Obsession (The Plus One Chronicles) (20 page)

His investigator got right to the point. “I’ve sent today’s training video to you.”

“Got it. Watched it and there’s nothing new there.” He needed to keep his focus, get this job done of avenging Sara and protecting Kat. “What else?”

“Foster went to Sara’s grave again today.”

Second time this week. The dark pit inside him bubbled and churned. “What does he do there?”

“Mostly stands there, staring. Sometimes he crouches down and traces the headstone. I sent a videotape from my phone.”

That motherfucker wouldn’t leave Sara alone. Sloane stalked to his desk and pulled up the latest video. Foster appeared wearing a T-shirt and jeans and hunkered down by Sara’s grave. When he touched her headstone, Sloane barely contained the urge to slam his fist into the computer screen.

Christ.

Once the video ended, it took him ten full seconds to calm enough to speak. “Has he gone near Kat’s bakery and condo?”

“No. But he watches that video of you rescuing her and a few random shots of her the press has managed to get.”

He sank into his chair, leaning his head back. “Update me if anything changes.” Hanging up, Sloane closed his eyes. It disgusted him to see Sara’s rapist and killer touching her grave. She deserved peace.

A quiet knock at his door, then it opened. “Sloane?”

Kat’s voice rolled over him, easing his bitter anger and sick worry. He held out his hand to her.

Kat limped over, her leg obviously tight from sitting. When he looked up, he saw her eyes had tears of misery in them. His heart clutched. “Drake?”

She slipped her hand into his. “He’s asleep. His cough and fever are getting worse. I have the head of the bed elevated and pillows propping him up.”

More tears fell.

He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. Tucking her in tight, he said softly, “Is that why you’re crying?” She could cry in his arms whenever she needed to. His own throat ached.

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “We finished tonight.”

Sloane squeezed his eyes closed, the ache growing thicker. “Evie’s letter.” Drake had told him Kat was helping him with it. That was the kind of shit Sloane didn’t know how to do. Couldn’t do. Kat was stronger than him that way.

“Yes.”

He tugged her hair, tilting her head. God her eyes…so fucking gorgeous and swimming in pools of pain. “You’re giving him peace.”

“I wish I could give him life. This isn’t fair. He’s suffering, and I hate it.” Kat closed her eyes, trying to get control. “I’m sorry, this isn’t helping you.”

Oh hell no, she wasn’t pulling back now. “Look at me.”

She lifted her lashes, revealing a heart-wrenching combination of misery and trust.

She gave him everything, even the pain that she’d once held on to so tightly. He threaded his fingers into her hair. “Don’t ever be sorry for this.” Husky emotion roughened his voice. “This is us. You hurt, you come to me. I hurt, I go to you. No apologies.” She’d been there for him at every turn, every bad day, hour or moment. While Kat’s grief hurt him, he wanted to be the one she came to every damn time.

She sucked in a breath, tucked her head beneath his chin, and cried.

He rubbed her back, letting her feel and cry in the safety of his arms. Telling her he loved her, that Drake loved her. How much she brought to their lives. He talked and stroked her, giving them both the comfort they needed until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sloane carried her to the bed. She trusted him so completely now she didn’t wake up.

Two hours later, Sloane jerked awake to the sound of coughing through the monitor he had to hear Drake. Worry cleared sleep from his brain instantly. Carefully, he slid his arm from beneath Kat. She was so damn tired he wanted her to sleep. He headed down the stairs and jogged to Drake’s room.

Low light from the bathroom spilled over Drake. He’d slid down the pillows as coughing wracked his thin frame. Tears ran down the sick man’s face as he choked and wheezed, struggling to get oxygen into his lungs. He didn’t have the strength to push himself back up the bed.

Don’t think. Just help him.
Sloane lifted Drake up the bed then laid a hand on his forehead. Too hot. He glanced at Drake’s cell phone in agonizing helplessness. He’d promised Drake no ambulance or hospital unless Drake asked for them. Tearing his gaze from the phone, Sloane got a damp washcloth to help cool him down. Working methodically, he washed down Drake’s arms, chest and back, and got him into a clean shirt.

Looking the man in the eyes as he carefully replaced the oxygen tube in his nose, Sloane asked, “Can you drink some water?”

Drake nodded weakly and managed to get a few swallows down.

The coughing spasm calmed. Sloane dropped his hand on the mattress over Drake’s head. “Do you want me to call your doctor?”

Drake eased out a breath and shook his head.

A throb beat at his temple. Sloane didn’t like it, but he understood that this was the one last thing Drake had control of—where he would die. And with whom.

“What’s going on?” Kat stood in the doorway. Her hair was a mess, her eyes swollen. She wore her usual sleep shorts and a tank, shivering in the cold night air.

Sloane pushed off the bed. “It’s okay, go back to bed. Drake’s having a rough night. I’m going to sleep in the chair.” He wasn’t leaving Drake. They could lose him anytime.

Jesus, how was Sloane supposed to do this?

But he wouldn’t let Drake die alone. He would not. It was the one thing Drake had dreaded. After all the years Drake had been there for him, going so far as to hold Sloane when he had the nightmares so he wouldn’t hurt himself, Sloane would be there for him now at the end.

No matter how much he bled inside from the torture of losing Drake.

Sloane put his hands on the man’s thin shoulders and leaned down. “I’m here, Drake. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Drake dropped his hand on top of Sloane’s. “I know, son.” He closed his eyes, exhaustion claiming him.

Sloane settled into the chair and forced a smile when Kat brought him a blanket. “Thanks.”

She crawled into his lap, dragging the blanket over them both. “You watch over Drake, I’m going to watch over you.”

He wrapped his arms around her. This was how he’d bear it. Because he had Kat.

Was he really willing to risk losing her? Was killing Foster worth that?

Kat’s words from a few weeks ago came back to him:
Foster has become more important to you than anyone else.

Those words haunted him now. Was he making Foster, and yes, even Sara, more important than Kat?

Three days until the fight, and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

Chapter Fifteen

By Saturday afternoon, the knot of lead in her chest had grown to the size of a brick. She poured hot water over a tea bag for Drake, then got herself a glass of sparkling water.

In a few hours, Sloane would face Lee Foster in the cage at the Pros vs. Amateurs SLAM Event.

Kat had closed Sugar Dancer early to come home and stay with Drake tonight.

“Kat?” Concern laced Drake’s voice.

Crap, she was standing at the counter, staring off into space. “Coming.” Shaking off her fog, she picked up the mug and headed toward his chair. He was doing better today, which didn’t surprise her. He loved Sloane enough to fight back the ravages of his illness one last time. Setting the tea down, she eyed the quilt to make sure he was covered. “You warm enough?” He’d wanted the sliders open so he could feel the breeze and hear the ocean, but he got so cold now.

“Yeah.”

Kat glanced at the level of oxygen in the portable tank perched on the side table. Still good. She headed over to get her water when she spotted Sloane striding in dressed in a death-black suit, his dark hair combed back and a gym bag looped over his shoulder.

The lead brick grew heavier, but she forced a smile. “You’re all ready?” She picked up her water for something to do with her hands.

Sloane dropped the gym bag on the barstool on his way to her. Once there, he settled his warm hands on her hips. “Are you going to be okay here with Drake?”

“Of course, and Zack will be here soon.” His hold on her hips steadied her, easing the weight in her chest.

Sloane glanced at the microwave clock. “Zack should be here now.”

Reaching behind her, she exchanged her glass of water for her cell. “I’ll text him, it’ll be fine. You just focus on what you have to do.” She finished typing the text, hit send and looked up.

“I’m not leaving you alone with Drake. You can’t lift him.”

She rolled her eyes. Sloane still wasn’t over that. Although he had a point since Drake couldn’t get up without help and couldn’t walk more than a few steps. Earlier, Sloane had carried him to the chair. “I’m not going to lift him. Zack always shows up. And if he doesn’t for some reason, I’ll call Kellen or Diego.”

“Or Sloane could stay home.”

Kat hissed in a breath at Drake’s blunt statement. “Drake, you know he can’t. All those people expect Sloane to be there tonight.” Even if they didn’t know he was fighting, they knew he was announcing and running the entire show. Sloane had told her they’d raised over two million for the Fighters to Mentors program.

Sloane stalked over to Drake’s chair and crouched down. “Do you need me to stay home?”

The older man shook his head, his eyes flickering to her then back to Sloane. “Not for me. For Kat. Don’t be a dumbass. Choose her, Sloane. Put her first.”

The lead brick in her chest shifted painfully. That wasn’t how this worked. “Drake, don’t.” God, don’t try and make him choose between her and his goal. “This isn’t about me.” The painful conversation with Sloane right after she’d found out about his plan had made his priorities clear—he would choose killing Foster over her. But that wasn’t the point. Sloane needed to choose for himself, no one else.

Sloane stood, his eyes hitting hers. A muscle ticked along his square jaw.

She had to fix this. She loved Drake, but right now, with Sloane’s laser focus on her, she wanted to smack him for making Sloane worry. And for making her squirm. “Zack will be—” Her phone dinged a text message. Relieved for an excuse to break that brutal, penetrating eye contact, she read the text message from Zack.

Sorry, running late. There in 20.

She held up the phone like a trophy. “See? Zack will be here in twenty minutes. No worries.” Her heart pounded and nerves tangled. “Sloane, go to the fight. Concentrate on what you need to do, we’ll be fine.”

He covered the distance between them before she’d lowered the phone. “You can call me if you need anything.”

His scent, soap and that richer musk tinged with aged oak swamped her with a longing she couldn’t quite identify. Or maybe she didn’t want to admit to a selfish wish to be as important to Sloane as his vendetta or Drake. But that was foolish. “I will.”

He brushed his mouth over hers. “You’re important to me, but I need to do this tonight.”

She held herself back from leaning into that brief kiss. Everything in her cried out for a deeper, longer, more intimate connection. Not sexual, but a bonding kiss that showed her what they had mattered too. But Sloane didn’t need that right now, he needed her to be calm and supportive.

“I know.” She just hoped he would make the right decision when he faced Foster in the cage.

“Sloane?” Ethan came out of his room. “Are you ready?”

Kat took in the suit Ethan wore. He was a little thinner and tired easily, but it was still hard to believe it’d only been three weeks since his heart attack. “You’re sure you’re up to going to the fight?”

He smiled indulgently at her. “Yes.”

“He’ll be okay.” Sloane touched her face with reassuring warmth. “I’ll have him brought home if he gets tired.”

Sloane wouldn’t let anything happen to the young man. And Ethan being there tonight would be another reason for Sloane not to kill Foster. Facing the man she loved so much, she said, “Be safe, and I’ll see you when you get back tonight.”

Tension whitened the scar by his mouth, then he dropped his hand from her, picked up his bag and headed out the door with Ethan.