Page 380 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“You want to know who I am.”

“Yes.”

“Then red.”

Rebecca’s water climbed. Ronan’s hand remained around Elliot’s. Elliot stared at the buttons. Then at the dark door. Saint waiting. Wanting to be chosen. Of course. That was what this had always been. Saint wanted Elliot to choose them. Over everyone. Over morality. Over Ronan. Over himself. Elliot laughed softly.

“No.”

Then pressed green. A lock released. Rebecca’s chamber door opened. Water spilled violently into the outer drain channel. She stumbled through. Ronan moved first. Elliot followed. They caught her together. Rebecca grabbed Elliot’s face.

“Oh my God.”

He held her. Hard. Too hard.

“I’m sorry.”

She pulled back.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Everything. He couldn’t say. Ronan touched his shoulder. The side door across the room opened. Empty. Saint was gone. Of course. A speaker crackled one last time.

“You chose them.”

Elliot looked toward it.

“Yes.”

Silence. Then Saint said:

“Good boy.”

Elliot stared. For once, the words did nothing. No approval. No heat. No need. He looked at Ronan. Then his mother. And answered:

“Not yours.”

The speaker went silent. Permanently. Ronan smiled. Small. Proud. Elliot hated how much that one mattered. Loved it too. Police flooded the building seconds later. Vance shouting. Officers clearing rooms. Rebecca wrapped in blankets. Questions. Chaos. Saint gone. But Elliot barely noticed any of it. Because Ronan stood beside him. Still holding his hand. And for the first time since Tyler Ames, Elliot had been given the chance to hurt someone who deserved it. He had chosen not to. Not because police told him. Not because Saint told him. Because Ronan asked. That should have frightened him. Instead, Elliot looked at their joined hands and realized something much worse. He wanted to be the person Ronan believed he could become.

And that might be the most dangerous thing Ronan had ever made him want.

Chapter Thirty — Not Yours

RONAN

TUESDAY · 1:07 P.M.

Ronan had never been more proud of someone for not committing murder. That was probably not a sentence normal people ever needed. He stood beneath the covered entrance of Bellweather County Medical Center with a paper cup of coffee going cold in one hand and watched Elliot through the automatic doors. Rebecca sat in a wheelchair beside him. Not because she needed one. Because the paramedic had apparently threatened bodily harm if she tried walking into the hospital after spending twenty minutes standing in freezing water. Rebecca had responded by telling him she had raised three children and could probably survive a hallway. The paramedic had responded by pointing at the chair. Rebecca sat. Elliot pushed her. Ronan almost smiled.

The entire scene looked absurdly normal from a distance. Mother. Son. Hospital. Except Ronan could still hear Saint’s voice. Choose. Green. Red. Rebecca or Saint. Elliot’s hand hovering over both. Ronan had expected the worst. Not because he believed Elliot wanted his mother hurt. Never. Because Ronan had seen what Saint represented. Answers. Revenge. Control. The person who had spent months crawling through Elliot’s head finally within reach. Ronan had known exactly how badly Elliot wanted that red button. Then he had asked. Be good for me. And Elliot had chosen green. Not reluctantly. Not accidentally. He had looked Saint directly in the face without ever seeing one and said no. Ronan couldn’t stop thinking about it. Elliot came through the doors alone.

Rebecca had been taken for imaging because apparently the universe refused to let anyone simply say she was fine and go home. His eyes found Ronan immediately. They always did. That hadn’t changed. Ronan held up the second coffee. Elliot approached.

“For me?”