“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.”
