Page 50 of Cook

“Something like that.” He grabbed the camera from the counter, handed it to me, and took hold of my hand.

I gripped him back. Why couldn’t I get enough of this specific connection when all the contact I’d known since I’d been twelve made me want to crawl out of my own skin?

“Come here,” he said, leading me across the small house.

Off to the side, there was a small hall that led to a bathroom and two bedrooms. He guided me to the one on the right.

The walls were bare, a twin bed the only furniture. The rumpled bed covering desperately needed to be washed, so I made a note to take care of that tomorrow. Although, I hadn’t seen a washing machine anywhere in the house. At the mill, Signora had always made us wash the sheets in the river, and they always had a metallic scent and orange hue. Too many iron deposits in the canyon. I hated battling the large swaths of wet fabric to get them clean enough, so I really hoped I wouldn’t have to hand-wash that bedding.

“Is this where you sleep?” I asked.

Cook made an affirmative sound deep in his throat, but he stared at the bed like it might bite me.

Turning his back to the bed, he dropped his hand to a doorknob on the only other door in the room. “Good thing—and trust me, there aren’t many—about this place is the closet space.” A shadow crossed his eyes briefly before he put away whatever he’d been thinking and smiled. “I spent a lot of time in here as a kid.”

That made my stomach twist. “In the closet?”

He cocked an almost laughing half grin. “I’ve been out of the closet for a long time, baby.”

“What?” My brows drew together.

His smile widened. “Never mind. Bad joke.”

He pulled open the door and guided me into an utterly dark space.

My heart thumped and stuttered as I went right back to the cage Amaranta put me in when I’d misbehaved. I hadn’t meant to upset Cook. Maybe I really needed to not clean up around here, but what would I do with myself? Still, if it meant I wouldn’t make him mad, I’d comply. Anything to keep me out of a cage.

I turned, trying to run from the small space, but Cook’s thick arm snaked around my waist. I clung to him, shivering like a scared puppy. Tears prickled in my eyes, and I shut them hard.

“Please.” I whimpered. “Don’t lock me up.” I couldn’t be trapped like that.

Cook shushed me, holding me in his muscled embrace, and I buried my face in his neck.

“I’m not locking you in here, Maddie.” He stroked my hair.

I could feel the rumble of his words flowing from his chest into mine as he held the back of my head.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to—”

“Light?” I mumbled into his neck.

He moved a little, taking me with him, then said, “There. Look.”

Tentatively, I opened my eyes to a long room with a table running the length of one wall, but no windows. The food I’d eaten at dinner threatened to come up, so I swallowed several times. “Wh-what is it?”

I looked back and over Cook’s shoulder at the door. Was there a lock on it? Chains? My body wouldn’t stop shaking as I searched for something other than Cook to let me know I wasn’t going to be locked up.

Cook cradled my face in his palm, pushing his fingers into my hair. “What is it, nizhóní?”

“Huh?” I stared at him with my head cocked, and he blinked several times. “What did you call me?”

He wrinkled his nose, then twisted his mouth. “I didn’t... I’m...” A scowl crossed his face. “You stopped shaking.”

“You distracted me.” I kept my attention on him and my mind on the strange word. “Can you say it again?”

He looked in pain when he repeated, “Nizhóní?”

I rolled it around in my mouth, repeating it, then asked, “What does it mean?”

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