His to Protect - Em Petrova Page 0,32
harsh questioning of other guards and realized nobody took their job as seriously as she did. While everyone watched each other’s backs, Madeline actually took responsibility for them all returning safe.
He dropped his hand from his face and looked at the surroundings that were all too familiar. “I’m sorry. Go on. What news of this drilling company owner?”
“Lars and Roman paid him a visit.”
He heard the amusement in Oz’s tone. “I’m assuming he’s in custody.”
“Affirmative. Don’t let your guard down just yet, though.”
The mere thought of allowing danger to come close to Sloane returned the tension to his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his neck, except it didn’t ease one bit. The only thing that would? Having Sloane in his arms right now.
Stop.
“We believe we’ll have the situation neutralized in a week, maybe two. Then you can release your ward to her former bodyguards and that should be enough security,” Madeline said.
“No way in hell.”
Silence beat on the other end of the line. Obviously he’d stunned both his colleagues and left them floundering for something to say.
“You don’t know the whole story.” He listened for the shower. It went on and on, which only caused his imagination to kick up again with thoughts of Sloane wet, slippery and naked.
He leaned against the counter and took the brunt of his weight off his leg. The injury required stretching and possibly a walk after being folded in the car for several hours.
“What’s going on, North?” Oz’s tone held a bite to it.
“My ward…she’s involved in some heavy shit.”
“Oh fuck. Is it drugs?” Madeline’s question wouldn’t surprise anybody with the number of celebrities suffering from addiction.
“No. You’re not gonna believe it…” He looked toward the hall leading to the bathroom. “She’s been rescuing underage girls from an underground marriage ring.”
More silence. Then Madeline said, “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Wish to hell I was. I helped her save a girl. I’d never believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
“Fill us in,” Oz ordered.
As he related all Sloane told him—from the tale about her father and sister to the events of the night they saved Lauren—he pictured Madeline and Oz seated in the church, Madeline typing frantically on her computer while Oz began forming a mission in his mind.
Between all of them, this shit would end—but North didn’t know if he’d ever believe Sloane to be safe from these evil people. Men like Flint and any he called sidekicks didn’t tolerate being bested, especially by a woman they considered weak.
His chest swelled with pride. Weak? Hell, anyone calling Sloane weak was a fool.
“What can we do?” Oz asked. “What do you need?”
“Just get all the intel on this Flint that you can. I want to know what direction the hair grows on his ass…because I’m going in there and set each one of them on fire before I kill the son of a bitch.”
Madeline issued a low breath. “The sick, twisted motherfucker deserves it.”
“Yes, he fucking does. And I’ll be the one to end it. First, we need the guy alive so I can find Sloane’s sister.”
“I’ll gather everything I can on her. I’ll start searching the surrounding states now,” Madeline told him.
“Good. And thanks—to both of you.”
“It’s what we do, North. Watch your back.”
He straightened as he heard the shower turn off. “I’ll be in touch.”
For a moment, he stood in the middle of the kitchen where his own momma prepared summer dinners and Sunday breakfasts, wondering why—really wondering why—he chose this place to bring Sloane.
His thoughts didn’t touch on the question for long, because she emerged from the bathroom and wandered into the kitchen.
At first he didn’t think he could look at her. If he did, he might expose his fury still spilling over from the conversation with Oz and Madeline. Or Sloane might see something altogether different, and possibly more frightening. His emotions ran close to the surface.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
He glanced up to see her bare toes curled on the worn hardwood floor. Then he continued upward, taking in the same black sport leggings she’d worn earlier and a different top, this one barely covering her midriff and in a peachy hue that made her skin glow.
He inflated his chest, but the kitchen didn’t seem to hold enough air to fill it. Nodding, he held out a hand, and she crossed the room to take it. The instant he closed his fingers around hers, he relaxed a bit.
I’m taking care of my ward. I’m