Page 109 of Dirty Grovel

It’s a pitiful ending for a pitiful man.

Sydney takes one look at him and all the color drains from her face. She stumbles back, but I reach her just before she falls.

Scooping her into my arms, I turn to my men. “Clean up the trash,” I order, glancing at the body by my feet. “And ready the jet. I want to leave within the hour.”

Seconds later, Pavel squeals up in the Range Rover and I slip Sydney into the back seat.

Her eyes are open, but it doesn’t look like she’s taking in much. She keeps to her corner, arms wrapped around her body, shivering silently.

“I’m just going to text your sister, okay?” I tell her, speaking slowly so that she can follow me. “Let her know that you’re okay.”

I send a text to Sutton and another to Artem. Once that’s done, I turn my attention on Sydney, making sure to keep my distance and respect her space.

“Can I get you anything?”

Her eyes flash to mine. She looks confused by the question.

I suppose it’s a strange one to be confronted with after you’ve just seen your boyfriend get his face blown off.

“You’re in shock. Just breathe slowly and drink something.” I retrieve a bottle of water from the mini fridge underneath my feet and pass it to her. “Try to take a few sips.”

She looks at me and then the bottle, her chin trembling violently now. She swallows and her teeth stop chattering.

I wait patiently until she accepts the bottle. It takes her another few minutes to open it and drink. Water sloshes out onto the front of her sweater but she doesn’t seem to notice.

By the time we get onto the plane, she’s got some signs of life back in her cheeks.

“There’s a shower in the bathroom if you need one,” I tell her. “And some clean clothes as well.”

She nods and slumps her way toward the bathroom. I take the time to coordinate with my men.

Before long, Sydney is walking back towards me, dressed in fresh clothes. She takes the seat opposite me, eyeing the trays laid out in front of us.

“God,” she mutters. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

Her eyes are bluer than Sutton’s, bright and vibrant. Sutton wasn’t kidding when she told me her sister was beautiful.

But all I see is how Sydney is like Sutton but with the lines blurred—wrong, somehow. Slightly off in all the ways that matter—to me, at least.

“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

“If that’s true,” she mumbles, “then it’s because Sutton’s been kind about me.”

“Your sister is always kind. But that’s not the point. I know a pathetic person when I see one. You’re not it.”

She gives me a watery smile and reaches for her fork. “I am kinda hungry.”

“Eat first,” I encourage. “We can talk afterwards.”

She spoons a mouthful of food and chews slowly, watching me the whole time.

When she swallows, she asks, “Is this what you do for all the shell-shocked, abused women you pick up?”

“Only the ones that are related to my fiancée.”

“You guys are engaged… again?” Sydney’s eyes bulge, then narrow. “You didn’t force her into it, did you?”

“Do you really think your sister would be bullied into an engagement with me?”

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