Page 62 of Unbroken

“I’ll let you drive for now, little Ruthie. But you’re going over my knee for this. I swear to fuck. This is not how I operate, and?—”

“Threatening me with a good time,” she cuts in with a grin, not missing a beat. But her cheeks are flushed pink.

Fuck my life.

She’s into this.

Damn.

I shut the door behind me and slide into the passenger seat. She’s right—my body’s still humming with adrenaline. I need to cool down. And I need to check in with Rafail again.

“You okay?” I ask her.

“I’m fine,” she says, eyes on the road. “Are you?”

I glance into the back. Luka’s got his headphones on, watching a show on her phone, totally unbothered. Oblivious.

“He didn’t see anything,” she whispers, like she’s trying to believe it herself.

“Fuck.”

“Vadka,” she mutters under her breath. “You really need to stop swearing.”

“I know, I know…”

I check my texts with Rafail. There’s no evidence the Irish are still close, but those two? They felt personal. Too personal. Like they had a vendetta or maybe tied to someone I’ve already put six feet under. Figures. I’ve hosed down half of fucking Ireland at this point. I’m a walking target.

We pull into the driveway. Luka’s head is bobbing. He’s barely awake.

“Stay here tonight,” I say to Ruthie, and I know how it sounds. Like I’m hitting on her by asking her to stay. But it’s not that. Not this time. “Just tonight. I wanna make sure your place is more secure before you go back, okay?”

“Fine. But if you think we’re snuggling in your bed again, think again.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on her lips.

“Of course not. You’ll be in the guest room. It’s a nice one.”

“I know. Mariah made it that way. She always hoped Mom would come visit.”

But she never did. Not once.

We go inside, and she gets Luka ready for bed while I head to the kitchen.

“You need to check in with Rafail?” she asks, returning, her voice tight, like she’s bracing for something.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

I glance down. Luka’s already clean, teeth brushed, dressed in his little pajamas and clutching his favorite stuffed animal. She did all of it. Quietly. Efficiently. It’s like having another adult around shifted something heavy off my shoulders I didn’t even know I was carrying.

“Yeah. I’m almost done.”

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’m gonna change into something. I probably have clothes here, don’t I?”

Maybe she does.

She used to be here all the time—when Mariah was here.