From there, it’s a short walk over the bridge and to the ATVs clustered at the base of the hill. Da helps Sloan down with greatcare after I warn him about her broken ribs and puts her behind me on an ATV.
“Are you okay to drive?” she whispers, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“Aye, all bandaged up,” I pat her hands gently and start the engine. The feel of her warmth against my back is good, and when she rests her cheek on my shoulder, I grin.
I can hardly feel my leg at all.
Sloan is quiet as we climb into the Range Rover, and I fasten her seat belt. The loud laughter and repeated demands for all the details on the way down the mountain on the ATVs seem to have silenced her and she seems happy to doze on my shoulder as Da speeds toward Glasgow.
“Michael and Jack are staying behind to pull what ID they can from the bodies, then they’ll dump them,” he says cheerfully, “there’s half a dozen nice deep holes around there.” I hear a quiet gag and I realize Sloan’s awake.
“Ya got a doctor ready?” I ask, “Sloan’s pretty banged up.”
“That’s not true,” she pipes up. “Sir, your son successfully landed the jet with nothing but vapor in the fuel tanks, got cut up everywhere and we pulled a six-inch metal shard out of his back. And he had to carry everything - including me - down that cliff. He deserves the first look from the doctor.”
Da smiles at her in the rearview mirror. “Call me Cameron, and not to worry, lass. There’s plenty of medical personnel waiting for ya. You’re a hell of a shot. Thank ya for keeping my son alive.”
“That’s the definition of irony, aye?” Logan speaks up behind us.
“Why?” Sloan’s puzzled.
“Well, the Scottish Demon’s usually the one doin’ the killing, and here ya are-”
“Shut your fecking face!” I snap, but the damage is done. Her face is dead white as she stares at me.
“Even I know about the Scottish Demon,” she whispers. “That’syou?”
“It’s not what ya think-” I try to explain, but she’s already shrunk in her seat, pressing her shoulder against the window to get as far away from me as possible.
Sloan…
I can’t breathe.
I’m such a sucker. After surviving that crash, our trek through the mountains that make the Himalayas look like a kid’s sandcastle, the gunfight - while on a rope - and the moment last night when I more or less molested him in my sleep, I thought…
It doesn’t matter what I thought. This is the Scottish Demon. My family was only on the outskirts of organized crime but of course I had heard the horror stories about him.
He told me he “found desired objects and people.”
Ethan MacTavish the Scottish Demon has murdered dozens of people, maybe hundreds.Sometimes, they just disappear but he’ll often leave a horribly mangled corpse as a warning, or a lesson, or whatever the psycho who hired him wanted done with what was once a human being.
He’s going to murder me, make me disappear. My scumbag stepfather probably wants him to torture Nate’s location from me first. I don’t want to be tortured, oh god, I don’t. I don't wantto know what it would take to break me enough to betray my brother. I’ll kill myself before I tell Ethan where my brother is. Nate’s going to make it. He’s going to live a long, happy life and I will not let him get hurt again.
That must be the reason Ethan refused to give me up to the other gunmen. He wants my stepfather’s money, but he probably enjoys his work even more, breaking a human body until there’s nothing left.
All the cautious warmth and camaraderie I’d felt when we were rescued disappears like a popped bubble. The harsh sound of their accents, the rolling a’s and soft burrs sound cruel. They’re laughing secretly because they know what’s going to happen to me. The stupid rabbit, run to earth by the predator.
Ethan’s nearness feels like claws scraping down my skin, his cousins are leaning over to talk to him and I feel their breath on my neck. And his father! Smiling at me in the rearview mirror, the sadistic asshole.
Suddenly, my terror dissolves into fury, the way it always does. The way rage allows my body to unlock and my brain to unfreeze. I’m no fucking bunny. And I’m not going to make this easy for these MacTavishes.
The first signs of the city are making themselves known, a thicker concentration of traffic, more shops and then office buildings. I need a red light and a busy intersection. I couldn’t have run if you set my hair on fire back at the bridge, but my legs have had a chance to rest and my fury gives me strength.
I feel hurt. Seriously? I’mhurt?I’m so stupid from some orgasms and a show of strength that I really thought Ethan wanted to save me from my stepfather? Rubbing my knuckles absently against my breastbone, I wish I could make it dissolve, this knot of humiliation and injured pride. Pulling all my wavesof anger around me again like a coat, I focus on regulating my breathing.
Ethan’s not paying any attention to me now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I saw hurt in his gaze but that can’t be right. His soul is as black as his eyes. Now he’s leaning in, talking to his father in low tones.
They must not use this SUV for transporting prisoners because there’s no safety lock engaged. All I need is a red light and a busy street. I can run like the wind.
