Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Seventy

Georgia

W ith panic constricting my throat, I flew downstairs.

Breathless, stumbling on my own feet, I scrambled for my purse and rifled through the contents for the new cell phone. Then I powered it up. “Come on, come on.”

“Georgia.”

I ignored the wall of muscle Blade had left behind in his place as the phone came to life. With shaking hands, I punched in a number I’d made sure to memorize.

It went straight to a generic message that said no voicemail was set up.

“No, no, no.” Rubbing my temple, I hit Redial. “Come on, Blade. Please, please answer .”

It went to the same message.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and I was turned toward the dining table. “Sit. Eat.”

I wanted to scream. “You don’t understand.” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t even think it.

“Blade’s mid-flight. Sit. Dinner’s ready.” He pulled out a chair from a perfectly set table with a perfect-looking dinner laid out on it.

I wanted to pick up the knife and stab him with it. I wanted to steal his car keys. I wanted to run, I wanted to drive, and I wanted to get to Blade. But I couldn’t fly.

“You call him,” I demanded.

“After you eat.”

Fuck him. “Fuck you.”

“Sit down, Georgia.”

I hated my name. I hated it said like that. I hated him saying it. I hated the reminder of who I was and what I’d brought to Blade’s doorstep.

Delta sat, then he looked at me like I was a child and he could telepath my next move. “You don’t need to go after him. Blade can handle himself. Last time, sit down.”

I hated myself for sitting.

I hated my mouth for watering as I looked at the steak and vegetables on the plate in front of me.

I hated what I’d said to Blade, and I hated that he wasn’t answering his phone, because I knew the truth. He’d kept his cell turned on during the flight here. If it was off now and not out of range, it was for one reason only.

Me.

He didn’t want to talk to me.

My chest caved in on itself, and I fought tears.

Delta picked up his utensils.

I had to ask. “Does Blade know?”

His green-eyed gaze took me in for a moment, then he focused back on his steak. “Masochist?”

My stomach dropped harder than when he’d said a name I hadn’t heard in years. “Wh-what?”

He looked at me without lifting his head. “Eat your food, Georgia.”

There was no change in his even tone, but he somehow managed to put enough threat into the single sentence that I was picking up my fork. But then memories came rushing in, and I couldn’t do it. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

“I don’t eat in front of people,” I blurted.

“People or men?”

“Men,” I admitted. “Or really anyone,” I added.

“Food was restricted.”

He said it so knowingly, all I did was stare at the meat that was simultaneously making my mouth water and my stomach churn as fear coated everything.

“Pick up your knife,” Delta ordered.

I picked it up.

“Cut your steak.”

I sawed right through a hunk that I could already tell was more tender than any steak I’d ever had.

“Take the bite.”

With guilt and memories falling down my face, I put the meat in my mouth.

Then panic struck.

My throat closed up, and I desperately looked to a stranger for help that no one could ever give me.

“Chew,” Delta commanded as he put a bite in his mouth and followed his own order.

My jaw started moving.

I started chewing.

The tears fell harder, and I choked on perfectly grilled and seasoned steak as the next order came.

“Breathe through your nose.”

I started to hyperventilate.

Another command followed. “Finish the bite.”

I shook my head. I reached for the napkin.

Delta took it away. “You’re not spitting it out. Finish.”

It was the worst bite I’d ever had to swallow.

Gagging, I choked it down. Then I reached for my water, but the SEAL sitting across from me didn’t relent.

“Another bite,” he demanded.

Swiping at my tears, hating how weak I felt, hating every single thing I had no control over, wishing it was another SEAL sitting here, I lashed out. “Is this your kink? Cooking steak for women and making them eat it?”

“No.” He glanced pointedly at my plate. “Another bite.”

“I don’t need to be told how to eat.” My stomach growled.

“You do.” He picked up his glass of water. “Eat.”

I bargained with myself.

Eat the steak. Then you can drink the coffee and take the chips upstairs. Eat the steak, then you can tell him to fuck off and call Blade until he answers. Eat the steak, then you never have to eat in front of another man again.

“Stop,” Delta ordered.

Defiant, I looked right at him. “Stop what?”

“Thinking you don’t deserve to eat.”

“I’m not thinking that.” I wanted this steak. It was stupidly delicious. But I didn’t want my past, and I didn’t want Blade to be mid-flight .

“No?”

“No.”

“Then you weren’t in an abusive relationship? Told you were underweight one day, overweight the next. Food wasn’t rationed, withheld, and weaponized to manipulate you?”

My mouth opened, then closed. With a shaking hand, I set my utensils down. “It’s been great. You’re an excellent cook. Thanks for everything.” I stood.

“Sit.” The word was sharp and crisp like the weather outside and just as cold.

The urge to sit overwhelming, I fought it. I wasn’t that girl anymore. Not like this. “How does that work out for you? Do you usually get women to listen to your commands with that big voice?”

Staring at me, he said nothing.

“Go ahead and look. You don’t know me.” He knew too much.

“Are you threatened by people knowing you?”

“That won’t work either.” He could try to shrink my head all he wanted. Been there, done that.

“Do you need me to make you sit down and eat?”

Latent fear spread like a disease, infusing my veins. The suddenly resurfaced need to flee now stronger than my self-preservation, I backed up. “You’re not the loudest voice in the room.”

“Yours isn’t the smallest.”

“Quietest,” I corrected.

“I said what I intended. Is there something wrong with the steak?”

I hated Delta. “No.”

“Do you prefer something else to eat?”

“No.” If he was going to ask questions, then I was going to ask them too. Well, one. A burning one. “Does Blade know what you called me?”

“Sit and eat, and you’ll hear my voice. Go upstairs, and you won’t. Make a choice.”

“Oh, so now you’re threatening me to make me eat?” And what was with the voice comment? Was he mocking me?

“I didn’t threaten you.”

“No, you just asked if I needed you to make me eat.”

So slightly, I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking right at him, Delta raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“I don’t need anything from you.” I wasn’t here by choice, and I sure as hell didn’t ask him to play babysitter or stand-in dominant SEAL, or whatever he was doing with his perimeter checks and stupid steak.

“Do you speak to Blade like this?”

“I speak how I speak.”

“With the smallest voice.”

Anger rallied like an old friend, and I embraced the rash heat. “Go ahead. Sit there with your judgment and asshole assumptions and pick apart my life. I don’t give a shit. You and your steak can go fu—”

Delta abruptly stood.

Then, without taking his eyes off mine, with the gait of a predator, he came at me.

I tried to move away, but the back of my knees hit the heavy dining chair, and he was already on me.

Grabbing my chair, Delta leaned down and lowered his voice. “Your stomach is growling. You did not eat in front of Blade. You didn’t look in the bag of groceries he brought for you until after he left. Then you cried and retreated once you saw what they were. You have issues with food. I’m telling you that you don’t need to have them tonight. Sit down, eat your meal, and drink your water. The hydration will ease the tension headache, and the calories will alleviate lightheadedness.”

I sat.

He pushed my chair in.

Without further comment, he retook his seat and started eating.

I followed suit.

Halfway through my steak, the frantic swimming in my head became a slow drift. “My voice isn’t small,” I defended.

“No, it’s not.” He forked the salad he’d made.

“How did you know—about the headache?”

“The altitude.”

“What?”

“We’re at seven thousand feet here. Miami is less than ten. Altitude sickness presents with headaches, dizziness, shortness of breath. You’ve exhibited symptoms of all three since you came downstairs.”

The stairs had made me breathless. I’d rubbed my temple in front of him, and I’d stumbled when I’d rushed for my purse. I didn’t know if I hated that he was right and had noticed, or relieved that I wasn’t dying. “How long does it last?”

“You should acclimate in a few days.”

Oh God. “How long am I going to be here?”

“As long as Blade deems necessary.”

My stomach roiled against the heavy meat and the pushed-down thoughts of where Blade could have gone and why. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

Delta looked at me with an expression void of all emotion. “Then we’ll have a discussion.” Picking up our plates, he stood. “It’s late. Go sleep.”

“I—”

“That wasn’t a request, Georgia.” Delta strode into the kitchen.

Taking the cell with me, I went upstairs without the Lay’s.

Then I toed off my Uggs, used the restroom, and crawled into the absurdly comfortable bed.

Lying in the dark, I stared at the phone, and I had to admit the truth.

Blade didn’t want to talk to me.

I set the phone down, turned onto my side, and grabbed a pillow to hug before I pulled the comforter up to my chin.

Miraculously, minutes later, I wasn’t thinking about anything.