Page 8 of Fighting for Her Heart

“Thank god.” I’m not thrilled about how much time Axe is getting with her—they were together when I left—but I plan to make up for lost time.

“Can you see my hand?” Zuben’s long brown fingers, their perfect nails unmistakable, extend out of the forest, followed by the cuff of his white shirt.

“Holy fuck, that’s weird!”

I pick up one of the duffels, planning to hand it to him, but a healthy wave of pirate’s distrust stops me. Instead, I loop the straps of one over my arm and pick up the other.

I reach for his disembodied arm.

Gripping my wrist, Zuben tugs me, and I stumble forward, bracing for my face to smash into a tree trunk that’s directly in my path, but when I open my eyes, I’m standing next to Zuben on the lane, the lights of the house in the distance. The road I was on is behind me, clear as day, and the forest I thought I was stepping into has vanished.

“Holy shit.” I look around in amazement.

“You have returned,” Zuben says flatly.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Change of heart?”

He’s sneering at me and it’s all I can do to keep from smashing in his smug face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I, for one, was not at all surprised when you did not promptly return.” He folds his arms over his chest.

“Why? Did you hear about the situation at the club?” How could he know about that? I am so fucking confused. If the four of us stay together for a thousand years I’m not sure I’ll ever figure out Zuben.

“If bysituation,” Zuben says, “you are referring to your going back on your word as soon as you got a taste of freedom—then yes. While I did nothearof thissituation, I was able to deduce—”

“Deducethisyou fucker!” Grabbing his shirt, I get right in his face and then toss him back. The robot flies through the air, landing gracefully on his feet thirty yards down the lane.

“I see that my accusation has struck a nerve.” He smirks knowingly as he strides back toward me. “Had there been no truth in my statement, it would not have raised your ire.”

I shake my head. For a dude who claims not to understand the emotions of others, he does a fucking good job of it sometimes.

“Look.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Say what you mean or fuck off and let me go join Ember and Axe.”

“Perhaps my assumption for your extended absence was mistaken.” His head cocks to the side. “Why did you not return sooner?”

“Like you care.”

“Please.” He gestures toward the house and then reaches for one of the duffels. “Shall we put those away while I hear your excuses?”

“Myexcuses?” This asshole desperately wants my fist buried in his throat—or his scrotum.

He bows slightly. “Yourexplanationthen.”

He tugs on one of the duffels, so I toss him both. I’ve carried them long enough. He catches them, shakes his head, and then races off to the house.

I follow behind, reluctantly running. I don’t want him hiding the cash somewhere I can’t find it.

I enter the house to discover both duffels sitting on the floor by the living room sofa. Not hidden at all.

“Shall we sit?” He stiffly parks himself at one end of the sofa, crossing his legs primly and stretching one arm across the back. He’s never seemed more like a robot to me, one who’s studied humans and is trying to act natural.

I drop onto the sofa’s other end, leaning back against the arm and bending one leg to rest my foot on the cushions between us. I’m shocked when I don’t get a lecture about putting my boot on the furniture.

“What detained you?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes. “I can’t believe you thought I’d ditched you guys.” I hide my shame, knowing the thought did cross my mind, albeit briefly. “Ditched Ember!”