of the staff had an idea. Of what he was like with you.”

What he was like with you.That was actually hilarious. I mean as far as euphemisms go that was a real doozy. I laughed into my coffee cup.

“What’s so funny?”

“I think my life,” I said. “I think it’s my life that’s funny.”

I stood up and felt the room spin around me. I braced myself against the chair. The coffee cup suddenly so heavy in my hand.

“Poppy?”

“I’m sorry . . . I just—” Whoa. Maybe I was tired. Just really tired? There’d been a lot of stress.

“I hated that he hurt you,” Theo said. I turned to find him right beside me.

“You and me both.” Oh, my mouth was weird. I clenched my teeth and let them go. My lips were so . . . big.

“Poppy.” His hands cupped my shoulders and slowly ran down to my elbows, and I felt like I was melting. Right into the ground. Right into him.

I put my hand against his chest, pushing him away. I did not want him to get the wrong idea.

“I hate that I have to hurt you.”

“What? I’m sorry . . . I don’t feel too good.” Hurt me? Was that what he said? Or he hated that the senator hurt me? That made more sense.

He grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the door. I tripped and fell, and he all but dragged me as I tried to get to my feet. “Theo. Please . . . Theo!”

He half-pulled, half-dragged me down the hallway, and everything was tilting. “What is happening?”

“You’re fucking shit up.”

Yeah. I had a way of doing that. I was grabbing onto the wainscoting, trying to find a way to slow this all down. To get myself upright. To make things make sense. But the world was water around me, and my body wasn’t under my control.

“What did you give me?” I asked. He ignored me, and I fought to keep myself present. Aware. Fighting. Keep talking, I thought. If I stopped talking I would pass out, and then I’d be in real trouble. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Where I should have just taken you the second that asshole caught a bullet in his head.”

“Did you . . . did you kill the senator?” I asked as he shoved open the door from the office wing into the main part of the house.

But Ronan was there. In a black overcoat and black gloves, holding a gun. Pointed right at us.

The world tilted again as suddenly I was held up against Theo’s body, and a gun I didn’t know he had was pressed against my forehead.

The world was an acid trip around me, but that gun was very real.

And so was Ronan.

“Rivers,” Ronan said. “You’re making a mess of this.”

Behind my back, Theo was breathing hard, his heart pounding against my ear.

“Clear out, Byrne. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It doesn’t concern the girl either.”

I’m the girl.Theo’s arm around my chest was making it hard to breathe and whatever I guess he put in my coffee cup made it even harder.

“Ronan,” I panted, terrified.

“Leave the girl and go,” Ronan said, ignoring me, his eyes on Theo. “Leave right now. I won’t follow you.”

Theo laughed. “That’s not happening. You’re a scary motherfucker, Byrne. But you’re not the scariest person who wants this girl.”

“Who?” I whispered. “Who wants me?”

“We can get you out of the country,” Ronan said to Theo. “No one will know.”

“The way you did for the senator?” Theo asked. “You gonna help me disappear with a bullet in my head?”

“What?” I jerked against his hold, trying to strain away from him and towards Ronan as best I could.

“Yeah,” Theo said against my ear. “Ask me again. That question about what I did to the senator.”

“Did you kill the senator?” I asked, my eyes on Ronan, but he didn’t look back. He didn’t even look at me like I mattered in this situation.

“I didn’t,” Theo said and pointed his gun at Ronan. “He did.”

“Is that true?” I whispered, and Ronan’s silence felt like confirmation.

“It’s true,” Theo said. “And because that asshole killed the senator, you have to come with me.”

“Let her go,” Ronan said.

“You know what will happen if I do that,” Theo said. “The Morellis want blood. I’d rather they had hers.”

The world was spinning, but the thought I grabbed a hold of and hung onto was that neither one of these men were here to help me. Both of them would hurt me.

Theo was edging us down the hallway towards the front door, and my feet tripped us up. He caught himself against the wall, the gun for the moment sliding from me to Ronan who, as I stumbled, was nearly on top of us.

Theo pointed the gun at Ronan’s head, and I whimpered, tears suddenly burning in my eyes. Someone was going to die tonight, that was becoming obvious even to me.

“Oh, Ronan.” Theo laughed. “Do not attempt to play the hero now. Guys like you and me, we mean nothing to them. We’re fucking tools. So get out of my way and let me do my job.”

“I’m going to throw up,” I moaned and, frankly, the spinning world was narrowing, growing black around the edges. Empty in the middle. But this was going to be up to me. And my time was running out. The front door was still open and beyond it the night was completely dark. Without the glass in the sliding door in the kitchen, that door was wide open too. And if I went out that way the garage was closer. I could run, get in the car and drive to the city. To my sister. Could I even drive right now? No. Not likely.

I could run. To the willow tree down by the pond. I could hide in the branches, and she would find me. She would keep me safe. She’d bring me Goldfish crackers and icy cold Cokes and we’d go swimming and everything would be okay.

We would be okay.

I’m sorry, Zilla, I thought. I’m so sorry I thought you were capable of this. That I thought you would hurt me.

And she left here thinking the very worst.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

We were pawns in a game we didn’t even understand.

“I swear to you, man, I don’t want to kill you,” Ronan said to Theo. “Let her go.”

Theo shoved me, and I didn’t actually trip, but I made a convincing lurch to the ground, and while Theo was off balance, I planted my feet and pushed him as hard as I could. All I had was surprise on my side. And this .0001% chance of catching him off guard. He fell away from me, his arm letting me go. Just enough that I could duck under it and make a run for the front door. But I was an idiot, and he caught himself in time to grab my hair. He yanked me back off my feet, and I slammed into the ground so hard I saw stars. My will to fight, to leave, to get to the willow tree and my sister; to maybe find answers about any of the forces pulling the world apart, dwindled down to nothing.

Right now, it felt easier to let the world just go.

And then suddenly there was Ronan, smashing Theo’s entire body against the wall.

“Run!” Someone yelled it. Or maybe it was a voice in my head. My sister manifesting after all these years, and I got to my feet, my feet slipping in the boots. But I charged out of that house.

You’re about to run the fifty-yard dash in a ballgown.

He’d said that. A million years ago.

And he killed my husband. Humiliated me. Lied to me. Saved me? Was that what he was doing, right now? He was kind to me when no one was kind to me. Brought part of me back to life that had been dead for so long. Whatever he was, none of it made sense.

I was at the front door when the sound of a gunshot ripped through the house. I fell to the ground, scraping my elbows and knees, throwing my arms up over my head.

In the silence after the gunshot, I turned, looked behind me.

Ronan, framed in the golden light of the open door, stood over Theo’s body. His black overcoat blowing out behind him in the cross breeze from all my broken windows. From my entirely broken life.

He was alive. I felt that somewhere. That he’d been the one to survive in the fight with Theo. That the gunshot was not the end of his life. My heart lifted at the sight of him.

I got slowly to my feet. Stumbling and weak from the drugs in my system. Part of me wanted to walk to him. To that bright square of light. To his arms. But I stood there in the cold night, the frosty grass unmoving.

No. He was not the answer. If I could get to my sister I could figure this out. She’d help me put the pieces together.

Or I could ask Ronan. Just ask him what—

He lifted the gun in his hand. Pointing it at me.

At me.

I turned, running into shadows. My heart screaming for my sister. For all the mistakes I made. For the man I’d given so much of myself to.

I heard the gunshot. Felt a sunfire blast through my shoulder. Fell to the earth where my world went dark.

*     *     *

Thank you for reading RUINED!We hope you loved Ronan’s dangerous and emotional story. Find out what happens next in BROKEN.

I’m a hunted woman, torn between my past and present, ripped apart by two warring families. Bishop’s Landing is no longer safe for us. Ronan hides me in his own corner of the world. A place steeped in sin and shadow. The priests who raised him know his secrets.

If I’m not careful, they could come crashing down on us both. Because Ronan isn’t the man I thought he was. He’s someone else. An enemy I never saw coming.

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And you can read the story of Winston Constantine, the oldest son in the Constantine family and head of the business empire, story right now!

Money can buy anything. And anyone. As the head of the Constantine family, I’m used to people bowing to my will. Cruel, rigid, unyielding—I’m all those things. When I discover the one woman who doesn’t wither under my gaze, but instead smiles right back at me, I’m intrigued.

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