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"She's a girl, and girls have smarts," Knight said. "I'm sure she's got a plan."
"If she had a plan, she would've told us it from the start."
I ignored them as they continued to bicker, wandering the floor I was on, then headed towards the stairs.
Dante was right, it would take forever to find anything in a house this large. Fortunately for us, I had a better idea.
I walked down the stairs, and ambled around until I found the kitchen. The whole house was decorated with white marble, black framed masterpiece art on the walls, and bronze statues. It was all very sterile and impersonal.
The kitchen was a total contrast, the warmth in it almost at odds against the rest of the house. I could tell by the colorful back splash, intricately carved wooden cabinets, and the large, silver—and well used—stove, that Marisol had influenced the design of the place. I immediately knew I was on the right track.
Opening the refrigerator door, I began to pull stuff out. It was all random shit and had nothing to do with each other. Pickles, cheese, some green sauce, some red sauce…
“Mmm, I don’t know what this is all for but I'm in." Knight was immediately by my side, except he opened the freezer and pulled out some ice cream. “Reeces. My favorite.”
“I need something stronger to deal with you two.” Dante grunted, opening a cabinet to pull out some whiskey. “Told you she didn’t have a plan."
“Maybe she’s keeping it a secret. Women like to…”
If they’d bothered to ask, I would’ve told them my plan, but, since they didn’t, I kept my lips sealed. Ignoring them, I knocked around the kitchen as loudly as I could until, finally, Marisol came rambling in.
"Excuse me." Her eyes landed on me harshly, her hands on her hips. “How did you get out?” Then she took in Knight pulling a spoon out of the drawer, and Dante pouring his drink. Her throat bobbed, and she swallowed down the chastisement she was about to give me. "I see you're with Coulter's friends. That's okay then.”
“Mmhmm,” I just smiled at her, then began shoving everything back into the fridge.
Knight smiled, then walked over to Marisol, giving her a hug. "It's my favorite cook. Cómo estás?"
"Bien, bien," she nodded, biting down on her smile at Knight's compliment. Then she shook her finger at Knight. "You know I don't like it when you're in my kitchen."
Knight gave her a pouty look. “But I’m hungry."
“It’s because you smoke too much pot. It makes you hungry,” she pat his nonexistent belly, “going to make you fat."
He shook his head, “It won’t, but your cooking will." He bat his eyes at hers. “How about making some flan for me? You know it’s the best.”
She sighed loudly. "Fine, but you stay out of my kitchen, you hear? I will cook it for you tomorrow, I don’t have what I need tonight.”
Sighing loudly, I closed the fridge door. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not hungry after all.” Opening the cupboard Dante was just in, I grabbed a bottle of tequila and waved it at Marisol, batting my own eyelashes. “I’m going back to my prison. Walk me there to make sure I don’t run away?”
Seventeen
Three days.
Three days of nothing.
No word from Dante or Knight.
Plus, there was a tension between Marisol and me, because, I thought, she figured out how I'd manipulated her. She hadn’t even brought me any more cookies. And I was like, totally addicted to them, so I now considered her my medieval torture person.
Plus, three days of no effing sign of Coulter, and it was driving me mad.
Dante had assured me that Coulter would be okay, had seemed pretty damn sure about it, but how did I know I could trust him?
I went to bed the third night anxious, and I stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours before I felt something on my back.
Fingers, brushing down my skin.
I jumped, my eyes bolting open, realizing that I'd fallen asleep.
