Page 121 of Tide of Treason
The microwave beeped.
Then another text.
Lucius:Are we talking yet
Lucius:Or is this still purgatory
God. I missed hating men.
There were mangoslices on the counter. I left them. Kayla liked them. Ilikedthat she liked them. She’d let me back in, but only halfway. Slammed the door on the other half.
I deserved that.
I wanted more.
I wanted everything.
I pan-fried the bread in butter because French toast sounded fancy, and I wanted points. Used the back of the spoon to smear jam on the side of the plate. Wiped my palms on the towel. They were sweating. Actually sweating. I’d slit a man’s throat cleaner than I whisked those fucking eggs. And don’t even get me started on cracking them—first one came out too cold, the second too shell-y, the third hit the bowl just right.
Rafael had taught me how to sear a steak in Zacatecasusing nothing but roadkill-grade beef and hot rock salt, though he failed to mention how much pressure came with cooking for a woman who had seventeen chefs on her payroll. Five Michelin-trained, eight classic fine dining, three pâtissiers, and one who spent seven years cooking for the royal family of Monaco before she “poached him out of sheer fucking spite.” Her exact words.
I burned my finger on the skillet and hissed.
“Okay,” I breathed, shaking it out. “Okay.”
Proud, I plated it carefully.
The kitchen light caught the sheen of the jam—strawberry, the expensive kind, the one in the jar with French script that mocked my literacy—and for a second, I stood there like a man on the edge of something. Not a cliff. Not even a decision. Hope. Which, if you ask me, was worse, since Kayla cut me before I turned around. I hadn’t said a single word, but the slice of her stare had managed to destroy any stupid flicker of boyish optimism that had pulled me out of bed this morning.
“You look like a Disney prince,” she remarked from the doorway. Hair down and glossy. Gold hoops reflecting what little light crept through the curtains. Silk blouse tucked into a high-waisted business skirt. “All you’re missing is a woodland creature on your shoulder and a pair of animated birds doing the chores around here.”
“They unionised.” I sucked jam off my thumb, too stubborn to smile at the jab. “And the woodland critters went on strike when they found out you don’t tip.”
I held out the plate.
Kayla took it. She didn’t thank me, exactly, but she did brush a hand against my arm as she passed, humming something Italian under her breath that sounded suspiciously like praise. It put a spring in my step, at least.
While she ate, I gave her space. Re-did my arm sling with my teeth and one hand because hell would freeze before I asked for help. The joint twinged like a bastard. Collarbone hadn’t just popped, it’d ripped, loud and wet, right out of place during a scramble outside a narco compound near Fresnillo. I’d hit the ground too hard, took the edge of a cinder block straight to the shoulder. Heard the sick crack and just kept fucking running.
That all left me to reset it myself in a ratty motel shower. Used a towel between my teeth and the bend of a coat hanger to wedge the bone back in. Screamed into the drain. Breathed through blood. Then wrapped it in the shirt I’d been wearing, because I couldn’t afford to lose more time, and dignity was a thing I stopped carrying around. That was three weeks ago. Give or take.
I hadn’t come back sooner because I was busy making friends with the abyss. My head was a room with the lights punched out, and every corner whispered that she’d be better off if I never crawled back. Depressive episodes stripped wallpaper, soured milk, turned good love into bad headlines.
Now, there was nothing gentle about the way Kayla stared at me. I think she might’ve been worried, but she didn’t like showing it, so the concern manifested with teeth and a narrowed gaze.
“Sit down,” she snapped suddenly.
I sat the fuck down.
Spent the next thirty seconds playing silent chicken, trying not to flinch while her eyes branded me with their impatient heat.
“You’re useless to me like this.”
“Never stopped you before.”
She made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t recall needing that shoulder for anything vital.”
Pain throbbed in time with my pulse, and I let out a breath through clenched teeth. “I seem to recall you needing both my shoulders last time. One to cling onto, the other to bite.”
