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I shake my head, not wanting to know more. I’m not getting involved in their drama. The space is simple; there is a lounge in the corner and a large television on a table. The room where the crash originated is on the right, and upstairs seems to have a few bedrooms coming off a catwalk. Once upon a time, they were likely office spaces.
“Ransom, my future wife is here to see you!” Payne’s words echo out into the space.
I chuckle. “In your dreams.”
Ransom comes down a set of metal stairs, and all the air is squeezed from my lungs. Even after seven years, he still has an effect on me. His blond hair and piercing blue eyes are the only parts of him left that scream wealth, as his preppy clothes are gone. They have been replaced with ripped jeans, a tight shirt that hugs all his muscles, and tattoos down both arms. I don’t miss the angel wings on his neck and shake my head.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” The deep voice comes from behind me.
“Acer Kenzie. Unfortunately, I can’t say it’s good to see you,” I reply, and he laughs, pulling me into his arms. Acer used to work for Ransom’s mother doing yard work. He also started the Ace Crew, but he now no longer has an association with them.
“I bet she is just sick of working on the corner and needs some money,” Ransom snaps.
“No, actually,” I say, turning back to face Ransom. “But I do need help.”
“Fucking prick!” a woman screams as Crash comes running out of the room to the right of the living area.
“She fucking bit me,” he says, excitedly holding his jaw. “Someone get the tattoo gun. I need to ink this shit.”
“On it,” Payne says, giving me a wink, and Acer just shakes his head.
“If you need anything, let me know. Especially if the dickhead gives you any trouble,” Acer tells me, before Ransom grabs my arm and drags me upstairs. I let him because whatever is going on downstairs is none of my business.
“That isn’t what it looks like,” he says, closing his bedroom door behind us. “She knows who we are, and now we have to deal with it.”
“You mean you have to kill her,” I say, and he raises a brow.
“You know who we are, and you’re still alive.”
I don’t tell him I almost ratted him out to the Irish, nor that I put them on their radar . . . I might have been feeling a little spiteful that day.
I sit on the edge of his bed while he scowls and leans against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Bullshit aside, Harper, why are you here? I’m not the same young, spoiled rich kid anymore. What happened between us is history.”
I pull in a big lungful of air, mainly to prolong having to share what has brought me here before I answer. “Ransom, I did the one thing I swore I would never do. I fell for my clients, and now I need to run. I need a new identity.”
He scratches the side of his face. “Who are you running from, Angel?”
I hate it when he calls me Angel, as there is so much history behind it. I used to swoon and get giddy on the inside, and I’m transported back to the heartbroken sixteen-year-old girl who, for one summer, thought she could get her fairytale ending.
“The O’Briens.”
His eyes widen, and his pupils dilate. “What have you done?”
“Besides making an enemy of Darragh and letting the others fall for me? Nothing much. I also may or may not be responsible for Cian being in the hospital—it’s currently under debate,” I rush out, lacing it with sarcasm and causing him to shake his head.
“When they find you, are they going to kill you?”
I laugh maniacally. “Why does that matter?”
“Because I want to know how fucked I am for helping you if they find out. We have kept out of that family’s way for a reason. I don’t want this to cause a run-in with them.”
“Well, they forced me to move in with them because, and I quote, ‘The Italians couldn’t keep me safe, and I can’t keep myself safe.’”
Ransom pushes off the wall. “Yeah, I heard your friend got knocked up by Enzo. I thought you would be smarter than to get tangled up in that world.”
He stops in front of me, leaning down and crowding my space. I fall back onto his bed, and he traps me with a hand on either side of my body. “Why couldn’t the Italians keep you safe, Angel? I highly doubt the Irish make a habit of bringing home strays and protecting them.”
