Page 38 of Liberty

Chapter 16

ELLIS

“Have you eaten?Drank enough today? Oak didn’t offend you, did he? He tends to be a bit of a jerk.” I pressed Liberty the moment we decided to call it a night and discuss the whole situation in the morning.

I was tired and so fucking mentally exhausted; I wasn’t sure how I was functioning. And hungry. God, I hated this point. I hated when the hunger for blood gnawed at my insides and affected my mental capability. It was part of it, of course. Part of denying myself everything that made my body function, everything that made me strong, everything that pushed me to the actual capacity I knew I was capable of but refused to accept.

“I happen to like Oak. He’s a bit –” she paused, and I cut her off.

“Hard. Solid. Somber.” I smirked, and she mirrored my actions.

“Exactly.”

“We picked up some sandwiches earlier, but I am getting hungry,” she confessed when her smile faded.

I rolled up my sleeve, and her eyes watched the movement. “Well, it just so happens I was a chef in the fifties.”

“Wasn’t that the era with all the jello molds, concoctions, and meatloaf?”

I laughed. “The one and only.”

She bit her lip, her perfect white teeth tugging on her flesh seductively. I reached up, pulling it free. “But have no fear, princess. I’ve got a lot more in store for you than canned veggies suspended in gelatin.”

She followed me to the kitchen, and I was more than aware of her presence at my back. The heat from her beating heart pushed through her veins, warmed the space between us. The pulse in her neck was thrumming with the force of life that fueled us both. I was aware. I was so fucking aware of how much I wanted to taste her. Suck on her bottom lip again, sink my teeth into her neck.

She cleared her throat. “You aren’t even listening, are you?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You’re a fucking idiot, Ellis. Now is not the time to let your guard down.

“I asked if you often cook, you know since you changed careers.” I turned just in time to see her tuck a lock of black hair behind her ear.

“Do I make gourmet meals for me, myself, and I? No. I am also a professional at heating a t.v. dinner.”

We entered the kitchen, and I went directly to the fridge, pulling out some vegetables and steak. As if we had done this a million times, she pulled a cutting board out of the cabinet and went for a large knife. “Well, I am a professional at cooking for one. I never could get into the whole t.v. dinner thing. It was either cold or so overcooked, it was chewy.”

I placed an onion on the counter next to her, then leaned over as I rested my palms on the counter, my chin leaning against her shoulder. “The secret is the perfect cook time. Down to the second. One second off and bam! You’ve ruined the whole dinner.”

She laughed. “And I imagine you’ve had all the time in the world to perfect it.”

“What else would I do with endless funds and extra time?”

“Mmm,” the sound in her throat sent a chill right through me. “I imagine the options were limited.”

I pushed off the counter and grabbed a bag of rice before pulling out the rice cooker. “What’s art life like?”

“Colorful.” I looked over to see her smiling as she cut up some bell peppers. When she looked up, I felt her beauty punch me back. “But really, it’s a job of passion, that’s for sure. I’m not begging on the streets, but I wish I didn’t have so many bouts of struggle.”

I understood that. In the past, I had tried less favorable jobs and jobs that were in demand. I’ve made tons of money; I’ve made a little money. I’ve done things I’ve loved, things I hated, but now, now I just wanted to do what I pleased without the judgment and opinions of others, away from the mass of people.

“What was it like? Living back then?” she asked, as she slowly lowered her knife to the cutting board. “I mean when you were born.”

“A lot of hard work.” That was a fucking understatement. “We were farmers, but then so many people were. The cities around here were just forming, growing, blooming. We were still owned by the British, still controlled by the king. That was a lot of fucking fun. But mostly it was –” I stopped, trying to think of a word to describe a life so different from the one I was trapped in. “Wholesome. It was wholesome.”

“What do you miss most about it?” she prompted, and I loved that she wanted to know me, but I also hated that surface level wasn’t enough.

“Without a doubt, my siblings. We were close in age. I had an older brother, a sister who was my Irish twin, though I was the oldest between us then, a little brother who was about two years younger than her. We had a lot of fun, a lot of pure and wholesome fun that you just can’t see kids having now. Though, we were lucky because as much as we got in trouble, we rarely got lashes. That is one thing about the time; beatings and pain were a daily occurrence. Some kids sneezed wrong, and they would be covered in leather welts.”

“Would it have stopped you three if you had?” she questioned.

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