Page 6 of Redemption

Chapter 3

Vector

I never knew anything about this man’s wife, let alone that she died sometime after he completed the work out here, all those years ago.

As selfish and closed-mouth as Jigsaw could be, I occasionally hear stories like this and they gut me every time. What a fucking thoughtful thing to do for a guy who already got paid handsomely for the work he was hired for.

I point out the door to the house, hoping that Paul will pick up talking about the project since Sloane’s demeanor has changed at the mention of funeral flowers.

Opening it, they stay in the doorway so she can study the craftsmanship and I walk ahead, grabbing a few beers from the fridge. I momentarily consider getting something stronger, but this family party might well turn into one for the big kids later on, so there’s no point getting buzzed now.

She only seems to be half listening to him as they make the rounds on the first floor, and even though I used this as a ploy to get Sloane out here today, I find myself drawn into and enjoying the old guy’s memories.

“Bridget has taken over the second floor,” I tell them after they’ve covered the fireplace, kitchen, the master bedroom that’s sitting empty in case I ever want it, and the banister. “I wouldn’t feel right invading her space without her permission.”

“Of course not!” Sloane eagerly agrees, turning when she notices her grandfather has stopped moving and has an odd look on his face as he studies the mantel.

She’s been quiet as a church mouse so far today, but that woman doesn’t miss anything and in hopes of distracting her, I place a hand low on her back when I collect her empty bottle and continue on to grab fresh beers for each of us.

Shortly after that, we’re heading out the door when Sloane looks back over her shoulder at the mantel again, her eyes widening and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what caught her attention, just as she trips over the threshold.

“Shit!” she yells, and narrowly avoids knocking her grandfather over.

Catching herself on the porch with one hand and her knees, she looks pleased that she managed to save her beer but lets out a groan when she tries to stand up. We simultaneously notice her bloody knee and both of us step forward to help her, each trying to pull her in a different direction.

“Paul, I got her,” I growl out the words harsher than I intend to, then bend just enough to pick her up bridal style and bring her back inside.

Deciding that it’ll be easier to rinse her knee off in the kitchen sink, I head back there and carefully place her on the counter next to it.

“Cinderella?” I tease, reaching down to pull off her sandals. Or I try, but I can’t figure out the damn laces.

“There’s a zipper in the back,” she tells me as blood continues to flow down her leg. “I’m making a mess. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I assure her, sliding her shoe off and turning her so her leg stretches across the large double sink.

I use the sprayer to gently rinse the wound and let out a low whistle when I see a thin flap of skin about the size of a quarter.I’m about to go and round up one of our medics, when she reaches for it and tears it the rest of the way off.

“Fuck!” I scream, looking up at her in shock.

Sloane looks every bit as surprised as I am. She’s biting her bottom lip and sucking air through her teeth as her wide eyes meet mine. I swear, the dark blue shade I noticed the other day is currently a few shades lighter than normal.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. That hurts,” she practically sings out.

Maybe it’s not the smartest move, but I grab a clean dishtowel from a drawer and press it against the wound.

“Move aside,” Paul demands, his arms full of various first aid supplies. “I dug through your bathroom and found all this.”

Considering I’ve never used the bedroom or bathroom he’s referencing, I grab the bottle of peroxide to check the date on it. Unfortunately, that’s been worn off but since it’s all we have, I yank the towel away to pour it over the wound.

Sloane opens her mouth like she’s screaming but no sound comes out. Slapping her hands outward, she catches me good on my shoulder and I find myself grinning for some unknown reason.

“That fucking hurt,” she groans out when I grab her wrist after the third smack lands.

“You seem like you could take it,” I respond, shrugging it off like I would with one of my brothers. Thankful for the fire I see in her eyes, I grin as I give into the draw of her pouty lips.

“That’ll leave a mark, but you should live,” Paul weighs in, wedging himself in between us under the guise of getting a better look at the wound. “I’d be happier if I had some antiseptic to put on it before we bandage it, but I couldn’t find any.”

“There are a dozen kids running around over by the clubhouse,” I say, taking a step back as Sloane uses the towel to clean off her leg. Looking down at my bloody clothes, I wish I had stuck with my traditional black today. “I’m willing to bet that each one of their mom’s has a tube of Neosporin with them.”

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