by Nikki Chase
“You know what?” I look at Alejandra. “I don’t care. Technology is just not my thing, and I’m okay with that. It always seems to bother the people around me, though.”
“Okay, I’ll consider you taught. I just can’t anymore,” she says as she raises both her hands up in defeat.
I laugh. I’m not actually mad. I really am used to this. Kitchen banter can sometimes get pretty mean, and I’ve developed a thick skin to adapt.
I know Alejandra doesn’t mean to insult me; she’s just frustrated. Just like many other people who have tried to teach me various cooking softwares over the years.
If anything, this whole scene in the kitchen makes me happy. For a moment, I forget about Seth, or about the fact that I’m being held against my will here. All that matters is the kitchen, the people in it, and the food we’re making.
This is nice. This feels familiar. It comforts me. After just one week, I can’t stay away from the kitchen anymore. I guess my cooking strike hurt me more than it did Seth.
Ana says something in Spanish to Alejandra, making her nod and shrug as they both look at me.
“What is it?” I ask.
I’ve worked in several multicultural kitchens, and I’ve been shut out of conversations in various foreign languages.
Now, I don’t feel shy about just asking for a translation. Most of the time, they don’t realize how uncomfortable it is for the person who doesn’t understand the language.
Alejandra hesitates, then she says, “Ana says you also don’t have her horrible nightmares and…baggage.” She smiles politely, like she’s uncomfortable with where the conversation is going, which only makes me want to find out more.
“The nightmares, they started long ago?” I ask Ana.
She nods. “Yes, years ago.”
“They’re just bad dreams,” Alejandra says with that same stiff smile on her pretty face. “So now that you know how to use the software, I’ll just leave it here in the kitchen and you can make your own orders every morning.”
“Okey-dokey,” I say.
“Great. Now, I have some other things to take care of, so I’ll leave you to it,” Alejandra says.
“Cool.” I give her a smile.
Of course Alejandra has other things to do. She’s always so busy. As she walks away, her four-inch heels click noisily against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the space. It occurs to me that she can never sneak up on anyone, wearing those ridiculous heels.
“Have you started the coffee, Ana?” I ask. We were in the middle of preparing breakfast when Alejandra came in with the tablet.
“I’ll do that now.” She grabs the container of coffee beans and opens it, letting the refreshing scent fill the kitchen.
“You don’t have nightmares every night, do you?” I ask as Ana scoops the coffee beans into the machine and turns it on.
I open the fridge, pretending to look inside, while I peer at her over the fridge door. There are so many things I don’t know, and Ana seems to be the person to ask, seeing as she doesn’t mind my questions as much as Seth or Alejandra.
The only barrier between us is the language, and I guess that’s why nobody’s worried about Ana saying too much to me. But she actually understands most of the things I say, judging by how well she follows my directions.
She uses simple words, but she has enough vocabulary for us to discuss ingredients and cooking directions. It remains to be seen if she’s fluent enough to talk about abstract, emotional stuff.
“No. Sorry, I was loud last night?”
“No, no. You didn’t make a sound last night. That’s why I asked.”
Ana grows quiet as she coaxes the coffee machine to life. I wonder what kind of a life she has led, to end up so young and so alone in a foreign country. She can’t be much older than twenty.
“What are your nightmares about, if you don’t mind me asking?” I grab a couple of bagels from the bread box on top of the counter and turn on the toaster oven.
I don’t usually like toasting bagels, but I’m also used to getting good, freshly baked bagels in the city. Here, where I’m reduced to getting grocery-store bagels, I have to improvise. Toasting is necessary to make these subpar bagels taste decent.
“Bad men chasing me,” Ana says. She’s done with the coffee machine now, and she leans back on the cabinet with her hands on the counter and her eyes looking far into the distance.
“Are these real men? Like, are they really from your past? You didn’t just dream them up?”
“No, I am not scared of fake men,” she says with a smile. “They are real. Real bad men.”
“Why are they bad? Did they do bad things to you?” I put the bagels I was slicing down on the cutting board and give Ana my full attention.
I feel like I’m prying, but Ana and I have spent some time together. Surely it’s okay to start talking about something personal? She could give me some clues about why I’m really here and help me solve some of the mysteries.
“Very bad,” Ana says, widening her eyes. “They hit me, and kick me.”
“God, I’m so sorry that happened to you, Ana.” I sidle closer to Ana and rub her arm.
“It’s okay. I’m okay now.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Ana looks down at her own feet. Softly, she says, “They kick my stomach and kill my baby.”
I pull Ana into a hug, unable to come up with words comforting enough to say out loud.
So they forced her to have sex, they forced her to get pregnant, and then they forced her body to abort the fetus? Jesus, who are these people who’d do all those things to such a sweet young girl?
“I also dream about dirty house. No floor. Dirty toilets,” she continues.
“Is that where you used to live, where the bad men kept you?”
“Yes,” she says softly.
“Where was this? In the U.S.?”
“Yes. California.”
I can’t imagine a house that fits that description to meet the building codes. If it has no floor, it sounds more like a shack than a house. And dirty toilets? I wonder if she means there’s no running water, because that would be vile.
“It’s okay,” Ana says as she pulls away from the hug. “I’m okay now. Only bad dreams.”
“Yeah, they’re only dreams now. You’re right.” I smile back at Ana, agreeing with her, even though in my mind I wonder if she’s truly free when her past still plagues her in the night.
I want to ask why she didn’t just run away, but that would be silly. She could ask me the same question.
She’s talking about violent men. They probably had tight security. They also don’t sound like the kind of people who’d just forgive her for trying to escape. It’s easy to imagine that they’d hit her or worse if she ever ran away and got caught.
“It’s not the same, Alice,” Ana says, her eyes staring straight at me with lucidity. We’re using simple words, but I feel like she really understands me, in this moment. She continues, “Not the same. The bad men and Seth. Different.”
“Yeah, I know Seth treats me well, but he’s still keeping me here against my will, Ana. There’s no excuse for that.” I go back to my cutting board.
“He protects you,” Ana says.
“Yes, so everyone tells me. But I don’t feel like I’m in any danger. In fact, Seth is about the only dangerous thing in my life right now.” I finish slicing the bagel into halves and place them inside the toaster oven.
“Because Seth protects you. Like he protects me. He saves me,” Ana says, her gaze fixed on my face.
“Are you saying, he’s the one who saved you from the bad men?”
“Yes,” she says.
I furrow my brows. Could I be completely wrong in my judgment of Seth’s character, or is Ana just another employee who’d do and say whatever Seth wants her to?
Alice
I bring out the bagels on two separate plates and place them on the long dining table, where Seth and I had t
hat first omelette breakfast together.
It’s not just the menu that has changed since then. Everything has.
It’s crazy that I’m still basically spending my days doing the same things I used to do, and yet I feel completely different from how I used to feel. I can’t even believe it has only been a little over two weeks since I moved in.
Technically, Seth is still enjoying my professional services, even if I no longer consider myself his personal chef. Everything is still basically the same for him. It annoys me, but I can’t stand another day of complete and utter idleness.
This way, at least I have other things to think about, other than my captivity.
Like when I opened the fridge this morning, for example.
I saw the package of lox I had ordered last week, when I still thought this was my job. I also found some cream cheese in the fridge so when I saw the bagels, I knew what I was going to make.
Then I rummaged through the produce and found some red onions and tomatoes. It was perfect. Or almost perfect—I just couldn’t find any capers.
In that moment, my focus was on preparing food. I was in my element.
I love coming up with something on the spot with whatever is available; it forces me to be creative and there’s no telling what I’m going to end up with. It always feels like everything just falls into place when I get that spark of ideas.
Okay, so my focus wasn’t completely on the breakfast. I did pry into Ana’s life a little. I asked her some pretty intrusive questions.
She was nice enough to try to answer everything with her limited English. But as soon as I started to ask for details, she couldn’t understand my questions, or she couldn’t think of the right words to convey what she wanted to say.
“You’re not wearing the uniform,” a deep voice says from the doorway, making me jump from the shock.
“I told you. I’m not your chef anymore,” I say as I put the mugs of coffee down on coasters. I don’t want to damage the grain on this beautiful wooden table. “And don’t surprise me like that. I almost spilled the coffee.”
“You’re going to wear the uniform tomorrow, or you won’t be allowed in the kitchen,” he says.
With defiance, I take a seat at the head of the table without waiting for him, making it clear I’m still going to do whatever I want. Just because I’m cooking for him doesn’t mean I’m happy with how things are.
Without acknowledging that anything is out of the ordinary, Seth pulls out the chair to the right of me, where I’ve placed his bagel and coffee. He picks up the mug with one hand and peers inside. He asks, “Black?”
“Of course.”
“I see you didn’t even bring out milk, creamer, or sugar.”
“Nope.” I take a bite of the bagel. It tastes good. Could be better, if I had capers and better bagels, but this is acceptable.
“How did you know I wouldn’t need them? I’ve never ordered coffee at The Local.”
“You are the coffee that you drink. And you’re black and bitter inside,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
Seth laughs, making lines appear around his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes look dazzling this morning, especially when the sun hits them at just the right angle.
To be honest, I gave him black coffee because it’s what I drink. It just so happens that he and I have similar tastes. It’s easy for me to come up with something he likes, because that usually turns out to be something that I like, as well.
I prefer minimal frills. Just good, fresh ingredients, prepared the right way. And apparently, that’s what Seth likes, too. I can see it in the design of this mansion, with its clean lines and lack of clutter.
“Baby, you have no idea what someone with a real black, bitter heart is like if you think I’m like that,” Seth says.
He picks up one half of the bagel with his hand, balancing it carefully to keep the toppings in place. He takes a big bite, and I steal a glance at him to see if he likes it. I hate to admit it, but I care about his opinion.
“This is really good,” he says.
“It could be better if I had capers and fresh bagels.” I go on to tell him how I came up with this morning’s breakfast menu, forgetting that I’m supposed to hate him.
He listens to me intently, like I’m talking about the most interesting thing in the world. Most people—even Emily—would’ve tuned out after I started saying more than two sentences about why I chose this particular brand of lox.
How could I continue to ignore Seth? I enjoy our conversations too much. And my body never fails to remind me of how irresistibly hot he is. Whenever he’s around, it’s like every muscle in my body is drawn to him.
I find myself inexplicably drawn to him, to the point where I want to believe his story about keeping me here for my own safety.
But it’s just so implausible, you know? I mean, I’m a nobody. Why would people want to hurt me?
On the other hand, Ana is just a harmless, innocent girl, and they put her through hell. She told me she’s seeing a shrink and she’s healing but, damn, I wonder if she can fully recover from an event that traumatic.
I wonder if this has anything to do with the prison program, where I first met Seth. Maybe one of the inmates thinks I suck at teaching. Or maybe he caught food poisoning from something I made and still hates me for it.
Ugh, I don’t know. All those scenarios sound ridiculous. I can’t think of any good reason why someone would be so determined to hurt me, I’d need special protection.
Maybe those people are as deranged as Seth says they are. Or maybe I’m just doing mental gymnastics because I want an excuse to give in to this magnetic pull between Seth and me.
“What are you thinking about?” Seth asks, breaking the silence.
We’ve been eating quietly for a while as my thoughts come back with a vengeance. I suppressed them to focus on food prep earlier, but now I can’t help zoning out and thinking about my plight.
I hesitate, but I have to ask.
I inhale deeply to prepare myself.
“The Local wasn’t where we first met, was it?” I softly ask, lifting my gaze to meet his.
“No,” he says. At least he’s honest.
“We met way before that, didn’t we?”
“Yes.”
“In prison.”
“Yes.”
I already expected his answer. But it still surprises me that he’d actually tell me the truth—and so easily, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When?” It’s his turn to ask a question, apparently.
“What do you mean, when? You had plenty of time. Years and years of time, to tell me.”
“It never seemed like the right time,” he says.
“And you’re the one who gets to decide when the right time is, correct?”
“Yes,” he admits.
“Figures.”
“I don’t expect you to understand, but there are rules I need to follow. If I fail, it could mean the difference between life and death.”
“For whom? For you?”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“For girls like Ana?”
Surprise registers in his eyes, although he blinks it away immediately. “Did she tell you?”
“How else would I know?”
“You don’t have to know. These things, they eat at you, turn you into a different person.” Seth places his forearms on the table and leans closer. He puts his palm on my cheek. “You don’t have to know these things, my angel.”
I look into Seth’s eyes, blue and deep like the ocean. I have no idea what monsters lurk just beneath the calm surface, but it’s drawing me in. A little voice in my head tells me it’s a bad idea to dive in, but I can’t help myself.
I close my eyes and nuzzle into Seth’s warm, comforting palm. He slides his hand over the back of my head and kisses me.
This kiss doesn’t start out sweet and tentative like it did on the balcony. The moment Seth’s lips touch mine, I lose my brea
th. He pulls me in, crushes my lips, and sweeps his tongue inside, sending pure pleasure straight to my core.
I hold on to his arms, feeling the hard ropes of muscles underneath the soft fabric of his designer suit.
I’ve always sensed something strange about Seth. He wears a Rolex and drives a Mercedes, but he’s rough around the edges, and now I know why. It was probably something he developed to survive in prison.
Seth gets up from his chair, tilting my head back as he steps closer and stands right by my chair. With no table between us, I feel exposed, even though I’m wearing my usual combo of dress pants and button-down shirt.
I can feel his hunger through the kiss. I can sense the primal need within him, reaching out toward me, pulling me under. I’m afraid I’ll lose my footing if I let go, and I don’t trust him to catch me.
I still have no idea what he really intends to do with me. For all I know, everything could’ve been part of a set-up he’s prepared for me, to lure me to his trap.
But I know my body wants him, and maybe that’s enough for now. It’s just a kiss, right?
“You’re such a sexy little thing,” Seth says when he pulls away, his eyes glinting wickedly, his breaths ragged.
“You’re trouble,” I reply.
“I am.” He smirks. He studies my face, making me feel naked, making me feel like he can penetrate my soul and see just how desperate I am for him.
Out of nowhere, his gaze darts toward something outside the window. I feel his arm muscles tense underneath his clothes. His eyes widen, his eyebrows raised.
“Don't move,” Seth says.
He rests his hand on my head, as if to shield me from whatever danger he's sensing.
Something is wrong.
Something is seriously wrong.
Seth
Damn it.
I need to alert Anthony, but I don't even have my phone with me to call him with. I didn't think they could get this close.
Although, thinking about it now, I may have been complacent. It has been so long since the last attack. We haven't changed things up for a while.
