Everyone is gathered in the family room, where we were all laughing and putting up Christmas decorations just last weekend. Now an atmosphere of worry and frustration crowds the room and Kinley’s comment turns everyone’s eyes on Sloane.
If I weren’t standing behind her, Sloane would have taken a step back to retreat, but the back of her head bumps into my chest as she tries. I grip her arms and lightly squeeze to keep her in place, she’s still a part of this house. Her muscles are bunched, and her back is ramrod straight.
She still smells like smoke and she and Kinley both have soot streaked on their faces. The ponytail her long black hair is in has come loose, and the clip has slid to her shoulders. Tendrils of hair are hanging around her face and down her back.
“Kinley,” Dad and I say her name at the same time, our tones low in warning.
Sloane’s head shakes a tiny bit, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
I squeeze Sloane’s arms in support and am about to put Kinley in her place when Marley steps forward, sparks are in her eyes and her face is tight. “Are you saying that it’s her fault that human traffickers want to sell her into slavery? And even worse, are you suggesting it’s her fault that her own flesh and blood initiated the whole thing? Are you being put out by all this, Kinley?”
It’s not often that Marley gets angry at one of us, but I can hear the anger in her words, especially since she knows what it’s like to be forced to do something she doesn’t want to do. The fight visibly leaves Kinley as her shoulders sink, she at least has the decency to look ashamed as her eyes drop to the coffee table in front of her.
But Marley isn’t done. “You have the privilege to live on abeautiful ranch, rent-free, doing whatever you feel like doing every day. I wonder how you would manage in her shoes?” Marley crosses her arms over her chest and her voice lowers almost to a whisper and she looks away from Kinley, “I don’t think you’ve ever embarrassed me like you did just now.”
The room is silent, everyone’s eyes are now on Kinley. She clicks her thumbnails together, her eyes trained on her fisted hands in her lap before she looks up at Sloane, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Sloane’s shoulders relax a bit, and she nods her head, she pulls out of my grasp and walks to the door, “Excuse me, I need to freshen up before I start dinner.”
The room is quiet for a few moments after she leaves, but a knock on the front door slices through the silence. Kinley’s head jerks up and she looks at Dad, Marley twists her head to look at me as she steps closer, this whole situation is probably bringing back memories of the night she was attacked.
“It’s okay, it’s some of the guys from my team,” I say to the room, but I reach over and gently squeeze Marley’s neck.
As I walk away to answer the front door, I see Gray reach over and grab Marley’s hand.
Me, Marley, and Gray being closer in age, while also getting to spend more time with our mom before she died, tend to stick together more, while Kinley and Tucker being a year apart and younger when mom died are more bonded to each other.
Breanna got the shit deal because mom died just months after she was born and there was five years difference between her and the youngest of the rest of us. In a way, it was hard on her because she always felt that she was part of the reason Mom died, but it also made her one of the strongest people I know.
Standing on the large front porch are three of my teammates Callum, Jax, and Spits. Callum is standing in frontof the door, a large duffel bag on each side of him at his feet. He’s in his usual black tactical pants, black long-sleeve thermal, heavy wool coat, and black military boots.
Jax is leaning against the large stone column next to the steps, his hands in his jean’s pockets, stocking cap on his head, with one ankle crossed over the other. Spits has wasted no time; his face is buried in the pad that he is holding in his hand and his laptop is folded under his arm.
Holding my hand out to Callum, I say, “Thanks for coming.”
Callum is a wall of muscle, and his brown eyes are always focused and alert on everything that is going on around him. He grips my hand, “It’s what we do, brother.”
He grabs the big, black, canvas bags at his feet and moves past me into the house. Jax slings his bag over his shoulder and claps his hand on mine as he walks by. Spits doesn’t even look up as he grabs his bag of equipment at his feet and slowly walks by.
I chuckle and say, “Good to see you too, Spits.”
He starts tapping his pad with his finger, his attention solely on what he is looking at, and mumbles, “Yeah.” Spits has never been accused of being a social butterfly.
Callum, always taking the lead, walks into the family room and the introductions start. Spits doesn’t even make it into the room, his attention is focused on his pad, and he is rooted in place in the entryway.
Jax leans a shoulder on the frame of the large doorway into the family room and looks around the room. He may look casual and easy-going, but he is assessing and memorizing every nook and cranny of the place. I notice that his icy blue eyes stop on Marley.
Marley’s focused on Callum and his explanation of what they will be doing and his assurance that they will try not to impact normal day-to-day life as much as possible, so she’snot noticed the attention. I step behind Marley and Jax’s eyes move up to see the warning on my face.
A slight smirk tips one side of his lips up and he pulls his hand out from under his arm and discretely holds it up in surrender. Since he’s been warned, I know I don’t have to worry about him making any moves. I slide my hands in my pockets and turn my attention to Callum.
Wanting to check on Sloane, I duck away to the kitchen, but she’s not there, so I take the back stairs to her room. The bathroom door is cracked open and I can hear coughing, she took in a lot of smoke earlier so I tap and push the door open to check on her.
She’s on her knees in front of the toilet, retching. It only takes a few steps for me to close the space and kneel next to her to grab her hair. I watch helplessly as her body clenches and relaxes with each heave.
I’ve never helped a sick woman, but she looks so small on the floor and everything in me wants to take care of her. I wouldn’t be able to walk out of here without making sure she’s okay if I wanted to.
When she’s done, she rests her forehead on her arm that’s lying across the seat and uses her other hand to push the flush lever.
