Page 29 of Defiant
“How long have you been working here?” I ask casually, as I move closer to the basket, peering at what Matthew’s tucked inside. There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste—thank fuck—even a hairbrush with a new package of ties. I’m slightly impressed for a second before I realize that Black might wear ties in his own dark hair sometimes. But, hey, Matthew still gets credit for not being an utter ass. Unlike his boss.
“I’ve worked for Alpha Maddox for nearly five years.” Matthew pulls at his cuff, straightening it.
I suck in a breath through my teeth in sympathy. “You’ve survived that long? You must be made of steel.”
“No. You know, he comes off a bit gruff—”
“A bit?” I interject, tipsy me unable to help myself.
Matthew chuckles. “He’s got a lot on his shoulders. But I’ve never once seen him shirk his duty. I’ve never seen him turn away someone in need. He even took me in after my wife passed.”
“I’m sorry.” I see grief crease Matthew’s face for a moment before he gives me a wistful, regret-filled smile.
“You always think you’ll have more time. We had thirty long years together, me and my Melva. But somehow, that still doesn’t feel like enough. I still feel cheated. Robbed.” He swallows hard and waves a hand as if to dismiss his emotions. “You got me off-topic. I was supposed to come down here and take your measurements.”
I furrow my brow until I see him bring out a soft tape measure and a pen with a small square of paper. Then I take a step back.
“Whoa. What?”
“Mr. Maddox has asked me to get your measurements so that I can order some clothes,” he repeats patiently as if I’m hard of hearing.
I heard what he said perfectly, I just don’t understand it. “Why would I need clothes?”
Oh god. He’s not going to let me go.
Ribbons of fear and lust lace up my neck and tie themselves together into a knot at the base of my throat.
Black Maddox is going to hold me prisoner. Panic blurs my vision for a second and heat floods my cheeks as I stare at the ballpoint pen in this man’s hand. I could stab him in the neck … steal his keys … escape.
What the fuck is wrong with me?I turn my eyes down, disgusted with myself for even thinking something like that. It’s something my mother would think. And I swore a long time ago that I’d never fucking end up like her. “Why the hell would I need toorder clothes?” I ask again thinking about Black’s dark eyes. Before he’d left, he’d been almost playful and I’d been so shocked by that side of him that I hadn’t even thought to question why he’d still locked me down here. Maybe the clothes are a bribe? Maybe it’s not because I’m a prisoner but for some other reason. Now that we’re past the whole “Dark Night Pack” fiasco, he’ll want to have me sign some papers or something—make a promise not to sue him for defending pack territory or whatever, right?
But cash would be just fine.
Cash would be great, actually.
Clothes … are weird.
I don’t understand.
“I don’t need clothes.”
“I don’t need a lot of things, but I do need this job, Miss Elena,” Matthew parries. “Part of keeping this job involves following orders, be it the fact that Alpha Maddox likes me to put two tablespoons of disgusting raspberry flavoring into his coffee or—”
“He likes raspberry? What guy likes raspberry?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. That little tidbit derails my train of thought.
Matthew just raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, the things I could tell you.”
That … definitely sounds like a bribe. I grind my back teeth together as I stare into Matthew’s twinkling eyes and he waits patiently, knowing he’s hooked me.
Dammit.
“Fine. I don’t want you to lose your job,” I sigh, giving a fake roll of my eyes as if I’m put out.
“Glad to hear it.” He comes forward and quickly puts the tape up on my left shoulder, measuring down to my elbow before making a mark on his little square of paper.
I try to be patient, wait for him to bring up some new topic, so I can segue it into knowledge that might help me figure out Black’s motives. But he doesn’t say a word, just measures to my fingertips, and then wraps the tape around my wrist. He’s smart. He’s not going to give me anything I don’t explicitly ask for. Dammit though. I hardly know where to start. It needs to seem innocuous.
“So, if Black likes raspberry coffee, does that mean he has a sweet tooth?”
