Page 34 of They All Own Me

"So is being married to him." She reaches over and steals my coffee mug, taking a long drink. "God, how much sugar did you put in this?"

"Irish blood. We like things sweet."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Could've fooled me with that permanent scowl you're sporting."

"It's my charm." I grab my phone, checking for updates. Nothing. "You doing okay though? I mean do you need anything?"

She drums her fingers on the counter. "I do miss my closet. You guys could've let me pack more than one garbage bag."

"Kidnapping victims don't usually get to pack Louis Vuitton."

"True. But kidnapping victims usually have someone looking for them." She stands, stretching. "I'm going to make actual coffee. Maybe you'll want some that doesn't taste like liquid candy."

She pads barefoot across the tile floor. The fridge door opens with a soft whoosh.

"Chef will be here in thirty." I set my phone down, watching as she bends to rummage through the bottom drawer.

"I'm starving." She emerges with an armful of ingredients. "And I can cook."

"That's not necessary-"

"Give your chef some time off." Eggs crack against the bowl's edge with practiced precision. "I'll handle the meals while I'm here."

"You're supposed to be a hostage."

"A hostage who can make a mean eggs benedict." She whisks the eggs with one hand while reaching for a pan with the other. "Besides, cooking keeps me sane.

I watch her move around the kitchen like she owns the place. The whole situation is surreal - a captive cooking breakfast for her kidnappers.

"You're bloody crazy, you know that?" I lean against the counter. "Most people would be trying to escape, not making hollandaise sauce."

"What's the point of escaping when you'd have something far worse than this to go home too?"

The truthfulness in her voice catches me off guard. I'd love to kill that prick, just for making her feel like this.

"And this?" She gestures to the kitchen with her whisk. "This is all I've known for 1o years."

"Still." I cross my arms. "It's not exactly normal to be this comfortable with your captors."

"Normal flew out the window when my father sold me to the highest bidder like a herd of cattle." She plates the first serving with surgical precision. "Besides, what's normal about any of this? I'm helping three mob guys take down my husband while making eggs benedict."

"Point taken." The smell of fresh coffee and toasted English muffins fills the kitchen. "I'll call Marco off today, but it depends on how your food tastes before I make it permanent."

Her laugh echoes through the kitchen, genuine and unreserved. "Challenge accepted, Mr. McClellan." She slides a plate in front of me, the poached egg perfectly centered. "Better than anything your chef can make, I guarantee it."

The hollandaise sauce melts over the perfectly poached egg, and I take my first bite. Fuck me. It's better than any five-star restaurant I've been to.

"Well?" Tatum leans against the counter, arms crossed.

"It's decent." I shovel another forkful into my mouth.

"Decent? Your plate's almost clean." She starts cleaning up, moving around the kitchen like she's done this her whole life. "You Irish are terrible liars."

The front door slams, followed by heavy footsteps. Dom and Connor stride in, both looking like they haven't slept.

"Something smells fucking amazing," Connor says, making a beeline for the stove.

"Our hostage is quite the chef." I push my empty plate away. "How'd it go?"

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