Chapter Eight
J ude watched Sloan walk away, blatantly ignoring his silent command, and couldn’t stop a sliver of admiration.
She was so damn quiet—more mouse than woman—but she seemed to be growing a spine by the second.
Or discovering she had a spine beneath all the delicate layers.
He shouldn’t like it. She’d be more biddable and controllable if she was the mouse he’d originally planned on.
But he found himself smiling a little as he drained his beer and headed back inside, the late afternoon sunlight warm and heavy on his back.
She’d come around. She wouldn’t be able to stay away, no matter how pissed she was about his leaving—and she was pissed.
No woman worth her salt would allow him to walk away like that without so much as a ripple of something .
She’s a means to an end. That’s it .
He locked the door behind him and stripped off his shirt, moving to the punching bag he had strung up in the corner of the room.
His computer’s screen saver taunted him, tempting him to go over his notes on the Sheridan family for the millionth time.
He wouldn’t find anything new. Fuck, he had all the information memorized.
Jude rolled his shoulders and paused to wrap his hands. He didn’t always take that extra step when he wanted to use the bag, but he didn’t need Sloan asking questions about why his knuckles were all messed up. Checking the wrap, he nodded to himself. It’d hold.
He delivered a devastating punch that sent the bag rocking. It felt good. Better than good.
Colm Sheridan had, for all accounts and purposes, calmed the fuck down after he massacred Jude’s family. And now a Sheridan-O’Malley alliance dominated the majority of Boston.
The Sheridan-O’Malley alliance that had been created when Callista Sheridan married Teague O’Malley.
Jude hit the bag again and again, his adrenaline spiking. Taking out Callista Sheridan was the blow that would break Colm. More than his son’s death. More than finding out that said son had been plotting his betrayal. More than anything else Jude could do to him.
His muscles warmed with each punch. Right hook. Left hook. Jab. Jab. Jab. It wasn’t enough to escape that woman’s face.
It shouldn’t matter that Callista was a woman.
She was no more innocent than he was. Even if he’d never found evidence that she knew what her traitorous brother and aunt were up to, she’d killed her goddamn fiancé just under two years ago, which should put her firmly in the same category that Jude was in.
Except, from all accounts, Brendan Halloran had been a monster.
And it was entirely possible she’d killed him in self-defense.
Fuck .
He moved faster, ignoring the ache in his knuckles, and switched up the hits, using his elbows as well as fists. It wasn’t pretty. There was no bouncing on his toes or shadowboxing. It was just punishing blow after punishing blow, designed to put his opponent on the ground and keep them there.
That was the problem, though. The only opponent in the room was the niggling guilt that appeared when he thought about killing Callista.
Jude snorted. A hit man with guilt issues.
It wasn’t a problem he’d had for the entire fourteen years he’d spent taking out targets.
He had his code, and if the mark didn’t fit the criteria, he passed.
It didn’t make him a saint by any means—and only a fool would call him a vigilante—but it allowed him to sleep at night.
He didn’t feel guilty for the lives he’d taken.
Guilt hadn’t stopped Colm Sheridan from doing what he thought was necessary—murdering Jude’s father, his brothers, his brothers’ wives. So many innocent lives lost. And if Ronan Sheridan had been in charge back then, he would have done the same thing his father had.
Jude stopped punching and caught the bag as it swung back to him, letting his weight rest against it as he blinked sweat from his eyes. The violence hadn’t helped. He couldn’t escape the past any more than he could escape the future. It was already written in stone.
Maybe if his mom had been able to move on…Maybe if she hadn’t been constantly teetering on the edge of a black pit that was only too willing to suck her in forever when she felt her duty was done…Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Maybe could drive a man to distraction if he let it.
Jude shook his head and straightened. Enough .
He didn’t have to make a decision about Callista Sheridan right now.
He didn’t even have to make a decision about Sorcha.
The old woman had allowed him the gift of time, even if he’d just been chafing at the delay a few short minutes ago.
He moved to the window and looked out, his gaze finding and holding the O’Connor place.
There was still the intriguing puzzle that was Sloan.
He’d told her the truth last night—this thing between them couldn’t last forever.
But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to let go until absolutely necessary.
***
“You didn’t.” Sloan took the shot in front of her, something fruity with an absurd name that she couldn’t remember, and eyed the grinning blonde across the table from her. “You…did.”
“Dudes dig yogi chicks.” Jessica shrugged, not looking the least bit repentant.
“So, yeah, I might have picked my tiniest shorts and itty-bittiest sports bra and done some really excellent balance poses when I knew he’d be jogging down the beach.
” She laughed and downed her shot, not grimacing in the least. “I’m a little amazed that he managed to drag me back to his place and not do me right there in the sand. ”
Jessica’s sheer brazenness was daunting.
She reminded Sloan of Carrigan. Sloan sat back, forcing the thought away.
She hadn’t come here to brood about the things best left behind.
She was having fun, despite her initial reservations.
Jessica was irresistible and had a laugh that made people around the bar turn and look whenever she unleashed it.
Sloan pressed a hand to her face, feeling flushed, though she couldn’t begin to say if it was because of the alcohol coursing through her system or the topic of conversation.
Jessica leaned forward, her eyes alight. “Okay, I’ve shared more than one slightly scandalous story. Your turn. Explain to me what’s going on with the new guy.”
“I, ah, oh.” She pressed her lips together, but ultimately decided this was a safe enough topic of conversation. As safe as a rabid animal ready to attack.
But it was much safer than speaking about anything connected with her past.
She took a deep breath. “It’s nothing, really. He’s a bully, albeit a very attractive bully. Every time I turn around, he’s there .”
“Well, he does live next door.”
She shot the other woman a look. “Yes, I am aware. Painfully aware. The man says things that aren’t even remotely appropriate and I should slap him, but…” Her body flushed hot at the memory of his growling parting words.
“But they get you hot and bothered and make you stupid.” Jessica nodded. “I know the type, though I bet our writer friend puts them all to shame.”
“You keep saying that. He’s not a writer.
That’s impossible.” Sloan tried to picture him hunched behind a computer, putting words to paper for hours at a time, and failed miserably.
There was something too… alive …about Jude.
Restless and dangerous, and if he could sit still for more than a few minutes at a time, she’d be shocked.
“I thought he was a fisherman.” That seemed to be the prevailing job market in Callaway Rock.
But Jessica shook her head. “No way. I would know, because I’m up by the time they take the boats out. I see him, but only at weird hours. Plus, that’s what he told Marge when she asked last month.”
She just couldn’t see it. Sloan stood, weaving slightly on her feet. “That’s absurd. I’m going to go tell him exactly how absurd that is. Marge is a nice lady and he shouldn’t be lying to her.”
Jessica laughed. “Right. I’m sure that’s exactly why you’re going over there.”
She found herself laughing, too, and sobered.
Or tried to. “I’m very angry with him. I think I’ll tell him that, too.
” She looked at the old clock on the wall behind the bar.
Between half the numbers being faded and the alcohol making the room swim, it took her a few seconds to translate.
It was after ten. She hadn’t realized she and Jessica had been here quite so long.
It’s not that late. He’ll be awake.
“Go get him, tiger.” Jessica tossed two bills on the table and stood. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
It took her mind a few seconds to catch up. Right. Yoga. “Looking forward to it.” And she was. She understood how addicting the practice could get. Kind of like her growing addiction to Jude.
No. I’m angry with him. I’m going over there to give him a piece of my mind .
Of course you are .
She ignored the snide little voice inside her that sounded remarkably like her older sister and walked out into the night.
Sloan paused to stretch, her muscles protesting faintly.
It felt good, though, like she’d really pressed herself today.
She started for the beach, but she only made it about a block before it dawned on her how dark it actually was on the streets of Callaway Rock.
In her time here, she hadn’t made a habit of going out after sunset—especially since sunset was at nearly nine in the evening—so she hadn’t noticed that there weren’t many street lamps.
With all the businesses shut down for the day, there was only the faintest of lights shining through the windows lining the street.
It should have made the whole town look sleepy and comfortable, but some instinct she hadn’t realized she had perked up and sounded the alarm.
Sloan turned a slow circle, studying her surroundings as well as she could through the shadows holding dominance. There was no one out, and though she’d only walked a block, the relative noise of the bar seemed worlds away. Anything could happen to her and no one would know about it until morning.
“Stop it,” she told herself. Her voice sounded small and scared. “Stop it right now. This isn’t Boston. You aren’t in danger here.” But she felt like she was, as if some sniper had her in his scope and was currently caressing the trigger.
She took a big step back, reaching behind her for the brick wall of the market, her heart beating too hard.
No one knows where I am…that I know of .
That thought wasn’t nearly as comforting as it should have been.
Someone could have found her. They could be waiting just around the corner to throw her in a car and take her home.
What if it isn’t my family who’s found me?
Fear wrapped itself around her throat, making it hard to breathe.
She knew the O’Malleys had enemies. Her youngest brother, Devlin, had paid the price because of those enemies.
They might not be actively at war at the moment, but that didn’t mean that snatching her off the street wouldn’t be a coup for whoever managed to do it.
Oh God, I am so incredibly stupid .
She started moving, because the only other option was to stand still and wait for morning.
Her tennis shoes beat a quick rhythm on the pavement, and she could almost swear she heard a second set of footsteps echoing hers, just a breath off.
Panic swelled, swallowing any ability to rationalize away her fear.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw a shadow detach from the market building, and couldn’t contain herself any longer.
Sloan full-out ran.