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He yanks open the back door, and the smell of roasting chicken, potatoes, and Alma’s homemade bread wafts through the door toward us.
I hate the thought of leaving here. I hate the thought of starting afresh when I had the promise of everything I wanted right here. I hate the thought of leaving Cain.
But I’m too independent to wait on a man. Even the huge, hulking, alpha of a man plowing his way to his office right now.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, Mr. Master,” Alma calls from the stove, where she’s stirring a large skillet of greens.
“Might not be down tonight, Alma.”
Interesting. How much does he have to show me?
She looks over her shoulder at me, and I shrug at her. “Would you like me to keep the food warm for you?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m not sure when we’ll be down.”
“I’ll send it up then.”
“Perfect.”
Well that’s promising. Maybe he’s got more to tell me than I expected he did.
We walk through the house, him a few paces ahead of me. My senses are assaulted by everything Skylar’s done to decorate. Scented pinecones on the mantle, rustic wooden orange pumpkins on the bookshelves, and a smattering of scented candles in yellows and browns on a little side table.
I should be happy she’s enjoying herself. The weeks following her abduction and assault were dark for Skylar. At first, she wouldn’t get out of bed or talk to anyone for days on end. I pushed through. I made her talk to me. I would bring her breakfast in her room and chatter away, even though she sometimes didn’t respond at all. It was days until she began to talk to me, and once she did, it seemed she had quite a bit to say.
Cain likes that we’ve befriended each other. He’s told me we’re the two women who mean more to him than anything in the world, and he likes that we’re here, under his roof. Can’t be that way forever, though, and we both know it.
Eventually, Skylar will have to be independent again. She’ll find a love interest, or a job that requires her to travel, or… something.
And me? I don’t belong here and never have.
I’m here to fulfill a mission. I’m here to fulfill my end of the bargain. And when that’s over… my heart hurts at the thought.
Henri’s in the living room, on his laptop, when we enter. Older than I am but a bit younger than Cain, Henri is pale, with a receding hairline, but wiry and strong. He lost eyesight in one eye during a fight overseas, and now swears off any formal office arrangement.
He nods in greeting to us, but never takes his eyes off the screen. He says he’s allergic to a desk. I think it has something to do with his poor eyesight and the bright lighting in here by the large picture windows.
Henri opens his mouth but, seeing that Cain’s on a mission, he slams it shut.
Joe’s gathering a few men in the hall for a training of some sort. They’re wearing camouflaged gear and boots, and standing at attention like soldiers in boot camp. When Cain passes, they all watch him with wide-eyed wonder and admiration.
He inspires that type of response no matter where we go. It’s got something to do with the way he carries himself, I think.
“Cain,” Skylar yells from her room on the third floor. “When can we get a Christmas tree?”
“Christ,” he mutters and rolls his eyes. I’m guessing that won’t be an after-Thanksgiving special for him then.
His phone beeps with a text, then again with a call. He glances at the screen with a scowl, then powers it off.
Oh. Oh, wow. I’ve never seen him shut his phone completely off.
He really is giving me his undivided attention.
I wonder if I’ve read him wrong all this time…
When we reach his office door, he drops all semblance of being Mr. Nice. I watch, with more than a little trepidation, as he yanks open his door, then gestures for me to go in. “Please,” he says with a frown. “You first.”
I walk ahead of him tentatively, as if waiting for him to pounce on me at any minute or at the very least smack my ass.
I have no idea why. I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t know if it’s the predatory look in his eyes, or his take-no-prisoners tone of voice. I don’t know if it’s because he’s basically told everyone who works for him to leave us alone, or because I threw down the gauntlet by the training field. But he has plans for me, and I have no idea what those plans are.
The door shuts behind us, and I let out an audible gasp.
“Why so scared, Violet?” Cain asks, in a tone that tells me he’s fucking pleased with himself.
