Edge Of Fear (Arrow's Edge MC Book 4) by Freya Barker (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

well and poor Van, sensing trouble brewing, is looking from one to the other as we face each other.

“You comparing me to that asshole ex of yours?” I challenge her.

She cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “If the shoe fits.”

I close the distance between us and bend my neck so I’m almost nose to nose with her. Those eyes are shooting fire.

“Not interested in controlling you, Sophia.”

“Could’a fooled me,” she scoffs, refusing to back down.

Despite the urge to shake some sense into her, I appreciate her moxie. She’s standing up for herself and I admire her for it. She may have a temper, but then so do I.

Suddenly the anger drains from me and I step away. I grab my mug from the floor and head for the house. Sliding the back door open, I stop and turn to where she’s still standing, Van now sitting at her feet, still confused about the energy he must sense.

“Not cool comparing me to that bastard,” I say in a calmer tone. “Not fair either. There’s a world of difference between being controlling and trying to look after someone you care about.”

Without waiting for a response, I head inside and grab a refill, taking my fresh cup upstairs to hit the shower. It’s that, or hop on my bike I collected earlier this week, and take off. Can’t do that and leave her alone, so a shower it is.

By the time I step out, my coffee is only lukewarm, my balls are a little lighter, and my head is a lot cooler. I’ve also come to the realization I could’ve handled that better, especially given the history she entrusted me with. The accusation I’m anything like her ex still burns, though.

I pull some jeans and a clean shirt from my duffel on the floor of her closet, pick up the dirty clothes I’ve been tossing beside it and add it to her laundry basket. Then I carry the whole thing downstairs, noticing she’s still outside, back in her chair, with the dog on the deck beside her.

Her laundry room is more like a closet, and located under the stairs. It takes me a minute to sort out the light colors first and I make sure to check the labels. Back at the clubhouse I’d shove everything in at the same time, but I have a feeling Sophia wouldn’t appreciate her pretty white lace underwear getting mixed in with my work jeans and dirty socks.

The machine takes a little figuring out, but a few minutes later I have it going. I back out of the small space at the same time Sophia walks in the back door. Her face is blotchy and red.

Fuck.

I hate when she cries.

Taking a few steps toward her, she lifts her hands defensively, stopping me in my tracks.

“I’m a mess,” she says, and promptly tears start rolling down her face. “I’m sorry, I’m PMSing hard. I usually get cranky but I’ve never turned into a bitch before. I’m not this person.”

“Fee, baby…”

That’s all it takes for her to walk right into my arms, wrapping hers tightly around my waist.

_______________

Shit. That figures.

An old, ugly motor home is parked in front of the house when I turn onto the driveway.

When her parents hadn’t showed up by midday, and her mother wasn’t answering her phone, Sophia suggested she head into the restaurant for a couple of hours to prepare orders and do payroll for the week. She wanted me to stay home in case her parents showed up, and I didn’t want her to go alone. We compromised. I dropped her off at the Backyard and headed right back up the mountain.

Looks like they arrived shortly after we left.

I pull in beside their vehicle and get out, hearing Van’s furious barking from inside, but before I can take a step a woman comes flying around the side of the house.

“I thought I heard a car!”

She’s short. Shorter even than Luna, who may be tough as nails but barely makes it up to my chin. This woman is all soft, though. Smiling round face, comfortably plump body, and covered literally head to toe in yards of colorful, flowing fabric. A few stray graying curls escape the shawl wrapped artfully around her head. She looks like a benign fortune-teller.

“Blossom?”

She stops right in front of me, tilting her head way back.

“That’s right, and I recognize your voice. I was right; you’re a big one. Sophia never told me your name, though.”

“Tse, ma’am.”

I stick out my hand but instead of grabbing it, she wags her index finger at me.

“Good name, but you dare ma’am me again and we’re gonna have issues,” she scolds me, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing.

Sophia may not have inherited her mother’s looks, but I’d recognize that attitude anywhere.

“So noted,” I mutter, trying to keep a straight face.

“Good. Now, Tse…please tell me that’s Navajo?”

“Name is, but I’m not. At least not that I know of.”

“Means rock, did you know that?”

“I did, ma…Blossom,” I quickly correct myself when her eyes narrow.

“Good name for you. Fitting. Sophia at work?” She jumps from one subject to the next without taking a breath.

“Just for a few hours.”

She smiles big.

“Excellent, that’ll give Duff and me a chance to get to know you. He’s in the back checking out the yard.” With that she turns and starts walking to the rear, calling over her shoulder, “Well, come on then. You can introduce us to that sweet puppy.”

Forgot about Van, although sweet puppy isn’t quite the description I’d have picked for him. I tell her I’ll go in the front and she raises her hand in acknowledgement.

This has to be the weirdest fucking encounter I’ve had. I feel like I just got run over by a bulldozer.

The two hours until I’m supposed to pick up Sophia suddenly feel like an eternity.

Sophia

“You were looking for me?”

Chris is standing in the doorway.

“Yes, have a seat. Oh, and close the door.”

I’d gone looking for him earlier, but Lauren mentioned he’d