Take It On The Run

Chapter 10

POV: Avery

I had no earthly idea who The Collectors were, but I decided some research was in order as I waited for my next class to begin.

I looked down at my watch and saw that I still had an hour and half before I needed to teach again. Technically, these were my office hours, when students could drop by and ask questions, but no one ever took advantage of them. So I made a field trip to the campus archives.

It felt pointless to peruse the stacks for information on a secret organization no one had ever heard of, but I couldn't just sit on my ass twiddling my thumbs while Sloan feared for her life.

I'd never felt this powerless before.

Despite testing out of my prerequisites as an undergrad freshman, earning my MFA and PhD in record time, and becoming the youngest English Professor in Tulane University's long, illustrious history, I felt like a colossal failure. My accomplishments meant fuck all in the face of our current circumstances.

I loved my job, but experience as a private investigator or bounty hunter would've come in handy right now. I felt confident that the guys and I could defend Sloan physically from a couple of hit men. However, we could do that a whole hell of a lot better if we knew what to anticipate or who exactly we were dealing with.

It was a relief to know Sloan was armed, that all of us were—not that I carried on campus, since it was illegal. Luckily, the house was only a few blocks away.

I honestly used to think Reed was off his rocker for stockpiling all of those pistols and rifles and amo, like he was preparing for the end of the world or something. Now I wanted to kiss him for it.

I gave up on sifting through the archives and set up my laptop at a nearby desk. Fifty fruitless online searches later, I closed the computer, scrubbing my hand over my face.

Perhaps I was approaching this all wrong.

The smart thing to do would be to look for similar unsolved homicides or missing persons, but I didn't know if The Collectors were a domestic or international group. That could lead me on a wild goose chase.

No, it made more sense to delve into Mr. Dawson's past. Maybe I could find some kind of paper trail or link to the organization he'd crossed through his own records. I had no doubt an accountant kept meticulous records of such things.

It wasn't difficult to discern their motives for hunting him down, given his vocation. The natural conclusion was that he'd stolen money from them before hanging his family out to dry.

My fists clenched at the thought, and I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.

What I didn't understand was why they were after Sloan. It stood to reason that The Collectors would kill her and her mother out of revenge or to send a message, but they'd been chasing her for a decade. It had to be more than petty retaliation driving them.

My mind drifted back to Sloan—my angel. She looked so peaceful when I left her bed this morning.

I'd been more than a little tempted to call in sick and fuck her with my tongue again, to spend the entirety of the day worshipping her as she deserved.

I couldn't get the taste of her out of my mouth, nor did I want to. Sloan had tasted better than anything I ever could've imagined. Sweet and spicy and perfect in every way. She was like a dream. Maybe that's why I kept jerking awake all night and squeezing her just to ensure that she was, in fact, real.

My cock hardened against my slacks, recalling the image of her soaking wet and at my mercy, the sound of my name on those full, pink lips.

Making love to Sloan had been a spiritual experience. She was fucking gorgeous, but there was more than physical attraction between us.

I hadn't realized just how much I'd closed myself off from other people until last night. When she died, my heart withered into nothingness, a black void that no amount of casual sex or reading could fill again.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was head over heels in love with Sloan Dawson. I knew that because I finally wrote something today—a few lines of poetry and the first chapter of a novel.

For the last ten years, I'd stopped writing for myself, staring at the infamous blank page that accompanied writer's block, throwing myself full force into academia. Now I was filled with a hope and inspiration I hadn't felt for the better part of a decade.

The corners of my mouth curved up as I packed my things and headed back toward my classroom. I knew I probably wouldn't see her until later tonight, but I didn't care. Sloan Dawson was back in my life, and nothing could tear us apart again.