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He lets me go, examining me closely as he can’t seem to read me as well as he does Zoey. I will use this to my advantage because it’s the only way to survive whatever I will face. I quickly make my way back into the kitchen.
I’m guessing the men have to wait to eat until after Aleksei finishes, so I’ll make their breakfast when he’s done. This is so incredibly sexist, but the more time spent out here, scoping out my surroundings and what’s at my disposal, the better it is for me.
There is some chitchat, mostly in Russian, but Saint stays as quiet as a ghost. I wonder what’s going through his mind? Is he searching for an escape route just like I am?
A loud clutter causes me to jolt.
Pausing from where I’m washing up, I turn and look over my shoulder, taking in the sight of Zoey’s breakfast spilled on the floor. The upturned plate leaves a trail of yellow yolk marring the polished surface. “This is disgusting,” she spits, glaring at me.
Aleksei stops midchew, appearing just as confused as I am. “What’s wrong, ????????”
I remember Saint told me Aleksei used this nickname for Zoey, which means favorite. Irony at its finest, considering he treats her like dirt.
She leans back in her seat with her arms folded and her lips pressed into a scowl. She looks like a spoiled little girl. “The eggs are overdone. The bacon is soggy. Do it again.”
My hands are buried in hot, soapy water, so no one can see me clench them into fists. This is just a power play. Aleksei places his plastic fork and knife on the rim of his plate, watching this unfold. Technically, I am to obey him, not Zoey, so how am I supposed to respond?
The men watch on eagerly, ready for a catfight. But I won’t lower myself to her level.
Channeling my inner yoga goddess, I take three calming breaths as I dry my hands on a dishcloth. I grab a roll of paper towels and some all-purpose spray to wipe down the floor. Without a word, I walk over to the mess Zoey made and drop to my knees.
A heavy exhale leaves Saint, but he doesn’t say a word.
As I’m wiping up the gooey eggs, which are cooked just fine, I’m coated with a spray of coffee. Yelping, I shrink back, but it doesn’t make a difference. I’m covered in the coffee Zoey just poured onto the floor. It seems her breakfast wasn’t enough of an insult, and she had to add her coffee as well.
Clenching the paper towel in my hand, I keep my eyes peeled to the floor as I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I look at her. I see Saint’s boots kick into action, but I subtly shake my head, demanding he stay put.
“This coffee tastes like dishwater. You really are good for nothing, you stupid whore.”
I know what she’s doing—she’s baiting me—and it’s working. Just as I lift my chin, poised on telling her to go fuck herself, a fist slamming onto the table has me pausing.
Aleksei’s cool composure has been replaced by a dark cloud of anger. Zoey still sits smugly, but that soon changes when she turns a ghastly shade of white. “I will not tolerate this behavior at my breakfast table.”
“Alek—”
“Silence! Since when do you speak when I’m talking?”
Zoey doesn’t think twice as she springs from her seat and drops to her knees beside Aleksei. I’m also on my knees, cleaning up her mess, but she doesn’t even acknowledge me. She knows she’s in trouble.
“You want to throw your food on the floor and behave like an animal? Then you can eat like one.”
I gulp, eyes wide. Although she deserves this, I can’t find any satisfaction in seeing her being treated this way.
“This breakfast is wonderful, Willow,” he says, looking at me with a smile. All I can do is nod numbly. “Don’t listen to Zoey. She seems to have misplaced her manners this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Alek,” she cries, her lower lip quivering.
But it’s too late.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”
This must kill her, but she raises her chin slowly. “I’m sorry. That was very rude of me. The breakfast is delicious.” She doesn’t mean a word, but I accept her apology nonetheless.
Aleksei, however, doesn’t seem convinced. “Prove it.”
We are facing each other, both on our knees, both puppets to a man who thrives on pain. Without a flicker on emotion, Zoey lowers herself onto her hands and begins to eat what’s left of her spilled breakfast off the floor.
I shuffle back, horrified. Is he doing this to show me he cares?
