Page 71 of Cry For Mercy

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ADAM

I grabbed my phone, and sent a quick text to Nige.

Me: Any word on who the body was yet?

The answer was almost instantaneous.

Nige: Too soon. Give it another day or so. In other news, the item has been extracted.

I frowned. What the fuck was he on about?

Me: What fucking item?

Nige: The one we sent a team for, dipshit. Keep your head in the game. Or are you high on pain meds right now?

Bastard always knew everything that was going on.

Me: Really nice guys you work for, mate. You wanna take a crack at me too?

Nige: Nah you’re really not my type.

I snorted.

Julie returned then, a tray with her, and on it, a bowl of something that smelled amazing. Some kind of stir fry with meat, peppers, and mushrooms, and my god, my stomach gurgled loudly at the thought of it.

“Sorry.” I took the tray as she leaned down with it. By that, I mean I tried to. Lifting my right arm made me curse, and she insisted on setting it on my lap herself.

“I made coffee too. Just a sec.” She disappeared again, and returned with two mugs in her hands.

No plate though. “Where’s yours?” I asked, having a flashback to the last time she fed me. She didn’t eat then either.

She smiled. “I ate first.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. Are you going to eat, Julie? I can’t if you won’t.”

She groaned. “I’ll eat after, I promise.”

“We’ll share this.” I said firmly, and she groaned. She pushed up from the sofa and left the room, and I just had to wait for her to return, because I couldn’t turn to watch her. And I really fucking wanted to.

Fuck Seb, and his bastard temper. I should be laying her down, and burying my damn cock in her, and instead, she’s having to nurse me, because I can’t move without help.

She returned with a bowl in her hand, and sat beside me. She’d not served herself a big enough meal, in my opinion, but it was a start.

We dug into our food, and fuck me… it was delicately spiced, and the pieces of pork were caramelised to perfection. Every bite was a fucking joy.

“Where did you learn to make this? It’s fucking gorgeous.” I muttered between mouthfuls. I watched her shrug those dainty shoulders again, as she set her own bowl aside, having only eaten half of it. Fucking hell.

“I watch cooking shows. It’s all out there to learn.”

It interested me that she hadn’t been taught by someone personal to her.

“You never mention your family. Do you have any?”

She groaned. “Nobody I want to talk about, no.”

I ate the last bite of my dinner. “And you’re going to finish your food, right?”

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