Page 608 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Come and eat.”
He turns around and strides to the kitchen, expecting me to follow.
Come and eat.
Sure—enjoy a meal with the man holding me prisoner—that’s not foolish. I roll my eyes at the absurdity. The situation's so ridiculous it's almost impossible to believe. But here I am.Shaking, panting, and starving. My stomach burns, and I know Pete’s dying too. I can't formulate a new plan while I’m this feeble, so maybe I'll play along just to buy some time.
I push off my butt and grab the poker from the tile, ashamed of making a mess. Too much time living in filth turns you one of two ways I always analyzed—a slob or a clean freak. I'm practically obsessive in my desire for neatness, striving to be the exact opposite of my mother. Incapable of leaving the previously tidy space in disarray, I replace the rod in the stand on the hearth and straighten the thick sheers I twisted up. Of course, I'm stalling to admit defeat or join him in the kitchen. If I had the energy, I'd slap my own self. Now I've stupidly wasted too much effort on a fruitless mission that was never going to work. I need to be smarter about this.
Pete pushes up against my thigh. The smell of something fabulous wafts to my nose too. "I know buddy. I know."
Nuzzling the fur around his ears, I hug him like the best friend he is and promise him I'll figure this out for both of us. He won’t have to suffer anymore because of me.
The man doesn't look up from his sandwich building when we walk into the kitchen. He layers thick slices of roast beef and provolone cheese on dense multi-grain bread. Even from ten feet away I can tell this is the good stuff, displaying once again how rich he is. They’re not thin, dinky slices from plastic wrappers, rather real meat from a roaster, homemade bread, and fragrant horseradish in a white bowl instead of a yellow bottle of plain mustard.
"Mrs. Zirkelbach, my housekeeper, is an excellent cook." He glances at the black and silver watch on his wrist, which probably cost more than most people's cars, and chuckles. "Even if dinner's at three a.m."
Three a.m.
It was only about nine when I went outside to sit on Devin's porch. I was unconscious for a long time. I touch the small bump on my neck from the needle. A weird contrast that he sedated me against my will but he also waited to eat until I was awake, until he knew I was all right. Although I shouldn't care, I do. For a girl used to eating alone even in a room full of people, the gesture pleases me.
No. I'm being foolish. He wasn't concerned for me. He just wanted to interrogate me, and now he's stuck with me. Worse, I’m stuck with him. “I don’t want to eat with you. I just want to leave.”
“Noted.” He continues building a masterpiece adding lettuce and tomatoes between the layers. “Then I hope you don’t find me rude but I’m not going to stop.”
Rude is the least of his flaws. Pete whines when the guy glides onto one of the stools and takes a huge bite. My dog’s no fool—he knows what we’re missing out on by me refusing to eat. I can’t be unfair to him when there probably isn’t any harm in giving him a few bites. “Fine. I’ll join you.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t gloat at my surrender. Even more shocking, he tears off some of the meat and throws the bites in the air for Pete to catch when I go to wash my hands. Not a single crumb hits the floor. Pete really is ravenous, which crushes me to my soul that I’ve let him down and this man is the one to rescue him. I don’t like being beholden to anyone, especially a bully. I throw the towel on the white countertop. “This makes no sense. You killed a man and kidnapped me—threatened to torture me—and now you want to sit around eating dinner like all of that is no big deal.”
“You’re not sitting or eating.”
His infuriating chuckle irritates me even more than his teasing. I have to act like he doesn’t bother me. I’ll never let him think he’s won. I’m doing this for Pete. I grab a plate andduplicate his sandwich. A cold, wet nose nudges my knee looking for more, and I give him first dibs, which he gulps down without chewing. “He needs some water too.”
The guy nods toward the cabinet to the right of the oven. “In there. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
His manners are unnerving. How can a crime lord be so polite? Maybe if I am too, I’ll be able to talk myself out of here. “Thank you.”
With at least twenty sizes and styles of bowls to choose from, I rummage through the stacks and pick a large stainless-steel one to carry to the faucet. Bigger than he needs but less likely to splash over the sides like he does when he’s really thirsty.
“I wasn’t ever going to let my guys torture you. I don’t hurt women.”
Confirming I’m listening to his unexpected admission, I pause from flipping the sink handle. I want to hear the rest of his confession.
“Your dumb ass friend tried to double cross me with some low-level thug who thought he could challenge me. I can’t tolerate that shit because it’ll start a war if people think I’m weak. Ending him just saved a whole bunch of people so it was well worth the collateral damage.”
The rationale makes sense when his justification shouldn’t. “Or you could just stop doing illegal stuff all together. Then you wouldn’t have to kill or torture anyone at all.”
His spontaneous laugh, deep and sexy, warms me in ways his elation shouldn’t. Rarely do I hear anyone laugh with genuine humor anymore. I can’t help but grin a little myself.
He’s still chuckling when I sit down at the table rather than the island near him. I can’t risk getting too close. Besides Pete keeps me company, sitting at my feet with his gaze fixed on my food. We alternate bites, which prevents me from eating too fast, despite how much I want to shovel in the sandwich. I’ve madethat mistake before and don’t want everything coming back up again.
This boss man frowns at me. I’m not sure why. He fed Pete too, so I doubt he cares about me giving him table scraps. He sighs and slides out his phone, nimble fingers gliding over the screen. Just as I was starting to relax, he confuses me again. Heavy footsteps head our way, making me realize I’ve somehow fucked up. I toss down my crust and hop up. Ready to fight whatever attack he or his goons want to try.
CHAPTER FOUR
Titan
There’s absolutely no doubt she loves that dog. She won’t even eat her sandwich without sharing half with him. With her unwavering selflessness, she hurts herself for no reason. I have to prove I’ll take care of Pete too. I slide out my phone and text Hull to bring in the dog food I sent Jeremiah to buy. Not that I care if Pete eats the same stuff as us, but I don’t want him hurling from too much variety.
