Sloan (The Protectors Series) Book #9

by Teresa Gabelman

  Starting his bike when he saw her stand, he watched as she quickly got on her scooter and started it up—still without a helmet. He growled with a frown. She wiped her cheek, then stared into the darkness before taking off. Glancing back inside to see who in the hell could have made her cry, he saw only an old woman staring out the window.

  Sloan pulled out, staying far enough behind her not to be noticed, and followed. He wanted to make sure she made it home safely before continuing with his night. Though, she was going in the wrong direction. He knew the street she lived on because of the extensive background check on her, and he knew these streets well. Seeing her signal turn on, he knew exactly where she was going, and it puzzled him. Why in the hell would she be going to the river?

  Slowing down, he waited until she turned before he accelerated and made the turn himself. By the time he rounded the corner onto Riverboat Row, she was already off her scooter and walking toward the riverbank where benches sat. Pulling into a space near one of the many restaurants, he searched the area for danger. Once again he sat on his bike and watched.

  As time passed, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He had shit to do, but there he was watching a woman he barely knew, and he didn’t want to leave. Jesus, wouldn’t the guys have a field fucking day with this. A movement up the bank drew his attention. In one fluid motion, he was off his bike but didn’t take a step.

  A man stood next to the trees watching Becky as well as checking out his surroundings. He hadn’t spotted Sloan yet, but Sloan blended into the darkness well.

  “Move along, motherfucker,” Sloan said under his breath, his eyes narrowing on the guy. The guy obviously felt confident he was alone, except for Becky, and he made his move. So did Sloan. “Shit!”

  Sloan made it to Becky before the asshole could. It took a minute for the guy, who had obviously been drinking, to realize Sloan had appeared. He stumbled to a stop.

  He sized Sloan up and by the look on his face, he knew he might be in a trouble. “Oh, hey.” The guy frowned, then tried to look around Sloan, who had blocked Becky with his body. “I was just seeing if the lady needed help.”

  Hearing Becky stand behind him, Sloan turned his head slightly to make sure she was still blocked and out of any danger. His eyes went back to the man. “No help needed.” Sloan’s voice was deep and stern.

  Whether it was booze or just plain stupidity, the guy didn’t turn to leave. He continued to stand his ground and opened his mouth. “Well, I’d like to hear it from her because maybe she needs help from you.” His statement came out cocky and his hands fisting told Sloan he was about to deliver an ass whopping this guy would never forget.

  Sloan’s smile was vicious. He looked at the ground for a second, then back up, tilting his head. “Do you really want to do this?” His tone offered a clear warning. “Because I can tell you right now, you will lose.”

  The man reached behind him and pulled out a knife. “Oh, you think so?” The man waved the knife around, tossing it from hand to hand. “I think not, asshole.”

  “Becky, stay behind me,” Sloan ordered, his eyes never leaving the dumbass threatening him.

  “Yeah, Becky,” the man snarled. “Don’t go far because after I’m done with hero here, me and you have some business of our own.” He crudely humped his pelvis.

  Knowing the man had to take a step toward him to use the knife, Sloan waited patiently. He emptied his mind as he watched the prick showboat. Unless that knife was made of silver, it wouldn’t do shit to him. It would hurt like a bitch, but that was it. The bad thing for this asshole, or any asshole who came at Sloan, was that he used pain as his motivation to win.

  “Be careful.” He heard Becky’s whispered words behind him, but didn’t respond.

  “Well, are you going to use that thing or play with it all night?” Sloan finally grew tired of waiting for the idiot to make his move.

  Sloan’s question slowed the man’s showboating down at little as he hesitated. “Hey, I’m in charge here,” the man slurred, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah, well, fuck that.” Sloan had the man by the throat and the knife out of his hand before the asshole could blink. “You plan on using that knife on the lady?”

  The man’s eyes bugged out of his head from lack of air. He tried to sputter some words, but Sloan squeezed his throat too tightly.

  Sloan pulled out his phone and made a call. “Need you down at Riverboat Row by the Beer Sellar.” He put his phone back in his pocket before looking back at the guy. “Not much of a badass now, are you?”

  The man finally passed out and went limp. Tossing him to the ground, Sloan then turned to look at Becky. Wide-eyed, she stared at the unconscious man.

  “Did you kill him?” she whispered.

  “Not yet,” Sloan replied, his eyes narrowed in anger. “And if Duncan doesn’t get here before the bastard wakes up, I make no promises.”

  Chapter 8

  One minute Becky was reflecting on life as she stared at the river and the next she was watching Sloan grab a knife-wielding man by the throat. Where in the hell had he come from? She had checked out the area before climbing off her scooter and heading down to the bench she always sat at, and saw no one.

  Without Sloan saying a word, she knew he was pissed and not just at the knocked-out man.

  “What in the hell are you doing out here this time of night, alone?” Sloan’s voice was stern, as if he were talking to a child.

  “I, ah….” Becky was a little taken back by his anger toward her and actually, she didn’t appreciate being talked to that way.

  He didn’t let her continue. “Why are you riding that damn deathmobile? Where is the fucking car?”

  “It’s, ah….” Becky tried again, her anger boiling close to the surface.

  “And why are you not wearing a helmet?” He continued down a list of things he was obviously pissed about.

  She started to open her mouth, then shut it to make sure he was finished. He wasn’t.

  “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if I hadn’t been here?” Sloan got louder with each question he asked, but he wouldn’t shut up long enough for her to answer. When she just stood there staring at him, he threw up his hands. “Well?”

  “Are you finished?” Becky put her hands on her hips.

  Sloan glared at her for a second. “Yes, I am.”

  “What are you doing here?” Becky asked, glaring back at him.

  “I’m the one asking the questions!” he bellowed. When the man made a noise, Sloan put his large foot on the guy’s chest without even looking; he was too busy scowling at her.

  “I answer to you between the hours of seven and four, Mr. Murphy.” She huffed, then turned to leave, but stopped and turned around to look at him. “I don’t know what I did to make you so angry at me, but thank you for well, you know.” She waved her hand toward the guy on the ground.

  Becky walked away, realizing her shitty night just got shittier and had taken a nosedive straight to hell. So much for getting back on her feet. She probably didn’t have a job anymore, but seriously, did he have to get all crazy and start questioning her decisions like that? Hurrying to her scooter, she hopped on and took off, barely missing a car that was passing.

  By the time she arrived home, she felt awful because honestly, everything Sloan had yelled about was for her safety. And how did she repay him? By acting like an ungrateful shrew. She knew why. Her ex-husband had always made her feel stupid, and she had felt Sloan’s questions were an attack against her judgment, which in turn made her feel as if she wasn’t smart enough to make good decisions. Having time to cool off and think about it, she begrudgingly admitted to herself he was right.

  Before she could climb off her scooter, a motorcycle sped down the road and pulled in behind her. Sloan sat staring at her for a few seconds before turning off his engine.

  “Do you even know how close you were to hitting Duncan?” Sloan asked, his voice a little calmer.


  “How do you know where I live?” She stared at him wide eyes.

  Sloan closed his eyes for a second and cursed under his breath. “Background check.” He opened his eyes, pinning her to the spot. “Now answer my question.”

  “Which one?” she replied, then sighed. “I was hungry and didn’t have anything here to eat. I drove my scooter because it’s cheaper on gas. I forgot my helmet again, but I was only planning on going up the street, and I wasn’t that close to Duncan’s car.” There, she’d answered every question he had asked. Maybe he wouldn’t fire her.

  “You forgot to answer one.” He crossed his arms over his chest, no longer glaring.

  Becky thought for a minute. “No, I don’t think I did.” She tilted her head. The music from the bar across from her house drifted toward them. She couldn’t believe he’d followed her from the river. He was most likely there to fire her officially and save himself the trouble when she showed up to work the next day.

  “It’s actually the most important question I asked,” Sloan replied, then glanced across the street to the bar when a few people exited the establishment loudly. His attention swung back to her and he waited for a few more intense seconds for her to answer. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if I hadn’t been there?”

  She started to ask him why exactly had he been there, but remembered he didn’t seem to like when she answered his questions with a question of her own. Then again, she really wanted to know, so decided to live on the edge.

  “And why exactly were you there?” She waited for him to blow up again.

  “Are you trying to make me angry?” His voice wasn’t angry really, just more curious than anything else.

  “Am I fired?” shot out of her mouth. She couldn’t help it; she needed to know.

  Sloan opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and just stared at her. Finally, he shook his head and chuckled. “No, Becky. You’re not fired.”

  “Ah, thank God.” Becky released a big sigh of relief.

  “Unless…,” Sloan added.

  Her eyes popped open wide. “Unless what?” Oh, crap. She wondered what the terms would be and if she could follow them.

  “You stop answering my questions with questions.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, but no chuckle followed his statement.

  “I’ll do my best,” Becky hedged, not wanting to promise something she may totally fail at. “Listen, sometimes I get a little heated. I blame the red hair for that, and well, I’m sorry. And thank you for what you did. I do know what could have happened if you hadn’t been there. I go to that same spot all the time and never has anything happened to me.”

  “You shouldn’t be out alone in a secluded area this late at night,” Sloan warned her, his voice stern.

  “You’re right and usually it’s not this late. I just wasn’t ready to come back home.” She shrugged, looking away from him. “Haven’t you ever just done something on a whim?”

  “No.” Sloan’s one-word reply said it all.

  “Oh.” She glanced up at him, then back to her dark house that she didn’t want to walk into alone. Her independent self cursed her for being an idiot, but her lonely self patted her on the shoulder. “Would you like to come in for a minute? I have two beers as an offering of thanks.”

  She waited for his answer. Half of her wanted him to say no, the other half begged for him to say yes. What in the hell was wrong with her? Didn’t she just have a conversation this morning with her whole self… no men? When he didn’t reply and looked from her house to her, she wished she had never asked. She felt like an idiot.

  “It’s not a big deal.” Becky gave him a small smile. “I’m sure you have things to do. Thanks again for what you did.” She started to turn toward her house, but his words stopped her.

  “I could use a beer.”

  ******

  As Sloan stood in the small living room watching Becky getting him a beer, he cursed himself. What in the fuck was he doing? It was as if his mouth had a fucking mind of its own. “I could use a beer?” What in the hell was that and where in the fuck did it come from?

  “Here you go.” Becky handed him a Busch beer, which he must have glared at. “Sorry, I know it’s not a Budw—”

  “It’s fine.” He took a drink, doing his best not to make the famous bitter beer face. It tasted like cold piss. “Thank you.”

  “So what are you doing on this side of the river?” Becky asked, sitting down on her couch with a bottle of water.

  Sloan leaned against the wall, holding his piss beer. “This is one of the areas we patrol” was his only explanation. He didn’t know the meaning of the words small talk.

  “Oh, what do you patrol for?” Becky asked, then took a drink of water.

  “Bad guys.” He grinned at her disappointed frown. She’d wanted juicy details, but he wasn’t going to give them to her.

  “You don’t like to talk much, do you?” Becky finally said after a moment of awkward silence.

  “No, I don’t.” Sloan decided to finish off his beer before it got warm. In all honesty, if it tasted like cold piss already, he was afraid of what it might taste like warm. In one long swallow, he finished it off. Becky stood to take the empty bottle.

  “You want another one?” Becky tossed the empty bottle in the trash.

  “I’m good, thanks.” Sloan cringed at the thought of drinking another one. He had noticed how empty her refrigerator was when she had retrieved his beer, and her place was a shithole, but he also knew this area and her rent probably wasn’t cheap. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed some bills, and placed them on her table.

  Becky had turned to see him do it. “What is that?” She frowned when Sloan remained silent. “Listen, I don’t take handouts. I may live in a shithole…”

  Sloan grinned at her words that described exactly what he thought of her rental house.

  “…and be low on food, but I make do.”

  “It’s not a handout.” Sloan refused to take the money back that she kept pushing at him. He watched as she looked down at his jeans pocket, then looked into his eyes. He knew his expression was daring her to try to shove the money in his pocket. “It’s a pay advance, and believe me, you will earn every penny.”

  “A pay advance?” Becky’s voice changed as she looked at the money. “Are you sure?”

  “I do nothing I’m not sure about,” Sloan replied, knowing that was a fucking lie. He sure didn’t know why he was standing inside his secretary’s house. It was time to get the hell out of there. He nodded and headed toward the door. “Thanks for the beer.”

  “You’re welcome.” Becky followed him. “Thank you for everything. I really mean it. I know I went a little nutso—again, blame it on the hair—but I do appreciate what you’ve done and for the job. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

  Sloan walked out the door and to his bike. He threw his hand up, not looking back at her. His eyes once again went to the bar. The locks on her doors needed to be replaced. A strong wind could break them. Climbing onto his bike, he fought not to look back at her, but his eyes won the battle. His eyes met hers as she stood in the doorway and gave him a wave. Rolling his bike backwards, he finally looked away as he took off down her street, her words of “I promise you won’t be sorry” following him. He had a feeling he was going to be very fucking sorry.

  Chapter 9

  Katrina hurried to the warehouse, knowing she was going to be late. Caroline had come to her room and told her that she was taking her shopping for some clothes. At first Katrina had balked because she knew she didn’t have any money, but shopping sounded too good. Caroline had told her that the Council was taking care of the costs. Katrina didn’t question it. She needed not only clothes, but toothpaste and deodorant. She didn’t know if, being a vampire, she needed those things, but it made her feel human again. No one ever said she stunk, but she really didn’t want to be the stinky girl.

  After they’d shopped all morning, they had lunch and th
en Caroline surprised her with a salon visit. Katrina almost told them to cut it all off, but Caroline put up a fight. So instead, they added some highlights to tone down her fire-red hair, and gave it a trim. Caroline had orchestrated it all.

  The parking lot was full and with a worried frown, she hurried inside, dropped her bag, and headed out on the floor.

  “Five more laps because Katrina finally decided to join us!” Jax yelled out, his eyes narrowed on Katrina.

  “Sorry,” Katrina huffed as she ran through the obstacles. They didn’t just do laps. They had to drop, crawl, jump, roll, and anything else the Warriors felt they needed to add to the course.

  “Way to go, Katrina,” Ben sneered at her. He was regularly on her case.

  Katrina ignored him as she ran through the obstacle course, trying her best to focus, but she spotted Blaze staring at her just as she was going under the metal pipe. She hit her forehead hard, knocking her on her ass. Three guys then plowed into her.

  “Come on, dammit!” another trainee hissed. “First you're late and we suffer for it and now you can’t even go under a fucking pipe. Give it up, girl.” The way he said girl was not a compliment.

  Each one of them pushed off her as they stood to pass. Pushing herself up, she glared at them as she continued the course. She would not let them ruin her day.

  “Get a partner,” Jax ordered, and everyone hurried. The only person left was poor John.

  “It’s okay,” John said, then grinned. “Just watch the nose.”

  Katrina laughed with a nod. She turned her attention to Jax, keeping her eyes focused on him and not Blaze. That was, until Jax called Blaze over.

  “There are many pressure points in the body,” Jax said as he started to demonstrate on Blaze.

  “But we’re vampires. That shit doesn’t work on us,” Ben said, his arms crossed arrogantly.

  Before anyone could react, Blaze pinched Ben between the shoulder and neck with two fingers. “Wrong,” Blaze said as Ben dropped to his knees in pain. “I’m not even applying a lot of pressure, but I can have this asshole doing anything I want by just applying a little pressure.”