Chapter 26
“Maybe I should have offered her a pony?”
-Aaron
Camellia threw a royal hissy fit when we arrived at the Legacy Lakes safe house. There is no other way to describe it. She slapped Flint’s arms as he released her from the SUV. She screamed her lungs out at me when we were inside. I hadn’t seen a reaction like that since I told Poppy I wasn’t buying her a pony.
She was ten at the time.
When I reminded Camellia that the walls were soundproof and that this was for her own good, she narrowed her eyes at me, spun on her heel, and escaped to the main bedroom. Slamming and locking the door behind her.
I slept on the couch, jerking awake at any sound, even though there were several Saber Security guards on watch outside. It didn’t make for a restful sleep.
Hence, coffee.
The safe house is stocked with everything we’ll need for a few days, including a large bag of dark roast Kona coffee. The aroma wafts through the house. I know it’s only a matter of time before the delicious smell of it wakes Camellia, no matter how hungover she is.
The pot finishes brewing right when I hear the first signs of life from her bedroom. Those signs of life sound more like a wretched existence as Camellia runs to the toilet and throws up.
I want to break down the door, hold her hair, and rub her back while she pukes. But we’re not quite there yet.
And before there’s any soothing, we’re going to have it out.
R.M.texted her a dozen times overnight. It seems her mystery texter has no concept of boundaries. The texts came in at all hours.
Why this makes me more pissed, I don’t know. But it does.
The bedroom door creaks open. I’ve seen people on their death beds look better than Camellia does right now. Her face is gaunt and pale. Dark smudges line underneath her eyes. An angry red scar crosses her forehead from the explosion. Her hair is sticking up in a million directions.
And her brown eyes are cast down at the floor.
My heart stutters. “Camellia?”
She tilts her head up in defiance. “Don’t. I smelled the coffee. I want some. Then, I’m going back to seething in silence.”
Camellia pushes past me to root through the cabinets, looking for a coffee cup. I open the door above the coffee maker, pull out a mug, and set it in front of her. She huffs then elbows me out of the way to pour her coffee. Black. No frills for my woman.
Shit.
She’s about to turn back to the bedroom, and I step in front of her. “No. You’re not going to avoid this conversation. I don’t care how hungover you are. We’re going to talk.”
Camellia’s eyes dart around the living area, looking for an escape, but I’m already ten steps ahead of her. I locked all the outside doors. And there was a very scary Ryker Navarro on duty near the front door. I have no idea where, because that guy can blend into his surroundings very well.
She sighs and shuffles over to the couch.
When she’s situated, sitting cross-legged on a cushion with her cup perched on her knee, I sit in the chair facing her.
“Why were you not surprised by a bomb being set off in front of you?”
Camellia takes a sip of her coffee.
I wait.
She takes a bigger sip, then winces, probably because it’s boiling hot. She’d rather burn her tongue than talk to me.
That stings.
“Camellia.”
