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The other workers in the kitchen turned away, not wanting to be part of this tense conversation. Eli could tell they were still listening intently, though. It was hard not to eavesdrop when the entire kitchen had gone silent. The bustle of chefs preparing dishes had ceased, and the chatter quieted.
“Pick. Up. That. Tray.” The chef spat out the words. A vein in his neck pulsed in rage while he bit back an angry tirade.
“No.” Eli turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Nik strutted through, his hair and clothes disheveled and his lips swollen. Ali nearly ran into him when he stopped in the doorway, her hair no longer neatly pulled back and her dress crooked. A new piece of jewelry he’d never seen before hung around her neck.
“Is there a problem here?” Nik asked.
Ali attempted to flatten the stray hairs in her braid, her eyes on the floor. She could try all she wanted, but the marks on her neck and the sweat on her brow would be harder to conceal.
Eli’s eyes flitted from Nik to Ali and back to Nik, unsure which person he was most angry with.
“Ah, yes, there most certainly is a problem.” The chef darted forward to complain to Nik. He pointed an accusatory finger at Eli and carried on. “This young man is refusing to serve the party after he trashed the place and—”
“Trashed?” Ali looked up.
The chef looked furious at her interruption, his cheeks flaming red. He turned to Nik and did his best to ignore the others. “Well, he broke some glasses, but—”
“That’s a far cry from ‘trashed,’ Dimitri,” Nik interrupted.
Eli curled his hands into fists. He didn’t need Nik coming to his defense. He didn’t need Ali’s either. She was still half hidden behind Nik and refused to make eye contact with Eli. Her eyes instead focused on straightening the strap of her dress. She fidgeted with it, like there was no way it could possibly cover enough of her body. Like it revealed the secrets she meant to hide.
Eli moved toward the door once more. He’d push Nik out of the way if he had to. He couldn’t take one more minute of this place. He was going back to the prison. Hell, if he had more clothes on, he would find the exit to this hell hole right this second, but he’d probably die from exposure.
Death didn’t sound so bad right now.
“You know what? Eli has had a hard week or two. Still recovering from an injury.”
Eli rolled his eyes. An injury? That’s what we’re calling it these days? You mean the time you and your people beat me almost to death?
“Why don’t I escort him home? I’m sure you don’t need him anymore. Right?” Nik challenged the chef.
“Well, not if he’s going to act like that,” the man grumbled, but he walked away, leaving the three of them alone.
“Eli?” Ali questioned softly, clearly unaware of what was bothering him. Appearing in the kitchen with Nik was damning, but if only she knew just how much he’d heard. Moans that he’d only heard come from his bed in the past. He couldn’t shake the sound from his mind. It clawed at his brain, just behind his eyes.
“Don’t, Ali. I’m not interested in talking to you.” His voice was louder and more strained than he intended. He could hardly stand to look at her, and he bit his cheek to keep his temper at bay. He glared at Nik instead, wishing he could light him on fire with just his eyes.
Nik didn’t mirror his fury. His expression was a mix of sympathy and annoyance. Like Eli barely fazed him, but he did pity him.
Ali looked back and forth between them and her mouth opened in understanding. She touched her fingers to her lips.
When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m sorry—”
“Sorry? Ali, you’re not sorry. You never were. I hope the two of you have a happy life together. What little life you’re able to enjoy while you serve him like his bitch.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, and Nik stepped forward. “That’s enough. You’re done here.” He grabbed for Eli’s arm to escort him out of the hall, but Eli shook him off.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Eli shoved him to the side and grabbed his things out of the nearby cubbyhole. He threw on his coat and shoes and stormed out of the kitchen.
Nik didn’t attempt to put his hands on him again, but he followed closely, supervising his walk back to the prison.
Eli could see his breath in the freezing cold air of midnight. As they left the music and chatter of the hall behind, the air turned still. The calm before the storm. The bright stars against the ink blue sky might’ve been beautiful under different circumstances.
Eli remembered watching the stars with Ali when they were young teens. They used to count them, seeing who could get the highest, before they’d lose track and start over. She would giggle innocently when he held her hand. He still remembered late nights and stolen kisses on the sandy beach under a sky just like this one. He clenched his jaw and blinked back tears.
That all felt like a distant dream now. Like he’d made it up in his head. The harder he held onto the memory, the fuzzier it became, replaced by an older Ali holding Nik’s hand instead.
The crunching of snow was ever present behind him. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he spat back at Nik.
