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In which it seems like every douchebag on the planet is chasing after these two.

Ethan…

When Sloan finally opened her eyes, I felt a surge of relief that nearly took me to my knees. I’m still mad as feck at her. What if Masters’ new bastard thugs caught her before I did? What if the pneumonia had hit her and she couldn’t get care? I’ve been wrestling with my rage and kept away from her as long as I could. I dinna know what I’d do when I’m this fecking enraged, I control my emotions, I dinna let them cloud my judgment. But now? I want her to be terrified of me. Because then, maybe she’ll fecking listen to me. I underestimated this girl and it’s a mistake I’ll not make again.

I’ve already bought Flora a new car, and paid off the tuition for her daughter. Aye, she hid my girl from me, but she thought she was protecting an abused woman. I owe her.

The last four days have been highly illuminating. Turns out Sloan is quite the talker when she’s delirious. I’d learned a great deal while I wiped her face with a cold cloth and fed her ice chips.

Her brother Nate is alive, and Getting medical help for something. There was lots of mumbling about poisons.

But the thing she raged and wept about the most was her terror of her brother and someone named Carmella getting caught. It seems pretty clear her stepfather’s on the hunt.

Putting chicken on to simmer in a tomato sauce, I call Uncle Cormac.

“There ya are!” He always sounds kind, like being Chieftain of this massive clan is nothing and he has all the time to chat. “How’s our patient?”

“Out of the worst of it, Doc says. Sloan can answer some questions and walk about a bit, but the poor lass is beat. I got some interesting information while we were fighting her fever. I think her brother Nate is alive. She’d told me he died in the car accident that took their ma. She’s hiding him from their stepfather, and she kept rambling on about poison.”

“Hmmm… It sounds like Masters was tryin’ to take him out, even before the car accident,” he says. “I’ll check into the accident report and pull up the boy’s medical records.”

“Thank ya, and check on someone named Carmella, I think she’s with the boy.”

“Aye, that’ll dae,” he says. “There is more information about the men who tracked ya. They were from a Florida-based cartel, nasty feckers. And they’re not the only ones. Masters must be panicking because the Alekseev Brothers are nosing around, too.”

“Goddamnit,” I groan. The Alekseev Brothers are psychopaths, down for anything, no matter how disgusting and evil if it includes a decent paycheck. Their Bratva is built on the blood and bones of the unwary.

“This could start a war.” Uncle Cormac’s not saying it as a threat, more of an observation.

“I’m responsible for her,” I say, knowing it’s not enough but knowing my uncle will understand. “She’s an innocent. As is her brother.”

I can hear his fingers tapping on his desk. “There are ways to solidify that she is under your protection that the rest of the crime families will be forced to acknowledge.”

Smiling for the first time in days, I say, “I agree.”

When I bring in her protein shake and tea, Sloan is struggling to sit up. “Ach, woman! Let me help.”

She must be feeling better, since she’s glarin’ at me like she dinna know if she wants to fuck me or stab me in the throat. Still, she lets me help her settle into the pillows so I can put the tray on her lap. Her mouth is fightin’ a smile as she looks at her selection of drinks.

“You made me both?”

“I dinna know which one would make ya feel better,” I shrug. “Ya feeling like real food?”

Eyeing the steaming tea and the shake, she shakes her head. “I’ll just work on these, thank you.”

“Take your time, we dinna want ya boaking up the first thing I’ve gotten ya to drink,” I say.

She looks a little green at the thought. “No. That would be so bad.”

Sitting back in the chair I’ve been sleeping in for the last three days, I watch her take a first, cautious sip.

“So, Dr. MacTavish called you Beathan,” she ventures.

“A’course ya picked up on that,” I sigh. “That’s my given name.”

“Why did you change to Ethan?”

“Because Beathan’s a grand name if you’re a six-hundred-year-old Scotsman who lives in a shack in the woods and buries weapons in his front yard. My parents still call me Beathan, because it was important to my Ma, so I respect that.”

“Why was it important to your mother?” Her teacup sits in her hand, forgotten.

Watching her closely, I wonder if it’s wise, giving her any personal information. Anything that could come back to bite me in the arse.

Ah, what the hell.

“My Ma is Russian, she was treated like shite by her family because her mother died in childbirth.”

“That’s so terrible.” Sloan looks genuinely upset and I remember that she’s just lost her ma, too.

“Her name Morana means ‘death’ in Russian,” I continue, “she was obsessed with the idea that she was the bringer of bad luck.” I grin, remembering Da’s stories about his crushed Bugatti from a freak storm and a long list of other disasters. “When she fell pregnant with me, she was convinced that she would die in childbirth, too.”

“That must have been so frightening for her,” she says sadly, “feeling you inside her and thinking she’ll never live to see you grow up.”

This girl’s angry and defensive a good 98% of the time, but she’s got the softest heart under that prickly exterior.

Or, she’s still delirious from her fever.

“When she gave birth to me, she named me Beathan, which means ‘life.’”

“Did she… do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nae, she never conceived again,” I admit, thinking of how much love my mother showered on me. She’s the only reason I’m not a complete monster.

My watch sends me a notification and I stand up, heading for the door. “Try to rest. I’ll be back with food in a minute.”

“Oh, okay…”

The notification told me that the building security perimeter has been breached from the roof, directly above my penthouse.

Fitting in my earpiece, I press my palm against the sensor in my gym, and a panel slides back, revealing all my guns and knives in tidy rows. “Patrick?”

He answers back instantly, good lad. “Yes, Boss?”

“Someone’s gotten through our security. They’re on the roof. I need you here until help arrives.”

“Sir, if you could stay where you are, I can go up and-”

“Dinna ya fecking dare,” I say sharply. “Come up immediately, I’m about to lock this place down.”

Aye, that’ll dae - Scottish slang for “I’ll take care of it.”