Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
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.