I think twice. Then I pick up because when it comes to Sophia, I can’t take chances. I need to know she’s okay.
It hadn’t taken long for the shooting to make the news. We’d been holed up in a motel on the second night when we saw the report flash across the screen. Sophia had called that same night, and I’d let it go to voicemail, knowing exactly why she was reaching out. She’s not a stupid woman, and it wouldn’t take her long to start connecting dots. But now that I’m home, I don’t hesitate.
“Hello.”
“Tate.” Her voice is tight with panic.
“What’s wrong, Sophia?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for days. Why haven’t you answered? Is everything okay?”
My body relaxes slightly just hearing her voice, even wound up like this. I’d been bracing for something worse.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s okay here.”
“But I saw on the news that the biker gang, the El Pasos, were shot. Is everyone okay?”
Something warm moves through my chest at her concern.
“Yes, we’re all fine here, Sophia. Nothing to worry about.”
“And the Blood Brothers? They’re okay too?”
“They’re good. Stop worrying.”
A beat of silence.
“Did you have anything to do with the El Pasos’ deaths?”
Sharp as a blade, this woman. I stand from my barstool and make my way down the hall toward my room, a space I keep here at the clubhouse for when I need it. I have my own home, too, a place well away from the Vegas strip, somewhere I can just be Tate rather than the president of the Sinners. Somewhere I can breathe. I try to divide my time between the two, but tonight I’m here.
Stepping inside the room, I shut the door behind me.
“Listen, Sophia,” I say, settling onto the edge of the bed. “We had nothing to do with their killings. We’re in Vegas. But if I’m being honest, I’m glad they’re dead. I only wish we’d been the ones to do it.”
It scares me a little how easily that lie comes out.
I hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Sophia, they had a part in Tracker’s death. They deserved what they got.”
A sniffle on the other end of the line, and I immediately regret saying it. Too late to take it back now.
“Tate, I’m struggling. I can’t be here. I can’t just go back to the way things were and pretend everything’s fine. I miss him so much.”
Heavy, broken crying fills the phone, and I grip the sheets beside my thigh, jaw tight, hating how useless I feel right now. I wish she were here so I could hold her and tell her she’s going to be okay. But all I have are words, and words have never felt more inadequate.
“Sophia, I’m so sorry you’re feeling like that. I want you to know I’m here for you. Any time you need to talk or need someone, you call me. I promised my brother I’d look after you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“Really, Tate? You’d really look after me?”
“Of course, babe. You’re my brother’s woman. I’d do anything for you.”
She sniffles, and then the line goes so quiet I think she’s hung up.
“Sophia, you still there?”
I pull the phone from my ear and check the screen. Still connected.
