5. Sloane
FIVE
SLOANE
Consciousness returned like a slow tide, carrying Sloane from the depths of the most peaceful sleep she'd experienced in twenty-six years. Her eyes fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings that sent her heart racing before memory caught up with disorientation.
Where am I?
This wasn't the cramped studio apartment she'd called home for the past eight months—that claustrophobic box wedged above the smoke shop where the scent of cigarettes and incense perpetually seeped through the floorboards.
There, her narrow bed pressed against the wall beneath a single window that offered nothing but a view of cracked pavement and the endless stream of city life below, while the constant hum of traffic, shouting voices, and sirens had become the soundtrack of her survival.
This… this was something else entirely.
Sloane bolted upright in the expansive bed, her fighter's instincts cataloging every detail of the luxurious suite surrounding her.
Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating rich hardwood floors and elegant furnishings that belonged in a mansion rather than her reality.
The bed itself could have housed three people comfortably, draped in linens softer than anything she'd ever touched.
Hale Lodge. The wilderness retreat. Ronan and Kozue.
The memories of the previous night crashed back—the underground fight, the attempted kidnapping, Gerri's mysterious appearance, and the two impossibly attractive men who'd offered her sanctuary without question.
She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to process the whiplash transition from her violent, precarious existence to this cocoon of comfort and safety.
"I need to talk to Ronan and Kozue right now," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I can't afford this type of luxury. They must have something more affordable."
The hardwood felt cool beneath her bare feet as she padded to the windows, drawn by the breathtaking panorama beyond the glass.
Towering peaks stretched endlessly into the distance, their snow-capped summits catching the morning light like diamonds.
Dense forest carpeted the valleys below in every shade of green imaginable, and she could hear the distant sound of rushing water—probably a stream or waterfall hidden somewhere in the wilderness.
It was the most beautiful view she'd ever seen. It was also the most terrifying.
What is my plan?
The question echoed in her mind as she stared out at the vast expanse of mountains and trees.
Go back to the city? Return to the underground fighting circuit where she'd finally found something she excelled at, where the money was good and the rules were simple?
Where those two professional muscle men were undoubtedly still hunting her, along with whoever had sent them?
"No," she said aloud, her breath fogging the glass. "That's not an option."
She couldn't return to her old life. The moment she stepped back into that world, she'd be spotted, captured, and delivered to whatever "employer" wanted to speak with her. And then what? Become someone's possession? Disappear entirely? The possibilities made her stomach clench with dread.
Maybe she could flee to another state, find a different fighting circuit, and start over completely.
But if the person behind last night's kidnapping attempt had the resources to track her down once, they likely had connections that stretched far beyond the city limits.
Running might just delay the inevitable.
Stay here. Work. See what happens.
The logical part of her mind recognized the wisdom in that approach.
Ronan and Kozue had promised she could stay as long as necessary, and that she was safe within these walls.
But was she really? Could she trust two men she'd just met, no matter how gracious their hospitality or how her body had reacted to their presence?
The memory of that electric shock when she'd shaken Ronan's hand, the way her pulse had quickened when Kozue's fingers had brushed hers, sent an unwelcome heat spiraling through her.
She couldn't afford to be attracted to anyone right now, especially not two men who were clearly close—brothers, business partners, or something else entirely.
Sloane crossed to the dresser where her battered duffel bag sat like a refugee from another world.
She unzipped it and stared at the meager contents—two changes of clothes, basic toiletries, and the manila envelope containing her cash.
Eleven thousand dollars that had felt like a fortune twelve hours ago now seemed pitifully inadequate for an extended stay at a place like this.
"Two outfits," she said, pulling out a clean pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. "That's not exactly sustainable for a long-term arrangement."
She'd have to ask about nearby stores, though something told her the closest shopping was probably hours away in whatever passed for civilization in this remote mountain territory.
Maybe they had uniforms for employees—that would solve the wardrobe problem and make her lack of possessions less obvious.
The reflection that greeted her in the dresser mirror looked surprisingly well-rested despite the chaos of the previous night.
Her brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her hazel eyes held more clarity than they had in months.
The cut on her cheek had already begun healing, and the bruising on her knuckles was fading to yellow-green.
She pulled on her underwear and bra, then slipped into the jeans and t-shirt with quick efficiency.
The familiar ritual of dressing grounded her, reminding her that she'd survived worse situations than this.
She'd been uprooted more times than she could count, had started over in new places with nothing but determination and stubbornness.
Focus on one thing at a time.
Sloane laced up her boots and straightened her shoulders, meeting her own gaze in the mirror with steely resolve. "Go to the lobby. Find Ronan and Kozue. Ask for a smaller, cheaper room and whatever job they might have available."
She wouldn't mention that she was running from dangerous people who wouldn't stop hunting her.
She wouldn't admit that she had no other options, no backup plan, nowhere else to turn.
She certainly wouldn't confess that her entire wardrobe fit in a single duffel bag or that eleven thousand dollars represented everything she owned in the world.
"Just be direct and confident," she told her reflection. "They let you in here looking like a battered survivor last night. Surely they'll give you honest work too."
The pep talk felt hollow, but it was better than dwelling on the alternatives.
She grabbed her room key from the nightstand and headed for the door.
The hallway beyond stretched in front of her, lined with similar guest room doors and decorated with rustic elegance.
Sloane moved toward the main lobby, her fighter's instincts automatically noting exit routes and potential hiding spots as she walked.
The lodge felt different in daylight—less mysterious, more welcoming, but no less intimidating in its obvious expense and refinement.
The corridor seemed to stretch forever, punctuated by alcoves displaying local artwork and windows that offered glimpses of the stunning mountain landscape.
Her footsteps echoed softly on the hardwood floors, the only sound in the peaceful morning silence.
As she approached the lobby, Sloane paused to gather her courage.
Whatever happened in the next few minutes would determine whether she had a place to stay or would be back to square one with dwindling resources and nowhere to run.
They helped you last night. They'll help you now.
The thought carried more hope than certainty, but it was enough to propel her forward toward whatever came next.
The lobby of Hale Lodge stretched before Sloane like a postcard come to life—rustic elegance married to mountain grandeur in ways that made her feel simultaneously welcomed and completely out of place.
Massive wooden beams soared overhead, supporting a cathedral ceiling that seemed to reach toward the sky itself.
Stone fireplaces anchored both ends of the expansive space, their hearths cold now in the morning light but radiating the promise of warmth.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the mountain peaks beyond.
This is what wealth looks like, she thought. Real wealth. Not the flashy kind that screams for attention, but the quiet kind that doesn't need to prove anything.
Instead of Ronan's commanding presence or Kozue's warm smile behind the front desk, Sloane found herself face-to-face with a woman who radiated sunshine at seven in the morning.
Auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face dusted with freckles and lit by the most genuinely cheerful smile Sloane had ever encountered.
Her green eyes sparkled with unmistakable warmth and curiosity as she looked up from whatever paperwork had been occupying her attention.
"Good morning!" The woman's voice carried the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd been awake for hours and was genuinely delighted to see another human being.
Sloane approached the desk with measured steps, her boots silent on the polished hardwood floors.
The reception area itself was a masterpiece of understated luxury—rich wood surfaces, fresh flowers arranged in crystal vases, and that indefinable sense of quality that came from things built to last rather than impress.
"I'm sorry, I don't recognize you." The redhead's brow furrowed slightly as she studied Sloane's face with the kind of focused attention that suggested she took pride in knowing every guest who passed through these doors. "And I most certainly wouldn't have forgotten a striking face like yours."