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“A little.’’ I tried to give him a smile, though it likely came out as a grimace.
He gave me a blank stare and, soon enough, was out of sight. I released a deep breath I’d been holding in since I noticed him standing in the doorway.
Should I address this? What was even the best way to start talking about this?
Without thinking about it too deeply, I walked towards the kitchen, just in time to see him putting pasta in boiling water. My stomach made an ugly sound, alerting Micah of my presence. He only gave me a glance over the shoulder before returning to the task in hand.
His back was turned to me, so all I could see was that he had an apron, and that made him look extra good.
I shook my head, trying to push all the disturbing and twisted thoughts to the back of my head. As I took a few steps forward, I was careful not to disturb his peace. Yet, this awful silence was piercing through me, and it made me uneasy.
I cleared my throat.
‘‘Is there anything I could do to help?’’ I offered, thinking he’d be kind enough to decline. Truth be told, I was starving, and in no position to make anything to eat.
Micah picked up a big kitchen knife, pulled out a chopping board and put it aside. Motioning with his head for me to take my stand, he replied, ‘‘You can chop the vegetables.’’
I groaned.
Without asking anything else, I silently complied. The onion made me cry, my eyes burning. However, it was only an onion. I was determined to slice it into the smallest pieces without giving up, or even worse, asking for his help.
As soon as he took the diced onion and put it in the pan, I stared at the sharp knife in my hand, the reflection of my face clear. I saw Micah, too. He was too busy chopping meat to even glance my way.
I moved on to the rest of the vegetables and did my share of the work in silence. It was uncomfortable, and although I’d found out some parts of his past, I was still on alert. Those bastards that hurt his sister deserved it, but Jack and his sons at the gas station didn’t.
That only brought too many new, unanswered questions.
Clearly, he was comfortable with murder, and having blood on his hands. So, how many people had he killed? People that got in his way, that were innocent? Were the three men at the gas station his first?
Then, I remembered the way he escaped.
Micah killed prison guards.
And that answered my questions.
‘‘Are you done?’’
So much for being on alert.
I didn’t expect him to speak, and it made me jolt. I dropped the knife, but was able to move my feet just in time. I wasn’t sure if a toe or two would’ve ended up missing, but right now, I was thankful for the quick reflex.
We bent down to pick up the knife at the same time, but I was faster. I gripped the handle tightly, noticing my expression in the reflection. My brows were knitted together, lips thinned into a line.
A lopsided smile coated Micah’s face, one of his brows raising. I couldn’t tell whether it was in amusement or surprise, but the expression wasn’t there long enough for me to try to figure out.
‘‘Be careful,’’ his deep voice rang in my ears. The simple words seemed like an indirect threat. ‘‘We wouldn’t want you cutting yourself, would we?’’
Why the fuck was he speaking like that? Was he trying to be cryptic, tell me a hidden message or was he simply fucking around, trying to mess with my head?
I clenched my jaw. ‘‘Of course.’’
I rose back to my feet, knife still safely in my hands.
Micah took a step closer to me. Instinctively, I took one step backward until my back hit the kitchen island, right where I’d been chopping vegetables a moment ago.
I gulped, swallowing harshly at the sight of his face too close in my personal space.
My hand was on the island, still holding the knife. I glanced around briefly, trying to make an exit, but then he took another step toward me, and I could no longer see beyond him.
