Sloane snorts. “Goddess of vengeance my ass.” I glance over in time to catch one of her epic eye rolls. Before I can stop her, she’s got the visor pulled down and flips up the cover for the mirror.
A shriek fills the little hatchback.
“Rowan—”
“It’s not that bad, once you get used to it.”
“Get used to it? There’s a fucking boot print on my face.” She leans closer to the tiny mirror, turning her head side to side as she inspects the bruises of distinct tread marks on her forehead and two black semi-circles beneath her lower lashes. When Sloane turns to me, her eyes are glassy with unshed tears.
“Blackb—”
“Don’t you Blackbird me. That can-can motherfucker stamped my fucking forehead. I can even see the Carhartt logo on it,” she says, her voice taking on a watery quality as she draws closer to the mirror before turning back to me, a tear spilling over her lashes as she leans over the center console and points to the circle in the center of her forehead. “See? Right there. Carhartt. Why couldn’t he have just punched me in the face like a normal person?”
“Probably because he wasn’t a normal person, love. I thought the chainsaw was a big clue.” I wipe one of her tears away with my thumb. Her lip wobbles and I want to simultaneously laugh and burn the world until I find a way to resurrect that arsehole so she can kill him again. “It won’t be there forever.”
“But I have to go to the bathroom,” Sloane says, managing to wrestle her voice under control even though her face is still the picture of distress. “How am I supposed to go anywhere without drawing attention to myself?”
I don’t dare offer the option of finding a private bush on the side of the road to squat behind. She’s clearly reached a limit to her stress and I’m not keen on being stabbed while driving.
“There’s a rest stop in ten miles. I’ll sort you out.”
Sloane watches me for a long moment, and though her expression is still weary and pained, it softens just a little before she settles back into her seat. “Okay.”
My chest aches. She trusts me.
I swallow, dragging my attention back to the road. “Okay.”
Silence descends as Sloane gnaws on her lower lip, watching out the window as farm fields slip past. I turn up the music now that she’s awake in the hope it might calm her when I sense the tension rolling from her motionless frame. Sometimes, it feels like having a wild thing in my grasp when she’s with me. She’s just like her nickname, ready to take off with the first gust of wind. I’ve never wanted to earn trust before Sloane. I’ve never cared about keeping it on a personal level, not for anyone but my brothers. And suddenly, Sloane’s trust is one of the most important things in the world to me. I know if I lose it, I’ll never get it back.
And that scares the shit out of me.
“What if I need surgery?” Sloane whispers. I offer her a smile, but it doesn’t seem to reassure her.
“Then you’ll have surgery.”
“People will ask questions.”
“My brother will take care of that. But we don’t even know if it’s necessary. Let’s see what Fionn says when he takes a look.”
Sloane sighs, and I lay my hand back on the blanket covering her thigh, unsure if this is too much when I don’t know where we stand. But her good hand slips into mine, and my heart jumps into my throat with a heavy beat.
Not so dead on the inside after all.
“Does Fionn know too?” she asks, her gaze angled away from me toward the open expanse of land and sky.
“About our…hobbies? Our game?” She nods, and I give her hand a light squeeze. “Yeah, he knows.”
“But he’s a doctor. Our idea of fun is kind of the antithesis of his life’s work.”
I shrug before I give a nod toward the sign for the upcoming exit. The tension in her hand eases. “Let’s just say my brothers and I didn’t have the most conventional upbringing even after we left that shithole of my father’s house. Between Lachlan’s ruthlessness and my recklessness, Fionn has no blinders on when it comes to the darker shades of life. He’s chosen his own path like we always hoped he would. But he accepts what Lachlan and I have become, just like we accept him.”
“Your path,” Sloane says. “How did you find it?”
“You mean the restaurant?” I ask, but when I glance at Sloane she shakes her head, her gaze honed on my face like she’s absorbing every nuance. “After my father attacked us for the last time, when Lachlan and I killed him, I realized I didn’t feel what I probably should about doing something like that. Most people would feel guilt. But I felt rush of excitement when it was happening. Accomplishment when it was over. There was peace in knowing he would never come back. And when I met someone else that reminded me of him a short while later, I realized there was nothing stopping me from doing it again. There was always a next person. Someone worse. Eventually, it became a kind of sport, to find the worst person I could and wipe them off the planet forever.”