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The bitter taste of blood coats my tongue. I bow my head and stride to the door.
I deserved that. I deserve more. To be kicked in the ribs. Pummeled.
Jack, Trevor, Ryan… The whole Arrow team can batter me to a pulp, after we find Sophia.
CHAPTER29
SOPHIA
“Mi valedor, wakey wakey.”
I blink several times into darkness.
The click of a car door and a flood of cool air arouses me.
“We’re home,” Gemma says. Her eyelids are half-closed.
The driver, a man with a tree trunk body, jet black hair, sleeve tattoos, and a thick gold chain, holds the door open. He introduced himself as Trey, but I think of him as tree.
“Are you sure you don’t want to crash here?” I ask.
“No. Rafe wouldn’t approve.” She says it like she’s speaking to Tree. As if he asked her, and not me. “And Trey’s at the hotel, too.”
Ah. Of course. If she stayed with us, Tree would probably have to spend the night in the car or call for backup with whoever else Rafael has working discreet security.
“Well, thank you for a fantastic day.” I lean across the seat and attempt to give Gemma a hug, but she falls against the far door and snuggles into it. I glance back at Tree and envision him getting her into bed on his own. He could undoubtedly do it, but I doubt Rafael would approve.
“Don’t forget your wine.”
At that, Tree moves to the back of the SUV and opens the hatch.
Floodlights flick on, seemingly all at once, flooding the front of the house in golden light. Tree comes around from the back with a case of wine. My pocketbook sits on top of the wine.
“Where was that?” I ask as I hold out my arms, and he steps past me, dismissing my offer for help.
“In the hold on the helicopter.”
The dull throbbing in my head intensifies. I need more water. The front door opens, and Fisher fills the doorway.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“We flew to a vineyard,” I say, holding my hands up in a very Gemma-like way. “We drank a lot.”
“Where do you want the wine?” Tree asks. “I need to get her back.”
Fisher’s gaze goes from me to Tree and back to the car.
“Shhh,” I say, playing the part, “Gemma’s sleeping.”
Negative energy rolls off Fisher in waves, and my stomach flips. It’s the same oh-shit flip from when I was younger and I did something wrong. And just like back then, I know exactly what he’s pissed at. We didn’t have a signal in the section of Napa we flew to, and by the time we landed, I was already tipsy, and then we proceeded to drink all afternoon. And I didn’t check in.
I follow Tree through the front door where he sets the box down in the foyer.
“Thank you…” I call after him, wiggling my fingers like I’m Gemma.
After I close the door on him, I lean my back against it, tentatively taking in Fisher. The ends of his hair point in a thousand different directions. It’s not that late at night, but he looks like he’s been up for days.
“Why didn’t you reply to my texts?” He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but his muscles are tense, the absolute opposite of relaxed.
