Butcher & Blackbird (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #1)(36)

“Yeah, he was a strange one.”

“I’m still not sure if I’m talking about Thorsten or you.”

Sloane giggles and shrugs. “Maybe it’s fun to see the perfect pretty boy a little messed up for a change.”

My dark glare only seems to amuse her further. “I think you’ve already seen that plenty,” I reply as memories of last year’s game bubble to the surface. I can still recall Sloane’s touch as she bandaged my bloody knuckles, can still feel the warmth of her fingertips on my skin.

“That was different,” she says. “That was you in your natural element. This is…definitely not that.”

I huff a breath of agreement but say nothing further.

“But, you do kinda owe me extra for this year’s win,” Sloane says as she wanders closer.

I give her a suspicious glance as I lean against the stainless steel sink. “How do you figure?”

“Saving you from choking, for one thing. I thought that was kinda obvious,” she replies with a shrug. She stops just out of reach as she gnaws the edge of her lower lip. “I think I need to make a claim.”

“A claim?”

“A victory claim.”

“Hold up,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t make a victory claim last year when I beat that piece of shit into the ground for spying on you.”

“To be fair, you also kinda spied on me.”

I scoff, but it sounds forced. “Did not.”

“No? The way I remember it, you were pretty much in the wall, that’s how hard you were listening to me getting myself off.”

“I was listening to that pink tie motherfucker getting himself off to you. So, no.”

“Sure,” she says with a flat glare. She turns toward David, watching him for a long moment before she spins on her heel and levels me with ferocity in her green and gold eyes. “David.”

My gaze travels over to the vacant expression of the man who sits on the prep table, his legs still swinging in circles. “What about him?”

“Give him a job.”

I snort a laugh. “A job.” Another loud laugh whooshes from my chest before reality sinks in. She’s fucking serious. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me. A job.” Sloane’s eyes narrow when I shake my head. She takes a step closer and pins me with a murderous glare. “We can’t leave him like this.”

“Sure we can. He should be glad he didn’t get eaten. He’s in the clear. Dodged a bullet. Or a fork,” I say.

“And now he’s got nothing. You could give him a place to work. A purpose.”

“Have you noticed that we’re in Cali-fucking-fornia? I live in Boston, Sloane. How the hell am I going to get him from here to there without arousing suspicion?”

“I dunno,” she says with a shrug, her expression unconcerned by this dilemma she’s dropped in my lap. “If he hasn’t been reported missing by anyone, you could just…take him.”

“It’s not like Winston. I can’t just put him in a cat carrier and bring him with me.”

Sloane sighs and tries to tamp down an eye roll she’s desperate to unleash. “I didn’t find anything about a missing person matching his description in the area in my research. If Thorsten wanted a long-term servant, he probably took someone whose absence wouldn’t be missed by anyone. You could just claim he’s your brother. It’s not like he’s going to tell them any different.”

“This is an epically bad idea, Blackbird.”

“Then drop him off at the hospital and drive away. If his reappearance hits the news, you could reach out, offer to set him up. Just say you were so moved by his story or some shit.”

“I’m not.” I look over at David, who watches me with no spark of interest or awareness. “No offense, mate.”

He doesn’t respond.

I drag a hand down my face and pin her with a pleading gaze. “Look, Blackbird, it’s sweet what you’re trying to do for him. Really. But this is a huge ask, and he might be better off here. I’m sure he’s got family somewhere, people who need to know where he is and who will want to take care of him. We don’t even know what he can and can’t do now, thanks to that Thorsten fucker.”

“I bet he could wash dishes.” Undeterred, Sloane turns from me and approaches David. Her hand folds around his wrist and he looks down at her touch. “Come with me, okay?”

With a few gentle tugs, David slides off the table and follows Sloane. I make room for them to stop close to me at the commercial dishwasher. She takes a few plates and hands them to David before she guides him to the rack, her smile encouraging, that fucking dimple filling me with equal parts warmth and dismay.

“Can you help me with the dishes, David? You just put them in the rack and then open it like this.” She demonstrates how to open and close the freestanding machine before guiding him to fill the rack, which he does a little more quickly than I expected. He successfully navigates all the next steps with her encouragement, and when the cycle is finished he takes the clean dishware out and leaves it to cool on the counter. “That was awesome. See, Rowan? He got it no problem.”

I resist the urge to groan when Sloane’s bright smile alights on me. “For godsakes. You look like a kid asking for candy.”