Page 28 of Love Bleeds Red
“You don’t think she actually likes him, do you?” Elise asks on her way out the door. “He still works forthem.”
I shrug, genuinely unsure. I never would have thought Layne would stay with her cheating bastard of a boyfriend, and I’ve witnessed so many other friends make questionable choices in partners. “She hasn’t said anything to me, but I’ll ask her when we’re alone.”
“Good,” is all Lydia says as she heads out into the hallway to get dressed. She’s not the only one who’s had a keen eye on Cat these last few weeks. I’ve noticed the changes in her too. I’ll find out what’s going on tonight… Hopefully she’ll be in the mood to talk.
I dress in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, both hand-me-downs with someone else’s scratched out name in Sharpie onthe tag. The elastic waistband is stretched and threads fraying, but I’m grateful for the warmth. Other than a few secondhand pieces, all we’ve been given is cheap lingerie that grates against my skin.
I pad barefoot down the stairs, stopping when I hear murmured voices coming from the kitchen.
“When?”
It’s Cat’s voice. There’s no mistaking the plea in her tone.
“I told you, be patient,” a male voice answers. Erik, most likely.
I listen for the others—Yuri’s accented inflection, the abrasive chatter of his lackeys, and of course, I listen for King. I’d rather expect him to be there and prepare for the worst, than the alternative. There’s only the two quiet voices though, so I roll my lip between my teeth and try to make myself heard as I cross the threshold into the kitchen.
“B.” Cat quickly steps away from Erik. “I didn’t hear you coming downstairs.”
Erik nods at me, messing with the baseball cap on his head.
“I heard something about pancakes?” I ask tentatively and Cat raises a brow. “Lydia said.”
I start to explain as Erik crosses the kitchen and pulls a box of mix out of the cabinet. “Just add water,” he says.
I’m struck by how fucking bizarre this whole morning has been, but pancakes are pancakes. I’ll take them while I can.
Lydia and Elise join us a few minutes later, the former taking over my batter mixing and tutting at the too thin concoction, whispering that her granny would roll over in her grave if she saw her using a premade mix.
Soon the smell of sizzling pancakes fills the space. Erik stays quiet at the table, watching us work in the kitchen, directing me where to find the artificial syrup, another thing that makes Lydia clutch her chest. I spy him sneaking glances at Cat every fewseconds though, and I’d bet money if I had any that she knows exactly what he’s doing.
At the first bite of warm, syrup-drenched pancake, I close my eyes and chew, savoring the flavor. Even made with lumpy box mix, they taste better than anything I’ve eaten in weeks.
I can almost imagine mom in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, her huge electric griddle spitting as she pours homemade pancake batter onto it, perfectly circular. Bacon sizzling in a frying pan on the stove, getting extra crispy, how we all like it. She chugs coffee with French vanilla creamer out of her Snoopy mug, grumbling that she can’t wait until Mother’s Day, when she can be the one getting served breakfast.
I’d serve her a million pancakes in bed if it meant I’d get to see her again.
Before I know it, I’ve cleared my plate and chugged my entire glass of water. When I look up, I notice Erik staring at me. He rubs his stubbled chin and asks, “What’s your deal?”
I glance side to side where Cat, Lydia, and Elise have gone quiet before responding. “What do you mean?”
He leans his forearms on the table, tilting his head as if it’ll help him get a better look at me. He points to Lydia. “She’s the mom.” Then Elise. “Junkie.” And finally to Cat. “And what is it that he calls you? The mouthy one?” He smirks as Cat glares at him. “What’s your whole thing?”
“She’s the newbie,” Cat says through a mouthful of pancake.
“Nah,” Erik says. “Not anymore, from what I’ve been told.”
“What have you been told?” I ask, although I’m not sure I want to know.
He shrugs and scrapes his fork along the edge of his plate. “Enough.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and shrug. “I’m nothing special. Just a girl… A girl who wants to go home.”
My words seem to break whatever happy illusion bubble we were momentarily visiting. Erik’s eyes narrow as he says, “Well, ‘just a girl,’ I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re never going home. Not after what I found out this morning.”
The pancakes sit heavy in my gut.
“The fuck does that mean?” Cat asks, her voice sharp. She looks taken aback, betrayed.
