Chapter 6
Six
WALKER
Part of my experience in the marines and as a bodyguard included learning to defuse situations as much as deal with situations that had already exploded.
It was that training and experience that allowed me to rein in the fury at seeing Sloane pinned to the bed by that sick fucker.
To detain him without beating his face to a bloody pulp.
For the first time in a long time, I regretted my ability to control my anger. Holding Sloane while she broke down in my arms, I’d wanted to march back into the castle, find Hoffman, and end the bastard.
The only thing stopping me was Sloane. I’d bundled her into my Range Rover and driven her home.
During the entire ride, I kept glancing at her.
She’d stopped crying. Her face was pale except for the bruise that bloomed on her cheek.
My hands had tightened around the wheel at the reminder he’d hit her.
The reminder that he had a chance to. I was raging at myself.
All week I’d made sure I was on Hoffman’s floor while Sloane was working it.
Then today, Jock had called me in to his office to discuss an update to the current drone system we used as security around the estate perimeter.
Our meeting had run late, and I’d been hurrying toward Hoffman’s room when North Hunter stopped me to ask if I’d be interested in working as his personal security.
That’s when we heard Sloane’s muffled screams down the hall. It was a miracle we had. The castle walls were thick, the doors heavy.
The last time I’d felt that kind of fear was when Brodan called to tell me he was on his way to rescue Monroe from a madman, without backup.
I could have killed Bro for doing that. But then I also understood why he couldn’t wait, not while Monroe’s life was in jeopardy.
In the end, she’d been the one to save them both.
But who would have saved Sloane if I hadn’t gotten there in time? And did I get there in time? She’d still been traumatized, even if the piece of shit hadn’t raped her.
For that reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off her even as Sloane moved about the small kitchen in the cottage, baking as if on autopilot.
“Sloane, you need ice on your face,” I told her for the third time since we’d arrived back at her place.
She shook her head. “I don’t want Callie to see me like this,” she replied.
She’d muttered the same thing a few times now, and I was getting worried about her emotional state, that she wasn’t dealing with what happened.
Not quite sure what to do for her, I’d called Monroe when we got to the house.
Callie was in Inverness with Regan and Lewis for the tae kwon do classes and wouldn’t be home for a while.
I took a step toward her. “Sloane, ice.”
My tone stopped her in the middle of stretching a dough that she’d whipped together impressively fast. As I’d glanced around the kitchen that was too small for her to run her baking business from, I realized that she didn’t even have a mixer. She mixed everything by hand.
“I will ice it,” she replied with amazing calm. “Let me put some cookies in the oven first. Callie likes the smell of them baking.” She shrugged, sadness cascading down over her false smile. “I like the smell. It soothes me.”
Understanding, I nodded. “Do what you need to do. Then ice.”
Sloane’s mouth curled at the corners, and I tried not to stare at it.
For the next ten minutes, I leaned against the door, watching her work.
I catalogued the things she didn’t have but reckoned a professional baker needed.
She chattered as she baked, telling me about Flora’s proposal, about Callie’s excitement over her martial arts lessons.
I listened and nodded so she’d know I was paying attention.
“I’m talking too much.” Sloane threw me an apologetic look as she finally grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer.
“You’re fine,” I assured her.
“No, I know you don’t like people chatting at you like that.”
Where did she get that idea? I frowned. “Talk until you’re hoarse. It doesn’t bother me.” I liked Sloane’s voice. I liked her laughter best but didn’t seem able to provoke it like others could.
“Coffee, tea?” she asked, ice pack on her face.
I pushed off the doorjamb. “I’ll make it. You sit down. Tea?”
“You don’t—”
“Sloane, I’ll make it.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “There’s peppermint tea in the cupboard above the kettle. I’ll have that. There’s coffee there, too, but it’s instant.”
“Tea will do,” I assured her.
Instead of going into the adjoining sitting room, Sloane hovered in the doorway, watching me.
I glanced up at her as I stirred milk into my tea and found her wearing a soft, genuine smile. “What?”
Her gaze moved to mine, and I tried not to think about how warm and dark and gorgeous her big brown eyes were. “You take milk in your tea.”
Bemused, I nodded.
“No sugar.”
I smirked, realizing what she was getting at. “Stopped taking it since you moved to town with your shit-hot baking. Have to curb the sweet tooth somewhere.”
Sloane laughed. A small, breathy laugh. I felt about nine feet fucking tall as her eyes glittered, the sadness temporarily chased away. “You don’t have to eat my cakes, you know.”
I grunted at that and handed her the mug of peppermint tea. “And the earth doesn’t need to orbit the sun.”
She chuckled again, and I turned back to my tea, a smile of triumph pulling at my mouth.
Catching sight of the photos pinned to the refrigerator, mostly of Sloane and Callie, I paused.
There was one from last Christmas. The Adairs had invited us to join them.
The photo was of Sloane, Callie, Monroe, Brodan …
and me. I stood behind Brodan, beer in my hand, staring stonily at the camera.
There were loads of photos taken that day.
But she’d picked this one to hang on her fridge.
Feeling her attention, I looked and found her watching me, biting her plump lower lip.
I glanced back at the fridge and noted the other photo that stood out from the rest. Callie was with an older Latinx woman. Curiosity about their past life got the better of me. “Grandmother?”
Silence met me.
I looked at Sloane. She wore a wary expression. “An old friend.”
Again, that annoying need to know who she was, where she’d come from, agitated me.
How the hell had she ended up in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands?
Remembering Aria’s defense of her today and the secret shared looks between them reinforced my theory that the Howards were protecting Sloane.
“I need to sit down.”
At Sloane’s tired words, I grabbed my tea and followed her into the sitting room. I watched her as she curled up on one sofa and I took the other. She sipped at her drink, those big dark eyes looking at me over the top of her steaming mug.
I stared back, trying to gauge her emotional state.
She returned my stare unabashedly, and we did that for a while, sipping our drinks and just looking at each other. Something tight twisted in my chest and gut.
I wanted to kill Byron Hoffman. But I wouldn’t. Not in the traditional sense of ending his life. I would kill him where it hurt. I’d take away the power he hid behind. I’d take away everything that mattered. Somehow. I’d work with my new boss to make sure it happened.
“That’s an awfully fierce look on your face.” Sloane ended the silence. “What are you thinking?”
Sloane impressed me with how well she was handling today.
Aye, she’d broken down in the car park, but that was to be expected.
Her words from earlier bothered me. That she’d escaped bad situations before.
I already sensed that. But having it confirmed disturbed me more than I liked.
Still, I didn’t need to pussyfoot around Sloane.
“I’m thinking of the ways I can destroy Hoffman. ”
A savage glint lit her eyes, and I felt inappropriate heat rush south.
“Good. I wish it were in my power to destroy him. I want him to pay for that too. My powerlessness. I’m so angry that I can’t do anything without hurting Callie.
I’m angry that men like him can make me feel that way.
” She shook her head. “But I won’t let him leave me with that.
I won’t live my life angry. I can’t. I have to live life in the light.
With hope. With optimism. For Callie’s sake. I won’t be a bitter, unhappy mom.”
“Then you have more power than you realize, Sloane,” I assured her, awed. “Choosing to let go of your anger for the sake of your daughter … that’s powerful fucking stuff.”
Her eyes flared, lips parting as she stared at me like I was worth something.
I wanted to disabuse her of that notion.
I didn’t ever want to disabuse her of that notion.
A pounding at the door broke our moment, and Sloane moved to get up, but I gestured for her to stop. “Let me.”
Placing my mug on the table, I stood and crossed the room to open the door.
Monroe and Brodan were on the other side. Brodan’s small, redheaded wife glowered fiercely up at me. “Let me in,” she demanded, pushing inside before I could react.
I stepped out of her way as her pregnant belly passed me first, followed by the rest of her. She’d had a neat little bump for the majority of her pregnancy and then suddenly, she was huge. Brodan told me she couldn’t sleep because she was so uncomfortable and that she cursed him nightly.
Sloane stood at the sound of Monroe’s voice.
“She okay?” Brodan murmured as he stepped in and closed the door. We watched as Sloane met Monroe and the two friends hugged around Monroe’s bump.
I kept my attention on Sloane as I answered, “She’s a fighter, so she will be.” I glared as I turned to Brodan, knowing he’d see my wrath. “He could have killed her.”
Brodan’s expression hardened and he murmured, “But she doesn’t want the police involved?”
I shook my head.
A dangerous look lit Brodan’s eyes. “Then I suppose it’s up to us.”
Satisfied, I nodded. “Lachlan promised her he’d take care of it. But I want in.”
“I’ll talk to him. I want in too.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Monroe asked.
We turned to find the two women staring at us in curiosity.
I answered honestly, for Sloane’s sake. “Planning Hoffman’s payback.”
Monroe scowled. “Good.” Then her face softened as tears lit her eyes. “Sloane says you saved her.”
Before I could answer or prepare myself, Brodan’s wife crossed the room and threw her arms around me, pregnant belly angled so she could get close enough to hug. There hadn’t been a lot of hugging in my life over the last two decades, so I patted her back awkwardly as she sniffled against me.
Brodan snorted as he cupped his wife’s head. “Sunset, remember Walk isn’t a hugger.”
Sloane shot me a bewildered look as Brodan pried Monroe away.
I knew what she was thinking.
I’d willingly held her in my arms.
No awkwardness.
It felt natural to hold Sloane Harrow against me.
And wasn’t that a giant fucking problem?
“Sorry.” Monroe wiped her tearstained cheeks. “I’m just grateful. And hormonal.”
“It’s fine,” I promised her gruffly.
“Let’s have some tea,” Brodan suggested.
“Ice.” I pointed to the pack Sloane had left on the coffee table. “You’ve barely iced your cheek.”
“I want in on the payback,” Monroe growled.
I looked down at Brodan’s ferocious wee wife and not for the first time understood why he’d loved this woman his entire life.
She had a fire in her. A determination. Life had not been kind to Monroe, just as I assumed life had not been kind to Sloane.
I wondered if that was why she and Sloane were friends.
If trauma had drawn them to each other …
and through that, their mutual fire and determination cemented their bond.
I wonder too much about Sloane. I needed to harden myself against the curiosity. Against her. The threat she posed to my peace.
She was safe now.
Her friend was here, Brodan was here.
“I better go,” I announced abruptly.
Sloane’s eyes widened slightly before she pasted on a polite mask. “Thank you for everything.”
Giving her a gruff nod, I grabbed my keys off the sideboard. “I’ll make sure your car is brought to you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I will,” I said, barely looking at her.
I nodded at Monroe and Brodan as I moved past them, avoiding my friend’s searching gaze, and slipped out the door without saying another word.