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)
No easy answer, then. She smoothed back his hair, taking comfort in the simple fact that he was alive and she could touch him to her heart’s content. Jude had carried them both since they left Callaway Rock—even before, if she was being honest.
It was time for her to return the favor.
“Do you have a phone in that bag of yours?”
“Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes. “Are you going to call in the cavalry?”
She hesitated, but he left it at that—just a question. He trusts my judgment. He trusts me. That realization shouldn’t have been so novel, and it said something truly sad about her history that it was. Not to mention my seriously dropping the ball with the tracker situation. Sloan cupped his jaw. “I’m going to try.”
“Front pocket.”
She found the pocket he’d indicated and pulled the phone out. Truly, there was only one person she could call.
Carrigan.
Sloan closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and then opened them. What are the chances that Carrigan hasn’t changed her number? Not likely. Still, she dialed it all the same, reaching out to her older sister for the first time since she’d learned that Carrigan had forsaken the family for James Halloran.
No one else would understand where she was coming from, not about Jude and not about her plans.
No one else would be the least bit sympathetic to her plight.
No one else would stop to consider that she might be perfectly rational about the decision she’d made.
“Hello?”
Her throat tried to close at Carrigan’s familiar voice on the other end. “Carrigan…It’s me.”
“Sloan?”
“I…I’m in trouble. I need your help.” She held her breath. She felt like a terrible person for refusing her sister’s calls over and over again, and now reaching out when she needed something. Carrigan would be well within her rights to rip Sloan a new one and tell her to deal with the mess she’d made.
Instead, she said, “Anything.”
* * *
Dmitri climbed out of his town car, motioning the driver to stay where he was. While he couldn’t be anywhere in Boston without a degree of danger, he was willing to take his chances for the time being. The building looked like every other warehouse in the district, nondescript and windowless. The street was almost deserted, though he caught the rustling of someone in the shadows. A place for ill deeds.
He stalked to the door, staring at the man standing there until the guy backed off. And then Dmitri was inside, bodies pressing in from all sides, a deep music that he couldn’t place rolling through them. The place stank of drugs and sweat and sex, and he wanted little more than to turn around and leave.
It wasn’t an option.
He spotted her almost immediately, her thin body draped over a throne on a dais in the center of it all. A couple fucked on the throne next to her, but she paid them no mind, surveying the chaos around her like a queen with her subjects.
He knew the second Keira spotted him, because the leg she had hanging over the throne’s arm started bobbing. Dmitri waited, fully expecting her to approach, but she didn’t move.
Cheeky.
He made his way through the crowd, and those who didn’t part on their own were tugged out of the way by their friends. Dmitri stepped onto the dais, raised an eyebrow at the couple still in the midst of their frenzy, and moved to stand in front of Keira.
She twisted a length of hair around her finger. “You’re blocking my view.”
“And you have something of mine.”
She finally looked at him and smirked. “Considering you didn’t cancel your cards, I took that as tacit permission. They’re at the bottom of the Charles now.”
He hadn’t canceled his cards because he’d been curious to see what she’d do. She’d maxed out his cash withdrawals, which she shouldn’t have been able to do without him there, and then she’d gone on a shopping spree. “One woman should not need ten thousand dollars’ worth of lingerie.”
“Shows what you know.” There went her foot, bobbing again.
He took in her clothing. “How much of what you’re wearing did I purchase for you?”
Keira gave him a wicked grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess you’ll have to strip me down to find out.”
It was all too easy to picture doing exactly that. Her black tank top was more holes than fabric, showing long slices of skin and a flash of black lace covering her breasts. Her pleated skirt was the traditional schoolgirl plaid, but that’s where the similarities ended. The thing was as much of a tease as her shirt; what little fabric was there was riding up and making no effort to hide the tops of the fishnet thigh highs and garters she wore. “We covered this during our last encounter.”
“You don’t fuck children. I remember.” She arched an eyebrow. “Tell me, Dmitri, do I look like a child to you?”