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Before I can respond, he adds, “You know what you’re doing though, right?”
That’s valid. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but Gage and I did some research, so I feel semi-confident.
I clear my throat, offering him a, “Sure,” to which Gage laughs and Rex starts sweating.
Lifting the tool to insert the tiny chip, I wink at him before I kneel over my girl and line it up. Her head is braced against the seat, and the plane is flying smoothly, so I swallow my nerves and utilize the same calm precision I exhibit in combat.
Pivot. Squeeze. Shoot.
It sinks into her skin with minimal bleeding, but Gage is right there with gauze anyway.
I dab the blood off, hold the gauze on it for a couple of seconds, and apply some wound sealant while Gage checks to see that the chip is connecting to our app. Once everything is in working order and the incision is barely detectable, I lift Celeste into my arms, tell the guys to wake us when we land or when the flight crew gets in a tizzy about us not being strapped down, and cart her off to the bedroom so she really can rest.
My phone alarm went off about fifteen minutes ago. A knock will rap on the bedroom door any minute to let me know we’re landing soon. We’ll need to buckle in. I’ve been trying to nudge Celeste awake. The sedative should be working its way through her system by now, but it is the middle of the night. I’m sure she’s exhausted. Executing this under the cover of darkness is the best strategy though.
Those big brown beauties flutter open to me at last. “Hi,” she croaks in a sultry rasp.
Her morning voice gets my cock hard every time, but unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a rush.
Later.
I dust my thumb over her cheek. Fuck, she’s pretty. “Morning, baby girl. How ya feeling?”
“Hungover.” She strokes her head as her eyebrows pinch. “How much champagne did I drink?”
I drag her body closer to me, wrapping myself around her like a straitjacket. “Only a glass or two, but it had been an emotionally exhausting day. It probably just hit you.”
She nestles her head into the crook of my shoulder. “Maybe.” Wiggling her arm free, she coasts her hand up to the back of her neck, rubbing beneath her hair. “Did I hit my head? I feel a cut or something back here.”
“Let me see.” I brush her hair out of the way and roll her toward me, inspecting the wound. It’s already healing nicely, thanks to the sealant. “There’s a small scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
She glances down at her nails, noting a bit of dried blood on the inside of her manicured index finger. “Oh. I must have scratched myself when I was sleeping.”
It’s all about the details. I rubbed a bit of the blood from the gauze on her nail as I was putting her to bed. There are always less questions when people draw their own conclusions.
And, no, I don’t feel fucking guilty in the least.
Her safety is my top priority. If—when—she pieces things together, I’ll deal with her wrath. But honestly, how shocked could she be?
I’ve made her come in public multiple times. Threatened one of her dates and covered up the murder of another. Tied her up and railed her with her father on the goddamn phone. Fucked her with us both covered in blood and brains. And I’ve made it clear that every inch of her magnificent body belongs to me.
If she’s surprised or outraged, it’s because she’s neglected to pay attention and heed my warnings.
That’s not on me.
“We need to get up and get going,” I say, stringing my fingers through her hair. “Hopefully, we can get this done before daybreak.”
“Yeah. Quick. I’d like it if it was over quickly.” She glances up at me. Her face is all sleepy and groggy, eyes heavily lidded, mouth pouty. “What will we do if we find it?”
I cradle her head, pressing my lips to hers for a soft kiss before scooping her up and setting her on the edge of the bed so I can zip her up in one of my hoodies and put her shoes on. “We’re going to see your parents afterward.”
She freezes, her whole body instantly rigid, which I anticipated. “My parents. Why?”
Hmm. So many reasons. Which one should I share? Let’s go with the most honorable.
“You need to fix things with them,” I tell her as I finish tying her shoe and stand up, reaching for her. “I can’t have you grieving the family you love on top of everything else.”
Her breath hitches as she clutches my hand. “And you’re coming with me … you’re coming to help me smooth things over with them?”
