Page 31 of Descent
“Are you feeling sick again?” Angel asked.
I shook my head. “Just nervous. If Rafe doesn’t come back…”
“You can’t think like that. He has a reputation for winning, right?”
“He doesn’t lose very often.” It was my only comfort in this endless waiting game hell.
Grabbing my hand, she squeezed as her wide eyes zeroed in on something behind me. I turned in time to spot someone approach the vehicle, and it only took a split second to recognize those tattoos winding down toned biceps.
I was out the door and in his arms before I took my next breath. As I wound my legs around his waist, he gripped my ass and braced me against the side of the SUV.
“Jesus, baby,” he said through strangled vocal cords. “I’m so sorry…so fucking sorry.”
I clung to him, tears soaking his skin, failing to breathe in the strength of his tight embrace. He trembled as he held me, each breath a noisy shudder against my shoulder. And I couldn’t stand it anymore, the sound of his pain and regret flooding my ears. Inching back, I pressed my finger to his mouth, only now noticing the evidence of the fight he’d lived through on his beautiful face.
Thank God he’d come back to me.
“Shh,” I whispered, slowly dragging the pad of my finger across his busted lower lip.
There would be plenty of time later for apologies. For guilt and regret. I harbored so much of both I worried the emotions would explode from me. Not giving him a chance to say more, I pressed my mouth to his, heedless of the hint of metallic on his lip.
At the first lick of his tongue against mine, everything but him faded—the field, the SUVs and their occupants, the past six days of separation. I wanted to mount him right there and drive away the PTSD boiling inside me. But it sharpened its claws, and I sobbed into his kiss, unable to contain myself.
“I didn’t know if I’d see you again,” I said against his lips.
“I was terrified you wouldn’t.” Slowly, he let me slide to my feet, and we broke apart, putting a few inches of space between us as we fought for composure. That’s when the presence of his son caught our attention.
He stood a few feet away, watching our frenzied reunion with a mixture of curiosity and fear, and it struck me in the heart how much he looked like Rafe. I recalled setting eyes on him for the first time at the basketball game Rafe had taken me to last winter.
The day he told me about Will’s existence.
“It’s okay,” Rafe told the boy, lowering to his haunches. “You’re safe with us.”
“Can I go home now?” Will chewed on his lower lip, hesitant feet backing him up a step. He didn’t quite trust us, and he’d be smart not to. Not because we posed a threat to him, but we were virtual strangers, and any child his age should have a healthy dose of caution when it came to people.
Maybe that was a jaded outlook, but that was the world we lived in.
Rafe stood with a nod. “Yeah, buddy. You can go home now.” Gesturing to the SUV from which Will had just escaped, Rafe dug into the pocket of his jeans for a key. “Get in and buckle up. We’ll be there in a minute.” Something about Rafe’s tone had the boy scrambling to do his bidding.
“He listens to you,” I said, lacing our fingers together.
“I don’t know how, but I gained his trust in that place.”
“Maybe he senses the connection there.”
“I wondered the same thing.” Rafe opened the back passenger door of the second vehicle and gave Angel a grateful nod. “Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You were here supporting her. Supporting us both. I don’t know what we would have done if you and Jax hadn’t stepped in.”
“That’s what friends do, right?”
“We’re more than friends. We’re family.”
Rafe’s declaration burrowed under her protective armor, and her mouth creeped up at the corners. “Go take your boy home.”
“I’m on it. I just wanted to check on you first. Jax and the others should be back soon. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. A deserted field after dark isn’t the scariest situation I’ve faced.”
That was a gross understatement, and I wanted to reach out and hug her for all she’d been through, for all she’d forged through since Jax had broken her free of the sex slave trade.
We said our goodbyes then joined Will in the SUV. Rafe put an address into the GPS—Will’s grandparents’ house, I assumed—and I wondered if his son would question how he’d known where to go.
But on the ride over, about a forty-five minute trip, Will didn’t ask how Rafe had known where he lived. In fact, he said very little, choosing instead to keep his attention plastered on the scenery outside the window as it whizzed passed.
