Page 15 of The Cousins and the Brunette

The men, my captives, headed for the staircase. I sank into the cot, my bravado crumbling. This wasn’t so bad. I’d clawed my way through the streets of New Boston, protected Kay, and outsmarted countless threats.

These guys had no idea who they were dealing with.

I laid down on the cot, a flimsy mattress offering scant comfort. Here in this concrete cell, my world narrowed to making sure the Porters believed I was Elizabeth Shoemaker so I could collect my reward when this was all over in a few weeks…or less, I hoped. They didn’t know it yet, but Brynn Soto wasn’t just any prisoner. And she certainly wasn’t a weak heiress like Elizabeth Shoemaker.

Chapter Five

BRYNN AND THE SANDWICH

The clank of metal echoed through the half-light of the basement as Sebastian descended the stairs, a tray of food and water in his hands. He moved with a quiet precision that seemed at odds with the environment, his posture straight yet not rigid, a balance of authority and something softer, more human. As he came closer, I could see him clearly—tall, well-built with a sexy strength, his dark hair cropped short, and his deep brown eyes focused intently on me.

“Mealtime, Elizabeth,” he announced, his voice calm and measured.

Oh, yeah. The Porters thought I was Shoemaker’s daughter. As if being kidnapped wasn’t exhausting enough, now I had to play pretend princess. Maybe I should demand a tiara to complete the look.

I eyed my captor. Dressed simply in a clean, fitted gray shirt that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and dark trousers that spoke of quality but not ostentation, Sebastian stood out against the sharp backdrop of my cell. The fabric of his clothes hinted at the wealth of the Elites, yet there was no excess in his attire—no jewelry, no embellishments. It was almost as if he dressed to downplay his status, though he could never truly hide it.

Mr. Modest Rich Boy, trying to blend in with us commoners. Did he think dressing down would make me forget I was trapped in this fancy cage? Nice try, buddy.

I stared at the tray warily. My first days here had been a blur of tension and fear, each moment tainted by uncertainty. Joel’s hostile glares and Braxton’s snarky humor grated on my nerves, stoking the embers of my distrust. But it was Sebastian who puzzled me the most.

“Thanks for the gourmet feast,” I said. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

Sebastian set the tray down before me, unfazed by my barb. “It’s not much, but it’s nourishing at least.”

“Sure, if you consider gruel a delicacy. It’s kind of gross and tasteless. Any real food around here? I’d even love a peanut butter and jelly sandwich over this crap.”

My stomach growled in agreement. I’d eaten worse on the streets, but at least then I had the satisfaction of scoring my own meals.

“Would you rather I bring you nothing?” His question didn’t sound challenging; instead, it held a genuine inquisitiveness that didn’t square with his role as my jailer.

“Of course not,” I retorted quickly, hating that he’d caught me off guard. “But don’t act like you’re doing me any favors. We both know I’m just a bargaining chip.”

“Is that what you think?” Sebastian’s brow furrowed, and I wondered if I had struck a nerve.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I snapped back, crossing my arms defensively.

What game was he playing? Did he expect me to believe they kidnapped me out of the goodness of their hearts? Rich people and their mind games. I’d take Joel’s straightforward aggression over this psychological bullshit any day.

“Things are often more complex than they appear,” he said softly.

“Sure.” I scoffed.

Weeks turned into a monotonous cadence of captivity, punctuated by Sebastian’s meal visits. And the days blended together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. I’d started counting the ceiling tiles just to keep my mind from turning to mush. Sebastian’s visits were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth?

One evening, as Sebastian brought my usual tray, he hesitated before speaking. “Elizabeth, I’ve brought you a treat!”

My eyebrows shot up. A treat? In this five-star prison? Color me intrigued.

He set the tray down on a small metal table. On it was a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on white bread, an apple, a cookie, and a glass of milk. My stomach grumbled and I might’ve drooled a tiny bit.

It was like seeing an oasis in the desert. My taste buds did a little happy dance, and for a moment, I forgot about the whole ‘being held captive’ thing.

“Thank you.” I dug into the food that tasted so damn good, I moaned, and then blushed. But I kept eating.

Embarrassment be damned. This sandwich was heaven between two slices of bread, and I wasn’t about to let a little thing like dignity get in the way.

“I need to tell you something.”

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