Take It On The Run

Chapter 59

POV: Sloan

An entire week had passed without news of Deacon, Avery, and Reed, and not knowing if they were dead or alive killed me every waking moment of every day.

Still, I found ways to distract myself. My grandfather kept me preoccupied, making me work from the ground up in as many areas of the family business as possible. Today my job was to determine which contracts offered the biggest payouts.

I bit my lip as I scrolled through the encrypted messages—requests for priceless items, bulk drug and weapon orders, and hit lists.

It probably should've bothered me that the top five contracts thus far involved premeditated murder, but I couldn't muster the energy to care about rich strangers.

Aside from the security detail downstairs, I was alone, so I took a break, peering through the tall glass window to my left. The nondescript office building hugged the edge of the Liffey River. It was tiny compared to the Mississippi in New Orleans—the place I now thought of as home.

The unfamiliar river below was yet another reminder of whom and what I'd lost, and everything I'd kept carefully bottled up abruptly exploded.

Since leaving the guys and Dad, I hadn't sung once, but my soul split open now as a mournful melody spilled from my lips. It was the same song I'd performed with Sumner in the shower at the Hotel Monteleone—Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers. Sum had confessed that he'd held that song in his heart for years after my death. It felt fitting now.

Somehow I managed not to cry as I imbued each note with all I'd been feeling, not caring if the bodyguards downstairs heard me.

I lost myself in song for a while before I finally started working again. Music hadn't fixed anything, of course, but I felt slightly better, like I'd temporarily relieved some of those pent-up emotions.

"Christ above, macushla."

I nearly jolted out of my skin at the sound of Liam's low, reverent voice.

My gaze lifted from my computer screen to find him leaning against the threshold with an awed expression, his arms folded across his broad chest. He looked polished in a black bespoke suit, his auburn locks pulled back into a neat bun that managed to make him appear even more masculine.

And oh my fucking god, how long had he been standing there?

"I assumed you were playin' an unreleased Amy Winehouse cover up here. Clearly, I was mistaken."

I snorted. "Does that mean there's something you didn't already know about me?"

Despite my snarky retort, heat bloomed against my cheeks. I noticed then that the lower half of his facial scar was darker than the top, as though damp.

If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn he'd just been crying. Surely, it was my imagination or a trick of the lighting.

"I had no idea you could sing like that." He shook his head incredulously. "Just when I think I know all there is to know about you, you surprise me, Sloan. Every. Bloody. Time." He sighed heavily. "Sometimes I believe you actually enjoy bein' frustratin'ly mysterious. You hid your talent well all these years."

Embarrassed by his praise, I shrugged and averted my gaze. "It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal. Your voice...Sloan...it's incredible." Something in his own voice made me look up then. When our eyes locked, his face instantly fell. "I apologize for huntin' you down all those years, Sloan. There's more to that decision than you realize, but in any case, I feel awful that it shaped you in such ways."