Page 74 of Dangerous Strokes

When have I stepped out onto the terrace?

The bird cocks its head from one side to the other repeatedly, watching me. I’ve never been so close to a bird. Especially a swift. They’re always on the move, flying so fast, their movements sharp and controlled, so gorgeous with that forked tail and graceful wings. They remind me of Hanna. Elegant, slim, energetic, intelligent.

Slowly, I lift my hand in its direction, then take another step forward. I don’t know why. I just do. Then another step. Then another. Then stop, dropping my arm.

I’m fooling myself.

Just like Hanna, this bird will fly away too soon. I’ll never touch it… ever. The only difference is that I’ll hear that bird sing, but I’ll never hear Hanna’s voice ever again. I’ll see that bird in its flight, moving with such grace in the sky, but I’ll never see Hanna move with that grace ever again.

As expected, the bird darts away, but stains my view with its flight, before the other one joins in once more. Queenscove buzzes below. So alive, oblivious to this loss that stopped my world in its tracks.

It’s beautiful. Idyllic. That type of view that puts a smile on your face, and makes your day better, makes you happy. It’s horrible. The world doesn’t deserve to be happy when she’s not here to experience it. I don’t deserve to be happy when I didn’t do everything in my power to save her.

She did everything in hers to save me.

Everything.

She gave her life to protect me.

And soon… soon, she’ll be just a pile of ashes.

The breeze hits my face, chilling the tears that fell against my cheeks, and I don’t dare wonder if they’ll ever stop. I deserve this—the pain. I deserve to have this guilt eat away at my soul until I’m like her… dead. I deserve so much worse than this.

The tears fall faster, whimpers being carried away by the breeze. They’re mine.

That contradiction hits me like a brick, the weight of it pushing me to my knees as sobs fall in harsh waves. Because I know that in however many months, I will have at least one reason to be happy. There will be a light in my life that will pull me out of this state, maybe even before the baby growing inside my belly will be born. I know that eventually excitement will fill me. The anticipation of a new soul born out of love in a world that rips it away in an agonizing heartbeat.

I’ll be happy… I’ll be fucking happy, and nothing feels more horrible, more terrifying than that in this moment. How can I allow myself to be happy when she cannot evenbe?!

Sobs turn to wails, covering the birdsong of the swifts as I sit on my heels, hands braced on the tiled floor, and every tear that falls on the skin of my bare thighs feels like tar.

Someday, when this baby is born, I will have to be strong, for Hanna… She’ll want me to be strong and smiling. But today is not that day and it won’t be for a while. Even when it comes, it won’t erase the guilt that tarnishes my soul.

I don’t know how long I sit here crying. This reality hurts… this world that keeps spinning like she wasn’t taken away just days ago. It makes no sense.

The breeze sweeps against the back of my neck, but this one feels different… chilling. I whip my head around, and I’m met with cold blue eyes staring at me from the doorway—Finnigan.

There’s something indescribable passing through his gaze. He’s completely still; he doesn’t frown, doesn’t curl his lips, doesn’t even seem to breathe. His eyes fixed on me make mine burn. My soul urges me to run, suddenly in the sight of a predator, but my heart… it shatters all over again. It recognizes the anguish gazing back at me.

I earned the malice he wants to inflict on me. Judging from his expression, death would be it. Only, there’s a smugness in those eyes, the message loud and clear—gracing me with the pain of this life will hurt so much more than the ease of death.

Not one muscle moves. Not even in his tightly clenched jaw. He looks at me like I’m wasting the air that fills my lungs. Then he turns and leaves.

“I’m… sorry.” I finally whisper.

CHAPTER 17

RONAN

Being away from her makesmy muscles twitch and I’m fucking struggling to breathe. It’s excruciating. I crave to be around her, even if she has been distant lately, colder than the night she hugged me and fell asleep against my chest. It doesn’t matter—being in the same space as her is enough. I hate that I had to leave the apartment. It was way too soon.

My stress levels are through the roof, even knowing that the penthouse has become a fortress with all the security stationed not only at the door, but all through the building and its entrance. She had security the day she was taken. What good did that do? It meant nothing against Bartiste’s men, his firepower. Lesson fucking learned.

However… Finn is on his way to the penthouse now, and I wish the thought would calm my nerves. The opposite is happening.

I had no choice but to be here. I insisted on it and Finn drew the short end of the stick. We all feared he would kill before extracting information. He’s not rational enough right now for this. I’m not sure I am either, but I’ve been cooped up in the penthouse for so long now, fantasizing about all the horrible ways I want to exact my revenge, that I’m fucking famished for it. But I refuse to be irrational. Not when the man who did this to our women escaped and it’s imperative to find him.

“I don’t know where he is.”

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