Page 23 of Sloth
Unease flittered in his stomach when he remembered how he’d looked her up after his discharge, hoping to reconnect, only to discover she’d been dating someone else. The online picture showed some wanker at this gaming convention with his paws all over her. The image had burned into his memory. He could still remember the sick feeling when he’d realized she hadn’t waited for him. At a time when he’d needed her like no other, she’d moved on with her life like he’d meant nothing to her. Like she never cared about him.
That cut deep.
“Well, you can go to the gala instead of me, how’s that?” Sloan’s dry humor leaked through her voice.
The gala. Of course.
He cleared his throat.
The two woman turned around, surprise lifting their brows.
“What are you doing here?” Sloan’s blue eyes narrowed on him.
Misha sighed, resigned. “Did Wyatt send you?”
“No. But he’s going to be spitting mad you left without him.”
“Please don’t tell him,” Misha begged. “We’re going to go back to the salon, and he’ll never know. I promise.”
That far off look had returned in Sloan’s eyes. She gazed toward the window. He pivoted, tracking her line of sight. Nothing out there.
“You okay, Sloan?” Misha asked.
“Something… isn’t right,” she murmured. “I sense… negligence. Someone is feeling mighty guilty aboutnotdoing something.”
She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out something long, silver and pointy.
“Is that a nail file?” he asked.
“Shh. Something’s out there.”
They all turned to the window again. This time, a low black shadow darted past. Alarm jolted through Max. “Did you see that?”
Too big for a dog. Too small for a person.
Brows puckering, Sloan eased toward the window, watching as she passed the giggling customers. When a scream shook the window, she turned to him with alarm in her eyes.
“Stay here,” he said and unclipped his firearm.
“No. You stay here.” She mumbled something Max couldn’t quite catch, but it seemed like she was trying to convince herself. She flexed her fingers. “Yeah, I got this. You need to stay with Misha.”
Before he could stop her, she pushed through the glass doors and ran down the street.
“Shit.” That washisjob. Shit, Sloan. He turned to the shop keeper. “Lock the door after me. Misha, stay here.”
Max burst onto the sidewalk. He pushed past people running in the opposite direction and followed Sloan and the black blur. A feeling. A creeping feeling of foreboding hammered inside him. All he needed to do was follow the screams.
His jog slowed as he came to his first blood stain, two shops down.
Blood splattered the street. A sidewalk tree had been cracked in half, like a car had run into it, but there were no tire marks. No damaged vehicle. He unclipped his gun from the holster and proceeded with caution. Where was the screaming coming from?
Bloody hell, Sloan.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed on, following the trail of evidence to the next store. The front window was smashed in and shards of glass had sprayed the inside. Clothes were ripped from racks and littered the floor. People screamed and huddled against the wall. A body lay ripped open on the floor. It may have been female. Viscera and blood and gore assaulted his senses. For a moment, his memories of other bloody scenes flashed before him.
Gale’s pale eyes a shock of blue against a bath of red.
He winced. Not now.
