Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Jude shut the door behind them and stripped out of his wet clothes. He didn’t give Sloan a chance to voice whatever was going on in her head before he was stripping her down, too. He led her into his bathroom and turned on the shower, his words from earlier echoing in his mind. He’d called her his. He’d told her that he’d hunt her down like some sort of madman if she left him.

He had passed the point of no return with this woman.

It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. The sex was out of control, but it was sex. It shouldn’t be enough to derail his entire plan. Then again, his plan hadn’t counted on Callista being pregnant. Jude guided Sloan beneath the spray, ignoring her pointed look. She was playing along, and that was all he asked for right now. He needed time to process, to get his head on straight again.

If that was even possible at this point.

Already, he wanted her again, but they had shit to iron out first. Fucking her until they weren’t capable of moving might sound like a dream right now, but it wouldn’t solve a damn thing. He shut off the water and handed her a towel. “Now, we talk.”

Sloan wrapped herself in the big fluffy towel, the sheer amount of fabric dwarfing her. It made her look younger, innocent, and even though he knew it was an illusion, it didn’t stop a pang of something like guilt from going through him. She frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Because everything’s changed.

He didn’t say it. Instead, he grabbed a towel for himself and dried off. “You will take a pregnancy test tomorrow. It’s not negotiable.”

“Okay.”

He glanced over, having expected her to argue, and she sighed. “While living in denial a little while longer wouldn’t be a bad thing, it’s also unrealistic. If I am, I need to know—”

“We need to know.”

“—so I can plan accordingly.”

“That sounds an awful lot like you making plans that don’t include me.” He should be grateful—he needed a kid like he needed another hole in his head—but the thought of her out in the world without him, let alone out in the world with his child, didn’t sit well. He’d told her she was his, and it didn’t matter that he’d said it while he was inside her. It felt like the truth.

Jude hadn’t had anyone to call his own before. Not truly. He didn’t know what to think of that.

Sloan toweled off her hair and stood there, gloriously naked and without so much as a blush. “I’m being realistic. It’s only in the last twenty minutes that you’ve changed your tune, and that’s on the heels of some rather large news I’m still reeling from. So forgive me if I don’t take what you said in the middle of sex as the Lord’s honest truth.”

“I can protect you—both of you.” If there was a baby. If there wasn’t, well then, they’d figure that out, too.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, and finally shrugged. “It’s all a moot point until I take the test. We’ll know more once we have the results.”

Which also sounded a hell of a lot like she was making more plans without him. He couldn’t blame her. He had more than enough money to last several lifetimes, but what else did he have to offer a woman like Sloan? Sure as fuck not stability.

And there was his vendetta to consider. He might be pathetically relieved to have his options taken away when it came to Callista—and Sorcha, for that matter—but that didn’t mean Sloan would forgive him for killing Colm. Taking that bastard out would hurt Sloan’s sister-in-law, which might hurt Sloan. Something he never could have taken into account when he put his plans in motion—or when he took that goddamn contract from Romanov.

He’d laughed when Dmitri talked about him having a change of heart. Fast forward twenty-four hours and he couldn’t help weighing his vengeance against the woman who stood before him. Even after such a short time together, could one really compare to the other?

Killing Colm might be enough to make her walk away from me for good.

For so long his revenge was everything. Now? Now he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

*  *  *

Sloan pulled one of Jude’s shirts over her head and sighed. “I need to go get some clothes.”

“You don’t need clothes.” He didn’t look up from his laptop.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Am I allowed to have a book? Or should I just quit my job and plan on being here and naked for whenever you’re ready for me?”

He looked up at that, brown eyes so dark, they were almost black. “Don’t tempt me.”

“For goodness’s sake, Jude, I have a life. It might not be a fancy one, and it might be changing dramatically, but it’s still mine. You can’t lock me up as a prisoner and try to tell me it’s for my own good.” She still had shifts for the next four days, and she wasn’t about to jeopardize that when Marge had finally put her on a regular schedule. And there was Sorcha to consider. Though the woman would disappear for hours on end, she’d be sure to call Callie if a day or two went by without her seeing Sloan.

He looked like he wanted to do what she’d said and lock her up, but he finally gave a short nod. “Make it quick.”

They were going to have to have a talk about the fact that she may like it when he was overbearing in bed, but she had no intention of bowing to his every whim when it came to the rest of her life. For now, she’d settle for some clean clothes, a book, and something resembling a plan for going forward.

Romanov found me.

How am I going to face Sorcha knowing Jude had fully intended to kill her?

Not to mention warning Callie that her aunt might be up to no good.

She was working very hard not to think too closely about either thing, but they were there, lurking in the back of her mind. Her brothers finding her was one thing—the worst she had to expect was being dragged home, kicking and screaming, and thrown into an advanced sort of lockdown. Her brothers loved her, and while they might put the O’Malley family before her mental health, they wouldn’t physically hurt her.

Dmitri Romanov?

He was a different kind of threat altogether. Sloan hadn’t forgotten that he’d tried to have James Halloran killed, or that he’d bargained so coldly with her sister while planning that. He wasn’t done with her family, and she was currently the weakest link, Jude’s protection or no.

I have to get out of Callaway Rock.

Away from Sorcha. Jude might have said that he wasn’t going to pull the trigger when it came to her—or Callie—but even in her limited experience, Sloan knew that things said in the heat of the moment couldn’t be trusted. She wanted to trust him, but to walk blindly forward without reservation was beyond her. If Sorcha had truly done something to deserve death, she selfishly didn’t want Jude to be the one to deliver it.

I have to warn Teague about Jude. Warn Callie about Sorcha.

She pulled Jude’s shirt into place, nearly rolling her eyes when it hit her at her knees. The man was monstrously large. “I’ll be back shortly.” The faster she was out of Sorcha’s house, the less likely it was that he’d change his mind.

“Sloan.”

She stopped in the doorway and glanced back, finding him watching her. “Yes?”

“Be careful.”

She wanted to laugh, to tell him that she was walking ten feet to the house next door, and that nothing bad could happen to her in the process. She didn’t. She knew better. So instead she just nodded. “I will.”

The rain hadn’t abated in the short time they’d been inside, so she ran from his back door to hers. She unlocked the door as fast as she could and ducked into the house, only to find it dark and deserted. Where is Sorcha?

She moved through the house, frowning. There should have been at least a few lights on, despite the fact that it was early still, but there wasn’t a single one lit. Her skin broke out in goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chill, and she hurried to her room. The faster I pack, the faster I can get out of here for good.

She threw what little she’d acquired into her bag and dug out the burner phones to toss on top of them. She was in the process of muscling the zipper closed when the creak of a board made her look over her shoulder.

Sloan froze. “You don’t want to do that.”

“On the contrary, I’ve lived a very long time by doing exactly what is necessary to survive.” Sorcha had the shotgun braced against her shoulder with the ease of long practice. At this distance, Sloan stood no chance of avoiding getting hit if she pulled the trigger. The older woman took her in. “Going somewhere, my dear?”

“You know why I’m here. The people looking for me know where I am, and I need to leave.”

“Do they?” Sorcha stepped into the room. “Or is that what that filthy MacNamara told you? Don’t look so surprised—like I said, I’ve done what it takes to survive this long. I know a stone-cold killer when I see one, and it was child’s play to discover who he really was.”

“Or you were eavesdropping.” She and Jude hadn’t exactly been quiet earlier when they were fighting. So incredibly foolish.

Sorcha shrugged. “The how hardly matters. What matters is that he’s here with one goal in mind—my death. It might make my fool brother’s day to find out that I’ve finally kicked the bucket, but I have no interest in dying just yet.” She jerked the barrel of the shotgun. “Up, my dear.”

Sloan stood, her hands carefully raised. “We’re leaving. He’s not going to hurt you.” She prayed she was speaking the truth, but in reality she’d say nearly anything to get that gun pointed away from her. “No matter how much you might deserve it.”

“And you do.” Jude’s voice made Sloan jump, but Sorcha didn’t so much as flinch when he pressed a gun to her temple. He was little more than a shadow behind the woman, but she could still see the fury on his face—and the flash of the pistol he had pointed at Sorcha’s head.

“Like I said, I have no intention of going the way of the saints, yet.”

“You’re no saint, old woman, and we both know it. Now put that fucking shotgun down before I pull the trigger.”

She smiled, not looking the least bit intimidated. “I’ve been around the block a few times, MacNamara. The second I put down this gun and your little lady is safe, you’re going to snap my neck.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

Sloan looked from one of them to the other. She could rush at Sorcha, but the woman would pull the trigger and that would be the end of her. If Jude shot her, she might still pull the trigger and shoot Sloan. There was a window behind her, but the glass was reinforced to withstand the winter storms that roared in off the ocean. The chance she had of breaking it, let alone breaking it without cutting herself to ribbons, wasn’t good. Sloan tried to keep her fear out of her voice. “Think about this.”

“I have.” Sorcha turned and looked at Jude, ignoring the gun in her face. “Step back. Now.”

Jude’s mouth went tight, but he did what she commanded.

And then he slammed forward, jerked the shotgun barrel toward the ceiling as Sorcha pulled the trigger. Plaster rained down and Sloan hit the floor, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. She watched Jude yank the gun out of the older woman’s hands, his face becoming a terrifyingly cold mask. “Did you think for a fucking second that I would let you walk out of this house alive after you threatened my woman?”

Sorcha didn’t raise her hands, didn’t flinch when he moved forward, into her space. “What can I say? I’m a survivor.”

“Not anymore.” He lifted the pistol.

“Stop!” Sloan shoved to her feet but didn’t try to approach. “Jude, stop.”

He didn’t look at her. “She’s a threat.”

She couldn’t pretend to argue that point. “You promised you wouldn’t, or was that a lie?” Her breath hitched, but she powered on. “She’s an old woman.”

Sorcha shot her a glare. “Not that old.”

“Shut up.” She forced the panic out of her voice as much as possible. “Don’t kill her.”

“Did you forget what I told you earlier?”

That Sorcha was a potential threat to Callie. That she was as much a monster as everyone else in their world—more so, since her target had been her own family. The thought made Sloan sick to her stomach. “Tie her up. Leave her for Teague and Callie to deal with. Let them decide.” No matter how that fell out, at least it would be one less death on Jude’s conscience.

For a long moment, she thought he’d ignore her. She fully expected him to. But he finally gave a jerky nod. “Get your shit.”

“I’m packed.” She finished zipping up her suitcase, hardly daring to take her eyes off them.

“Go to my house and wait for me.” When she hesitated, he shot her an exasperated look. “Sunshine, trust me.”

It was a moment of truth in a way. She could demand to know what in god’s name he had planned, or she could obey him now and get her answers later. If she didn’t trust him—truly didn’t trust him—then she needed to walk out of this house, get in her car, and drive away without looking back. Without trust, they were doomed.

Sloan’s hand went to her stomach, to where, even now, there might be a tiny person growing. A baby. She could have killed my baby.

She opened her house to me.

She might be planning something horrible for Callie.

She took a measured breath. “Remember what you promised me.” Leave her to Callie and Teague.

He gave a short nod without taking his eyes off Sorcha. “I won’t be long.”

There was nothing to do but walk out of the room and pray that he kept his word.