The scumbag was always a charmer. Charmed me out of my pants, into getting the job for him at my father’s company, into falling in love with him. He always was a great actor. He was made for this.
Ronan felt the metal of the gun in his pocket.
He was always so smug. So assured of himself. He wouldn’t be assured with a bullet between his forehead. He wouldn’t be anything.
The performance ended. Ronan left the theatre.
Why didn’t I kill that scumbag who stopped me trusting any other guy?
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