“Where’s Zach?” Sasha’s red hair glowed in the light of the fire, anger oozing from her body. I swear the blaze grew stronger when she spoke. Her petite frame often deceived foolish adversaries who underestimated her strength. And her fierceness.
“He’s right behind me,” I said as neutral as possible. Bending forward to grab a piece of meat from an abandoned plate, I avoided all eye contact with our leader. She waited patiently. “He’s fine. He got a few bottles.”
“A few?” she asked, stepping closer but looking past me toward Zach. “How many is a few?” she asked. I shrugged.
“Three,” Zach answered. His voice sounded under control, but I knew I detected a hint of fear. He must have seen Sasha’s face.
“You risked the safety of our group, not to mention the life of our best fighter, for three bottles of water?”
I lifted my head up at the compliment, but with one look at her pinched lips and hand flexing over the pistol holster on her side, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“She’s not the best fighter,” Zach said with humor in his tone. I shot him a glare and watched him smile at me. He loved egging me on like that.