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)
Jude shoved his wet hair back into a ponytail and took the phone off speaker. “How did he find you?”
“It’s that fucking girl of yours. One of his men had tagged searches for anything concerning her. By the time I realized I’d sent vibrations up the spider web, he was at my front door.”
He still wasn’t sure that Romanov was preferred to one of Sloan’s brothers finding her, but at least the Russian had offered him a reprieve—mostly because he wanted the same thing Jude did: Colm Sheridan dead. It didn’t matter. The end result was that it gave him time to plan—or at least figure out what the fuck he was going to do. He sighed. “What have you got?”
“Sloan O’Malley, sister-in-law to Callista Sheridan. She’s the fly on the wall in a family of strong personalities, always in the background. Her sisters were—and are—wild party girls, one of whom defied their bastard of a father to marry her heart’s true love.” His sarcastic tone said exactly what he thought of that.
Jude was inclined to agree, but this was old news. “I’m aware of who Carrigan O’Malley is fucking. Focus.”
“That’s it, man. Her brothers are looking for Sloan, but Teague appears to be stalling them, probably because he’s the one who got her out. I can’t track how she got out of Boston, and if I can’t do it, no one can. She disappeared on a Friday night, and then appeared in Callaway Rock three days after, which I wouldn’t know if you weren’t there.” He hesitated and then said grudgingly, “That O’Malley did a good job of hiding her.”
And Jude had brought the hounds right to her door.
Goddamn it.
“And Romanov? What’s he want with her?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Fuck, marry, kill—with that guy, it’s bound to be one of those three options. I mean that in the literal sense, not that stupid fucking game everyone seems to be playing.”
None of those options were actually options as far as Jude was concerned. Sloan deserved better than to be a casualty in a war she thought she’d escaped.
As for fuck or marry…
Over my dead fucking body.
“Find out his plan.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jude. I’m not a mind reader. If he has a plan, he hasn’t written it down, and he sure as fuck hasn’t put it somewhere as public as the Internet. It’s not like this fucker has a goddamn blog.”
“I’ll pay double. Figure it out.” He hung up. Stefan might play both sides against the middle when it suited him, but he owed Jude his life. Seven years ago, Stefan had stolen from the wrong man—who just happened to have been Jude’s current mark. Jude had killed the man before he could kill Stefan, and the dramatic fashion of his demise had made an impression on the hacker.
It didn’t prevent him from charging a shit-ton of money to provide his services, but it kept him more or less loyal.
Neither one of them had counted on Romanov finding Stefan.
The web kept getting more and more tangled. Maybe it’d be different if he hadn’t given in to the temptation Sloan’s hot little body offered, but the truth was that her fledgling strength attracted him just as much as her pussy. She had the makings of being a force of nature, and hell if he didn’t want to stand witness and watch it happen.
He looked at the bag containing the pills and cursed. He might be attracted to her, but that was a long shot from wanting to bring a tiny person into the world with her—with anyone. He wasn’t the settling down and starting a family type. With his history…Yeah, it just wasn’t in the cards for him. It’s not like he could cart a kid and woman around while he staked out marks and fucking murdered them.
Shoving the whole mess from his mind, he stalked outside and across the short distance to Sloan’s house. He let himself in through the back door and was halfway across the living room when a dry voice said, “Young man, I don’t suppose you’re a strippergram here to celebrate my birthday. No? Then I’d take kindly to you explaining why you’re in my house.”
He turned slowly to find a shotgun leveled at his chest, wielded by a well-dressed, attractive woman in her late fifties.
Sorcha O’Connor was home.
* * *
Sloan heard voices and walked out of her bedroom to find Sorcha had drawn on Jude. Panic flared, but she managed to keep her voice calm and even. If I startle her, she might pull the trigger. “Sorcha, this is my friend Jude. Jude, this is Sorcha. She’s the one who owns the house.”
Sorcha didn’t lower the gun. “Are you sure he’s a friend, darling? He looks like a hired gun from where I’m standing. They all move like that, quiet as cats and twice as lethal.”