“Uh… okay,” Meredith manages as Solana takes me in, sees the bruises still healing on my face, and understandably, makes an assumption.

The door has barely clicked when she charges toward me, all five feet three inches of her. “What the fuck did you do to her, you fucking bastard!”

I’m ready to catch her, but before I need to, Theron grabs her from behind, wrapping an arm under her breasts and pinning her against himself.

“Whoa, sweetheart.”

“What the—?” She clearly hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room, and for a moment, her attention is diverted as she struggles against Theron, who chuckles—mistake—and grips her wrists in one of his hands. That is until she slams the high heel of her shoe down on his foot.

“Fuck!” He releases her, and she turns to slap him.

“Solana, stop. Wait,” I tell her.

She turns to me, her arm still poised to slap until her eyes roam over my face again.

“Hear me out. Please.”

“Where is she? It’s been a week. No call. No proof of life!”

“Proof of life?” Theron asks.

She turns to him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He smiles. “His brother.” He gestures to me with a curt nod of his head.

“Figures,” Solana says with a sneer, then turns to me. “Where is she, Judge? Did she do that to you?”

“No. I don’t think she’s capable of that.”

“Oh, you don’t know what Mercedes is capable of. You never have. Where is she? I can’t get past the gate at the house. Neither you nor she returns my messages. Georgie’s on his way to the house again, and when I tell him you’re here, he’ll fuck you up worse than that if you don’t tell us right now.”

“Jesus. Take a breath, hellraiser,” Theron says.

She swivels her head in his direction. “What did you call me?”

He puts both hands up in mock surrender. I see the amusement on his face and hope for his sake she is too distracted to. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

I can’t see the look she gives him, but she turns her attention back to me. “Sit down, Solana.”

“Tell me where she is,” she says, choosing to remain standing.

“She’s at her brother’s house.”

She studies my face again, gaze growing concerned as she understands who did the damage. “Is she okay?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“She is.”

“How do I get in touch with her?”

I take a piece of stationery and scroll through my phone to find Ivy’s number from the text she sent me.

“Here. This is Ivy’s number. She’s Santiago’s wife. She sent me a text to let me know Mercedes was safe. You can try calling her, but I can’t promise anything. This is out of my hands, Solana.”