Page 52 of Stolen Dreams

“It’s okay if you are.” I caress the angle of her bony hip, pretend she is someone else, someone with actual curves, then crack her ass with my palm. “I love all my whores.”

Her body teeters forward with each thrust. Her arms tremble and buckle as she tries to hold herself up from face-planting into the mattress. Lucky for her, I keep her hips up and in line with mine.

Weeks have passed since I told her I wanted every penny she owed. Weeks since I started using her body as a poor excuse to get off. Fucking her those first few days felt okay. I came. Got what I wanted, to some extent. But with each passing day, with eachsampleshe slips past one of us, the less interested I become in this part of our arrangement.

I love fucking… warm bodies that actually feel good. Borderline corpses who toss out exaggerated moans for effect do nothing for me or my dick. Not that she ever did anything for me.

“Got my money, Cook?”

She peeks over her shoulder, cheeks gaunt and eyes sunken, desolate. Something akin to a smile tugs at her cracked, burned lips. The look is haunting, disturbing. On the precipice of death.

“I am paying you.” Her gaze drops to where I plow into her. “Didn’t you say I could pay this way?”

Fuck no.

Pulling out of her, I shove at her hips until she topples over on the bed. I tuck my depressed dick into my pants and zip up. “No, Cook. I said that if the sex was good, I might shave off a little of what you owe.” Lip curled, I flick my gaze up and down her pathetic body. “When I said you fucked like a whore, I was being nice. It’s a good day if I get off with my dick in you.”

She scrambles up to her knees, her hands spasming at her sides as her eyes shift uncontrollably. “I’ll have it. I s-swear.” She clambers off the mattress and stumbles over her shorts around her ankles. “I just need more time.”

I move across the room to the door. “You’ve had enough time. Six more days. I want every fucking cent, Cook.” I turn the knob and crack the door open. “No more games. And don’t even think about stepping into my kitchen again.”

On quick feet, she meets me at the door, her eyes bright with more fire than I’ve seen in them for months. “Let me cook for you. Promise I won’t sample anything.”

Raucous laughter bubbles in my chest before echoing throughout the room. “Your desperation is sad as fuck, Cook.” I rake my eyes down her skin-and-bones frame and shake my head. “The only time you have life in those eyes is when Ithreaten to take you out of the kitchen. When I endanger your habit.”

“Please. It’s all I’m good at. Don’t take it from me,” she begs.

Pathetic.

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” I open the door wider and smack her with it. “Six days. You better have my money. All of it.” I take a step out the door. “I’d hate to take payment out another way. One you wouldn’t benefit from.”

“W-what?” A deep, raspy cough fills the room. “I don’t understand.”

“You are expendable, Cook. As are the people closest to you.” I take another step and start to close the door. “Six days, or I’llshowyou what I mean.”

FIFTEEN

KAYA

I never want cookingschool to end.

When Ray asked me to be a part of this, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Rowdy kids, basic recipes, and a lot of leftovers, perhaps. But that’s not the case. Quite the opposite.

The kids are a bit wild in the morning but overall well behaved and friendly. They quiet down when Ray or another chef speaks. The older students assist the younger ones if they run into trouble with cutting, mixing, or measuring. They smile and joke for hours while they work.

Great people, fun environment, delicious food. What’s not to love?

Monday’s breakfast was a twist on a classic—cheesy scrambled eggs, brown sugar bacon twists, garlic and herb biscuits, and crispy home fries with caramelized onions and bell peppers. A simple way to test everyone’s skills and comfort in the kitchen and a gentle introduction of what is to come.

Tuesday, yesterday, and today were more fun and unique. Nutella-stuffed pancakes topped with fresh berries and bananas paired with a creamy pineapple and strawberry smoothie. Bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich with hash browns in place of the bread alongside a unicorn hot chocolate. Scrambledeggs, sausage, and country gravy breakfast pizza on a biscuit crust with fresh-squeezed orange juice and fruit medley on the side—my favorite so far.

Tomorrow, we end the week with a sun-dried tomato, fresh mozzarella, and pesto quiche with a decaf iced mocha.

If they offered yearlong classes, I’d be first in line.

Speaking of classes…

Sunday night flashes in my mind. An unforgettable date night with Ray and Tucker. Ray made the entire meal—well, Tucker and I contributed to the salad—without breaking a sweat. He moved effortlessly and delivered mouthwatering dishes. Created magic in his home.

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