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“Honestly, Lucas? I’m not really sure how I feel. I don’t know if I’m sad or pissed or upset or frustrated. Sometimes I feel okay, and other times I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs and tearing my hair out.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “We all feel like that sometimes. You just have to keep pushing on. One minute at a time, and if you can’t do that—one second at a time.”
I know what he means. I’m thankful for his advice. I’m just not sure how to apply it. I’m not sure if I can even try to apply it.
Sensing my mood, he changes the topic, craning his neck a little to meet my gaze. “Hey. Zaid and I are going out soon to get some groceries. You want to come with us? We’ll have a few guys come along and stake out the outside of the store so you’ll be safe. Not that Camilla will likely try anything, but I’d rather be sure we’ve got backup.”
I perk up a little at the suggestion. Now that I’m no longer a prisoner—though I haven’t been one for a long time now, in their eyes—they’ve been more open about letting me go places with them. Never alone, never by myself. But that’s not because they don’t trust me; it’s because they don’t trust anyone else.
I still haven’t decided how I feel about being a highly prized bargaining piece between two rival mafia groups, but I’ve chosen not to think about it.
“Yeah. A distraction might be good.” I smile at him and push up from the couch to stand, already feeling a bit better. “Let me just go get dressed.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You are dressed.”
“I mean in something besides this.” I gesture to the soft house pants and tank top I’m wearing. They’re barely a step up from pajamas.
“I think you look great,” he insists, his eyes heating as his gaze drops to my chest, taking in the way my nipples press against the fabric of my top.
My pussy clenches in response, and I consider suggesting we scrap the grocery run altogether and find some other way to distract ourselves. But I really do want to get out of the house. I’ve been going a little stir-crazy, and I know I’ll feel better if I do.
“You really want me to leave the house like this?” I ask, turning toward him just enough that my breast grazes against his arm.
The friction makes my nipple peak even more, Lucas moves like lightning, reaching up to palm
my breast as he wraps his other arm tighter around me, pulling me closer. He drops his head to kiss me at the same time he catches my nipple between two fingers and pinches it hard.
I whimper into his mouth, and he swallows my startled, plaintive noise with a chuckle.
“All right, princess. Go get dressed.” He gives me one more kiss, then releases me, swatting me on the ass as I stand up. “Meet us back downstairs when you’re ready.”
Another car pulls into the grocery store parking lot just a second after ours does, and as Lucas, Zaid, and I emerge from our car, Lucas gives the driver of the other one a quick nod. It must be the security detail he mentioned. On the one hand, it seems excessive for a trip to the grocery store. But on the other, I can’t help feeling grateful they’re here.
Grateful that these men care enough about my safety to go above and beyond to protect me.
The three of us walk inside the large grocery store together, leaving the security detail outside to keep an eye on things.
Since my abduction, it’s taken me a while to get used to leaving the house again. To go out in public without feeling like everyone is staring at me. Even now, I find myself looking over my shoulder every once in a while, although Zaid gently reminds me that those furtive glances make me look more suspicious than just acting normal.
But when the last time you were in public as a normal person was one of the last times you were with your fiancé who later tried to murder you, it’s hard to remember what normal looks like.
I suppose this is regular for the twins, however, so it’ll have to become regular for me too.
Eventually.
I have a small glimmer of hope that I’ll get there one day, but I have a feeling it won’t be until this shit with my mother is all sorted out. And I’m honestly not sure how long that’s going to take—or if any of us will still be alive at the end.
A few people glance our way as we make our way down the aisles, although no one seems overtly suspicious or afraid of us. In fact, one woman who passes by openly gawks at the twins, smiling a little when she catches Lucas’s gaze. When it becomes clear that they’re with me and very interested in just me, she turns out of the aisle with a slightly wistful look on her face.
Lucas and Zaid take their roles as head chefs of our little household very seriously, and if their cooking wasn’t proof enough that they know what they’re doing in the kitchen, this list would be. It’s organized by flow and section of the grocery store, which items come first on the aisles, top to bottom. It’s insane.
“I never knew you were so type A,” I joke, elbowing Zaid in the side.
He chuckles. “Only when it comes to food.”
“That’s a lie,” Lucas puts in. “You should see his closet. It’s the most organized fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You should talk, Mister Organizes-His-Ties-by-Length-and-Color.”
