by Bella King
“Come, let’s eat. I’m pretty hungry,” he says, motioning toward the kitchen with his head.
I rush after him. I don’t need to be told twice to get my food. He’s the one who might need to be reminded. If he doesn’t eat quickly, I might steal all of it.
“I hope you don’t mind the microwave,” he says, pulling a few cartons from the fridge with red Chinese lettering on them.
“Honestly, I’m just happy to eat. I’d eat that stuff cold,” I say, sliding into a seat at the small wooden table in the kitchen.
He chuckles. “We’re going to have a nice warm meal before bed. We can save the cold food for dessert.”
I perk up. “Dessert?”
“Yeah, there’s ice cream in the fridge.”
“What kind?” I ask, already fantasizing about milk and sugar across my tongue.
“Peach,” he replies. “I like peach.”
“I like everything,” I say, nearly jumping out of my seat. I want to run to the freezer and scarf down everything in it, but I force myself to stay still. I don’t want to act like an animal in front of Zeno. He might think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am crazy. The streets get in your head after a while. I’ve seen people attack each other over meaningless junk, but then again, regular people do the same thing. People, in general, are just crazy.
Then why does Zeno seem so normal? It’s as comforting as it is unsettling. Watching him place the food into the microwave, patiently pressing the buttons, and standing there with his large hands on his narrow hips while he waits for the timer to go off – It feels like a dream.
“Do you like broccoli?” he asks, turning around with two steaming containers of food in either hand.
“I like everything,” I remind him.
“Good, then you can have the broccoli one,” he says, “because I don’t like it.”
The second the food hits the table in front of me, I’m shoveling it into my mouth with my fingers, burning the tips of them while searing the roof of my mouth. I don’t care, as long as I get food in my belly. It tastes so fucking good.
“Woah, maybe use a fork,” he says, turning around and coming back a moment later with a long silver fork.
I’m already finished with my food, but I take the fork and use it to get the last grains of rice from the bottom of the container.
“Jesus, you’re a hungry one,” he says.
I nod. “I don’t get fed often enough.”
“We’ll fatten you up, don’t worry,” he says.
“I knew there was a catch to all this,” I say, raising a finger. “You’re planning to eat me.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “Who told you?”
Something about the way he says the words sends a chill through me, simultaneously lighting something up in my lower stomach. That’s not from the food, and if I didn’t know better, I’d even go as far as to say that it has nothing to do with fear.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Zeno says, keep his voice low but intense. “I won’t eat you unless you want me to.”
“You’re teasing me,” I say, trying to force a laugh. “You wouldn’t actually do that.”
“Well, not in the literal sense, no,” he says.
“You can figuratively eat someone?” I ask, growing curious.
He scoops a forkful of brown rice out of his bowl, holding it to his lips as he speaks. “Sexually.”
“Oh,” I say, heat rising to my cheeks. That little glimmering light in my stomach is back at his suggestive words. Why would he say something like that to me? I have no intention of fucking him just because he rescued me. Is that what this is all about?
I swallow hard, trying to reason in my head what I’m going to say without looking like a fool. Jesus, I shouldn’t want to have anything to do with this guy, but I’ll admit that his words spark curious arousal in me.
“I’m just joking, but the way. I don’t want to freak you out,” he says, clearly noticing the redness in my cheeks.
“I’m not freaked out,” I reply, but I most definitely am. I just don’t like showing weakness.
He shrugs. “It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not,” I insist.
“Go get some ice cream,” he says, motioning toward the fridge with his head. “And let me eat. I feel like you’re going to steal my food with the way you’re looking at it.”
I jump out of my chair, rushing to the fridge and tearing open the freezer. Inside is an unopened gallon of peach ice cream.
This guy is serious about his sweets.
I pull it out and bring it to the table with an oversized spoon.
“I trust you’ll save some of that for me,” Zeno says as I rip the lid off.
“Unlikely,” I reply with a smirk.
“Maybe I will have to eat you.”
I glance up at him. “Sexually?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he replies.
“I wouldn’t let you,” I say. “I’ve never even done that kind of thing before.”
“I figured,” he says. “You’re too innocent.”
I scoop the largest amount of ice cream out of the plastic tub that the spoon can hold. “I’m not innocent, just inexperienced in some areas.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” I say, feeling defensive. “Nothing wrong at all.”
I then proceed to inhale half the tub of ice cream in front of Zeno, feeling like I’m performing a circus feat for him as I see how much cream and sugar I can fit into my small stomach. As it turns out, it’s not all that much. I feel a little sick by the time I tap out.
“Impressive,” he says, leaning over the table as I fall back into my seat, spoon handing to the side in my limp hand.
“I’m tired,” I say, barely able to get the words out with how sleepy I’ve become. Food does that to me.
“You can sleep in the same room as your shower. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Can I go now?”
“Nobody is stopping you,” he says, waving at the door. “I’m going to finish my food. If you wake up before me, there’s instant coffee in the cabinet above the stove.”
I give him a thumbs up and waddle out of the kitchen, holding my stomach in one hand as I make my retreat to the bedroom. I haven’t eaten like this in ages, and now all I want to do is curl up in the safety of a real bed and fall asleep forever. Hell, I wouldn’t even be pressed if I never woke up.
Chapter Eleven
Zeno
How the hell am I going to marry a young woman like Alexia? She’s too innocent, too pure, and too much of a sweetheart for me to want to screw over like this.
But there’s something inside of me, whether it be greed, lust, or both, that urges me to go through with it. She’s the perfect target, and not to mention, physically stunning. I wonder how long it will take the break her from her shell and make her mine. When it finally happens, I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll have to have her.
Boris is already blowing up my phone, asking a million and one questions about Alexia and whether I completed the mission. Is she ready to marry me yet? Have I fucked her good and hard?
Jesus, the man is a moron. I punch in a message on my phone to him, telling him to chill the fuck out while this goes down. It’ll be weeks before we even carry out the rest of the plan. I have to get her in the right position before I can go through with the rest of the plan, and that takes time.
The second Boris gets my message, the phone starts buzzing in my hand. Alexia is already in her bedroom, door shut and locked to keep my scary Russian ass out. I suppose I could take this call upstairs and not risk disturbing Alexia.
I get up from my set, leaving the ice cream sitting on the table as I make my way up the narrow creaking staircase. Alexia was right about this house. It was abandoned before I rented it, and before that, it was used as a crack house.
The phone buzzes with quiet desperation as I
take my time going up the stairs. I know that Boris will wait until the last tone, drumming his thick fingers on his desk as he curses under his breath for me being so slow. I don’t really care.
Once I’m satisfied that I’m far enough away from Alexia for her not to hear me, I dip into the bathroom connected to my bedroom and accept the call, locking myself in to further muffle my voice.
“Did you get the bitch or what?” Boris hisses through the phone.
I turn the volume down a few notches and press it against my ear. “Alexia is in her room, sleeping like an angel.”
“She escaped?!”
I roll my eyes. “Boris, did you not hear me? I put her in one of the bedrooms in the house, and she’s asleep.”
“I thought you were talking about her own bedroom.”
“She’s homeless,” I reply dryly.
“Not anymore,” Boris says with a chuckle. “I hope you cuffed her to the bed, or she’s going to jump out the window when you’re sleeping.”
“I doubt that,” I reply, but he has a point. I’m going to have to get up much earlier than Alexia to make sure she doesn’t try to make off while the sun is still rising. She’s unpredictable.
“Don’t lose this one, man. She’s going to make us a fortune,” Boris says, his voice sticky with greed and excitement.
I can’t say I don’t understand where he’s coming from. I’m going to make even more from this than he is, but I still don’t like the way he’s talking about Alexia, like she’s some kind of trash that we can use and dispose of when we’re ready. There’s more to her than that.
I lower my voice. “Let me take care of the girl. Just stay back, and I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“I could have someone from the courts at the house tomorrow, and I promise this guy isn’t going to care whether she’s willing to sign the marriage papers or not,” he says.
“I already told you how I was going to do this,” I growl. “Don’t fucking stick your head into my business.”
“I’m helping you. The girl was my target, anyway. I could hire someone else.”
I laugh bitterly. “Anyone you hire would screw this shit up, and you know it. Besides, unless you want me to pump your guts full of bullets, you’ll stay away from the house and let me conduct my business in peace.”
“Jesus, man. You need to chill out. Maybe we could get a drink later this week.”
“No,” I reply. “I’ll be busy.”
“Busy with Alexia?”
“Busy with the mission. As I said, I’ll take care of this, and when she’s ready, I’m going to be the one who pulls the trigger. Do you understand?”
“Whatever,” he grumbles.
“Anything else?” I ask, keeping my words razor sharp.
“No,” he replies. “I just wanted to know about the girl.”
“And now you do, so don’t call me again for at least a couple of days. Let me take care of this.”
“Fine.”
I hang up the phone, thoroughly annoyed with the way Boris is behaving. I swear to god, nobody in the mafia knows how to handle sensitive missions correctly. They move too fast, get too cocky, and end up losing their target or getting their head blown off. It’s a wonder that Boris is still alive with how eager he is to move forward without taking the necessary precautions.
I shake my head and mutter a choice string of profanity aimed at him before leaving the bathroom. My bed is inviting, but for some reason, I find myself thinking about how nice it would be to share a bed with Alexia. I should’ve told her that we only had one.
Silly.
I want her to trust me, and she won’t if I start to play too many games with her. The seduction has to be slow and intentional, slowly pulling her toward me until she’s unable to stop herself from throwing that divine body at me and riding my cock all night. I’ll pump her full of my seed and ask her to marry me right after. She’ll be too caught up in her emotions to say no.
I hope it will be that easy, but things never are. I’ll be lucky to get her to loosen up enough to come to California with me. It helps that she’s reliant on me for food and shelter. That gives me the upper hand.
There will be no pressure, and I’ll have full legality when she signs those marriage papers. I want her pretty face beaming up at me as she puts her name on that death warrant. In a sick way, that amuses me. I feel no pleasure in it, but there is some sort of morbid satisfaction in knowing her fate long before she does.
I’ll make it quick for her because she’s sweet. Even if I wasn’t quick, she’d still be spared the suffering I’ve put some men through. I have plenty of experience in killing people, and there have been times when the death at my hands was more about inflicting pain than the final bullet to the brain.
I remove my shirt, ready to slip into my bed and catch some Z’s before morning, but I have the urge to check on Alexia before that. Boris snapped me out of the weird daze that Alexia put me in and reminded me that she might try to flee in the night. I shouldn’t put it past her.
The stairs creak, even with my best efforts not to make any noise, but I manage to make it down to Alexia’s bedroom without making enough noise to wake her up. There’s no sound from her room, and she’s probably sleeping like a brick from how much food she ate.
I let a few minutes tick by, taking the master key out of my pocket and slipping it into the lock only once I’m confident that she’s asleep. The old rusted springs in the doorknob creak, but not as loudly as the stairs.
I crane my neck, looking toward the bed where I expect to see Alexia’s body curled up under the sheets. My heart skips a beat when I realize that the bed is empty.
She’s gone!
Prickles overtake my skin as I look toward the window. The panic rising in my throat drops like a stone when I see that it’s closed. Is she still in the room? Perhaps she decided she felt safer sleeping in the bathroom.
No, I realize where she is as I’m about to take a step into the room and blow my cover. The corner of the comforter sticks out from under the bed, and upon lowering my head, I can see the shape of Alexia’s small feet beneath it. She’s sleeping under the bed.
Cute.
Now I don’t have to explain to Boris how I let her escape just moments after telling him that I had her under control. I breathe a sigh of relief and close the door. The plan is still in motion.
I lock the door with the master key and trudge back up the stairs, taking less effort to be quiet this time. I’m ready for bed.
Chapter Twelve
Alexia
My head hits against the coiled springs on the bottom of the bed as I lift my head. I forgot where I was for a moment.
A pool of white sunlight illuminates the dusty hardwood floor outside the tight comfort under the bed. I slide myself out, brushing the dust and crushed insects off my oversized sweater and pants. I managed to survive the night, and what’s more, I slept through the entire thing without waking up. It’s much easier to sleep on a full stomach.
I must’ve been asleep for a long time, because it looks like it’s well into morning outside, possibly even creeping into midday. I straighten myself up, popping the joints in my spine with the backs of my hands before stepping into the pool of sunlight.
It’s so warm against my body, such a difference from the brutal chill that I’ve grown used to during the night. I’m tempted never to leave this house. I could ask Zeno to bring me food and more of that peach ice cream, and I’d just live here forever, safe from the rest of the world.
I stretch in the sun, appreciating the warm light on my bare skin as my sweater lifts up. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do today, but if Zeno plans to take me to California in a few days like he says he will, then I’m probably not going to be wandering off anywhere.
A knock on my door jars me out of my state of foggy relaxation, pushing me back into the harsh alertness that I’m used to. Even if it is just Zeno, I don’t know him well enough to instill th
at level of trust in him. I’m on guard at all times when he’s around.
I creep toward the door, being as silent as I can before unlocking it and opening it just far enough to see Zeno’s tall body blocking out the light on the other side.
“Do you want to come with me and get some breakfast?” he asks.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Through the drive-through or something. Maybe we could get you some proper clothes too.”
I swing the door open, confronting him openly. “Are you trying to adopt me or something? You know, I’m an adult.”
He laughs. “I know, Alexia. I’m helping you out because I’m a decent human being. Is that hard to believe?”
“Yes, actually,” I reply.
He shrugs off my accusations and turns around. “Let’s get something greasy. I’ve been eating those little chopped up fruit packages from the grocery store, and they’re not really hitting the spot anymore.”
I step out of my room, following behind him as though his body were my shield against the horrors that might lay beyond it. I’m not sure if I feel safe with Zeno, but I sure as hell don’t feel safe without him.
“Can we buy a jacket?” I ask, coming to a stop at the door.
“Of course, but you probably won’t need a thick one down south,” he replies, slipping his shoes on and turning to me. “Are you ready, or do you want to take a shower or something?”
“I think I scrubbed all my damn skin off last night,” I say with a chuckle. “I’ll take one when we’re back.”
“Great, then take these socks.” He tosses me a pair of his work socks. “And we’ll get out of here.”
Clean socks. Of all the things that I craved while I was homeless, clean socks trumped everything. Nobody thinks about it until they’re standing in a week’s worth of sweat, trying not to freeze while cold air blows through their shoes. I bet my feet smelled rancid when I arrived here last night, but Zeno hasn’t said a word about it. I feel like if he were some sort of creep, he wouldn’t be so polite.
