Page 67 of Tricked By Jack
“She’s not scared of monsters,” she replies smoothly. “Willow was born in a house full of them.” The baby coos like she’s in agreement with her mother’s statement.
When she’s finished unpacking the food, she nudges her foot against another tote I didn’t notice until now. She smiles as her gaze lands on my bare legs.
“Would you like some clothes?” she grins. “Or are you fine like that?”
“God, yes,” I rush out.
From the tote, she pulls out a neat pile of folded clothes. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my clothes. My bras, socks, even one of my favorite cardigans. She sets them on the counter like it’s no big deal.
“Those are… mine,” I blurt, staring at the familiar fabric. “You went to my place?”
“Jack asked me to,” Carolina replies smoothly, not bothering to look at me. “He didn’t think you’d want to live in his shirts forever.”
Not caring about the present company, I reach for one of the knitted sweater dresses, and in no time at all, I replace Jack’s tee with my own comfortable clothes.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling on a matching pair of knitted socks and wiggling my toes. I don’t know why, but wearing my own stuff makes me feel ten times better, and suddenly I’m glad to have company. Even if it’s Carolina Knight.
“Want to eat with me?” I ask, surprising both of us.
She arches a brow at the invitation. “Why not.” She looks around as though she’s searching for something. “You know, I’ve never been here before.”
“This is my first time out of the cage without being taken to and from either the bathroom or the Sanctuary,” I inform her, my tone hardening slightly. “So I don’t know where the good silverware or China is.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Let’s eat in there.” She points to the adjoining room, and as I peek around the corner, I nod.
“If my chain will let me in there,” I deadpan, picking up some of the food she brought.
Together, we quickly make two plates and then head into what turns out to be the living room. It’s nicer than I would have thought. Dark furniture and a fireplace that’s begging to be used.
Carolina sits down on the couch, placing Willow in her lap. The baby babbles happily while her mom shoves food into her mouth and chews it so fast I’m wondering if we’re in a race.
We eat in silence at first, but it’s not sharp or hostile. Just… comfortable. Willow smears something on her mother’s sleeve, and Carolina doesn’t even flinch, just wipes it away with a practiced hand. For some reason, the simplicity of the gesture softens the knot in my chest.
“You went to my apartment,” I say eventually, needing to fill the quiet. “Did you… look around?”
“Of course I did,” she replies smoothly, not even pretending otherwise. “That skull on your mantle? Interesting choice of décor. Jack was right, you’re not boring.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “You saw that?”
“Hard to miss,” she laughs softly. “Don’t tell me it’s an ex-boyfriend or something.”
For some reason, I tell her the truth. “It’s my dad.”
“For real?”
Nodding, I take my time chewing the last bite. “Yeah. When he died, that was the only part of him I wanted to keep.” I don’t tell her how he died, and I’m not going to. Not when I’m the only person alive to know the truth about Charles Mortis’ demise.
The official story is a mugging gone wrong. The story known to just a few is that he was killed by the Hunter, aka Valentine. Neither version invites questions, and I’ve never offered answers.
Exhaling audibly, she admits, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Willow starts fussing, but stops as she bounces her knee. “But you should know, if you think you can do the same to Jack—”
I cut her off with a sharp laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one in chains.”
Leaning closer, she studies me—not with pity, not with judgment. Just a cool, assessing glance, the kind I recognize from my own profession. It makes me feel more seen than I like.
“You don’t seem all that fazed,” she observes. “If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t even think any of this bothers you.”
Biting my lip, I swallow down the laugh bubbling in my throat. She’s both right and wrong. I am bothered, but growing up in my house, you quickly learned to mask your feelings. Showing unease was the same as giving your opponent the upper hand.
