Chapter 8
Cook
Unlike Celt and Bou’s childhood home, this lonely old house several miles south of the Ridge had never been a home. It was the place where I locked away all the shit from my childhood, but it also offered me a place to sleep. Surprisingly, it withstood the harsh Arizona winds and dust storms, even though the desert winds rattled the walls and windows.
The stucco, a dusty pink, had cracks that should’ve been repaired years ago, but I never brought people here. Hell, I rarely looked at the place until this moment.
Maddie stepped around me, and I curled my hands into fists.
My parents’ old house couldn’t be called homey. Dust littered almost every surface, tinged with orange Arizona desert sand. Daddy didn’t like personal items, so we had no photographs, no decorations, and certainly none of the nostalgic trinkets a happy family will collect. If I close my eyes, I could vaguely see Mom hanging one of my kindergarten paintings, a five-year-old’s masterpiece, on the fridge. But before he came home, she had taken it down and tucked it into an old chest.
By the age of five, though, I had figured Daddy out. Nothing had ever pleased him. The house was just like it was when I had killed him, minus the blood splatter and his body. Aside from changing the sheets every now and again, that day was the last time I had truly cleaned this place.
“This is it,” I grumbled, snagging the windblown tangles out of my hair, and hoping she didn’t look too closely at the mess. Now standing here with a woman, I realized how this place reeked. I marched over to the nearest window and muscled it open to let out the stench.
“It’s nice,” said Maddie, stepping into the living room right beside the door.
A laugh launched from my lungs. “Nice? It’s a piece of shit.”
She deserved better, but I didn’t have more to give her right now. I just didn’t know where else to take her. Or what I was going to do with her. Or why I allowed her to cling to me the way I had at the mill.
Or, or, or . . .
I didn’t intend to hide her but a need to protect her, to shield her from anything traumatic, flared white hot when she came near. But now that I considered the fact, maybe I was fucking hiding her... from Melanie, Angel, and definitely from any of Signora’s perverts. More of them had to be out there, and she’d chosen me to keep her safe.
“It’s not a piece of shit,” said Maddie, taking two steps that moved her from the tiny living room into the even smaller kitchen. “I’ve seen worse.”
I bit down until my teeth and jaw ached. If she’d been kept in a place worse than this, I’d resurrect the bitch Amaranta Gambino from the grave and kill her all over again. Then I’d raze that old mill to the ground with my bare hands.
Maddie started going through the cabinets and the pantry. I didn’t have any food here because I mostly ate at Louie’s Diner in town or at Bou’s shop. But then she was going through the closet and pulling out cleaning supplies.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice harsher than intended.
Immediately, Maddie stopped. The mop fell from her hand, clattering onto the floor. She stepped over it and walked up to where I waited by the door. I bent my knees and leaned back on my heels, like I could grab her and escape my past. Where else could I take her, though?
Melanie had worked in law enforcement. She probably had resources to deal with someone recovering from—
Maddie shifted her weight, dropping one knee to the floor.
“What the motherfucking...?” My hands reached to keep her in a standing position, but it was too late. She slipped right through my fingers.
Maddie fully knelt in front of me, sitting back on her heels with her hands resting on her thighs. She lowered her gaze, her eyes on my shitkickers. “I can clean, Cook. Wouldn’t that please you?” she asked in a small voice, then she added at an almost inaudible volume, “Daddy.”
My heart sputtered. A lump formed in my throat, and I forced a breath over it. My cock filled. How could it not with this striking woman on her knees in front of me?
I’d never been a prude and always thought of sex as a damn good time, as proclaimed by the majority of my wardrobe. When she sank to her knees, an image of one shirt in particular popped into my mind. A silhouette of a woman kneeling with the words beside her: Wars can be won on the knees.
But fucking hell, I couldn’t let myself lust after someone who had been sexually abused for... how goddamn long? I tried to clear my mind.
Slowly, she stood. Her head was still bowed. She walked over to the closet again and grabbed the mop and bucket. My brows shot up and my jaw dangled. She was actually about to start filling the bucket.
Not happening.
“Stop!” I ordered.
She froze, and I grimaced. I didn’t mean to be so loud—so fucking angry—but what was she doing? She didn’t need to clean my house.
A loud sniffle echoed from the other side of the room, and it put my heart in a vice grip. I had overreacted, but she had to stop calling me Daddy. And certainly not while kneeling.
That was submissive behavior, given willingly. It was growing clear what she needed, but I wasn’t that man.
Was I?
No, I definitely couldn’t be that to her. Could I?
Stalking across the room, I gripped Maddie’s chin and brought her head up, forcing her to look at me. Her eyelashes were spiky and wet. A tear trail streamed down her cheek, and the crying made her eyes an irresistible maple brown. The color of milk chocolate drizzled with honey.
If she gazed at me with those eyes that said too much and not enough all at the same time, I’d do anything she asked. Anything at all. I would have to keep that tidbit to myself.
The jeans and T-shirt I’d bought her yesterday covered her frame, but not well. They were baggy. I would have to try again or maybe feed her more so she filled out the clothes. Her wrists and ankle bones protruded. I didn’t really care for the jeans and tee on her anyway. She deserved something fancier.
Maddie’s bottom lip trembled, and I swooped down.
Clamping my teeth shut so I didn’t bite it, I brushed my finger across her bottom pink lip. She didn’t part herself to let me enter. I pressed my thumbnail to her teeth, but she didn’t open her mouth.
Her hot, fat tears burned my fingers.
“Don’t cry,” I ordered, and she sniffled.
The tears in her eyes actually started to dry. Not one more rolled out of the corner, as if she could turn it off and on with a thought. I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering over how she’d learned to manipulate from such a submissive position.
I couldn’t reconcile how, with the simple order from me, her bottom lip stopped trembling. Her body almost seemed to relax. People just didn’t have enough control to stifle emotion like that unless they’d been working on it for a long, long time. Fire sparked to life inside me over the circumstances that led her to become that practiced in shutting down her tears.
I had to put that thought away for now, though, because Maddie needed me to be here, in the present, and to keep her away from any violence. The order for her to stop had calmed everything down. Me included.
I had taken over the situation. How? Why? I didn’t know.
The words good girl perched on my tongue, but I murmured, “That’s good, Maddie.”
She lifted her gaze to meet mine. Every part of that sadness and anger and fear inside of her had melted away. Her eyes turned doe-like, staring up at me with a new light in them.
I gulped, finally clearing the lump in my throat.
“You don’t need to cook and clean,” I said. “I didn’t bring you here because I want you to be my maid. I brought you here because I want to... keep you safe. Protect you.” I forced the words past my clenched teeth. I wasn’t used to explaining myself to anyone, not even Celt—not that she had asked for an explanation.
Her gaze flitted around the living room to the kitchen. She hadn’t seen the rest of the house and surely didn’t understand the cleaning task she’d be undertaking. When she looked back at me, her eyes were so wide that they took up most of her face.
“I want to do this,” she said. “It will make me feel... good. Like I have a purpose. Will you let me?”
I studied her for a moment, wondering why the hell anyone would want to clean, but I guessed my mom was one of those people too. She couldn’t fucking stop herself, and I really hoped Maddie’s desire to clean wouldn’t turn into an obsession like Mom’s.
“Cleaning doesn’t make people feel good, Maddie.”
It weathered their hands from all the chemicals and bent their backs over time. I’d rather put her on a pedestal and shower her with my cooking, but I’d need charcoal for the grill here to make that happen.
“If it makes you happy, I’ll feel good about it.” Her eyes lowered.
“Are you saying—?” No way she was saying she wanted to serve me like that.
She reached up and took my hand. “Please?”
Ah, fuck. Why’d she have to look so desperate for me to agree?
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh.
Maddie bit her bottom lip, and I thumbed it free from her teeth.
“What is it?” I asked, keeping my voice a little stern. She responded better that way.
“Can I listen to music while I clean? Do you have headphones?” Maddie tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear.
I scoffed. “Yeah.” She could listen to anything she wanted. Any time. Freedom was hers, but she didn’t seem to understand that.
She frowned.
So I said, “Yes, you can, Maddie. I didn’t realize you like music.”
When we left the recovery house, she hadn’t said a word about the music playing in my Bronco. I hadn’t asked for her opinions about what we listened to; I just wanted something to fill the void between us. And keep her from calling me... that word she seemed intent on using. It might as well have been a four-letter word.
Maddie nodded. “As long as it’s not opera or classical.”
“Really?” I walked away from her and into the kitchen.
I hadn’t planned to bring her here. If the cleaning closet was that bare, what about everything else? Opening cabinets and the fridge, I discovered my truth. The emptiness of this house. The absence of anything to make it seem like home.
I only slept in this house when I needed somewhere to crash that wasn’t Mom’s house. Phoenix felt too far away from the Ridge at times.
Maddie said, “Tommy G. made me to listen to music while he had phone calls or meetings. Always something with a bellowing woman or whining violins.”
My blood ran cold. “Tommy G?” I wasn’t sure, but I suspected she meant the Don of la Famiglia... the head of the Gambino family. Tommaso Gambino. The bastard who was in the pen, thanks to a failed assassination attempt on some hot-shot politician in California. I tried not to keep up with that shit, but I knew he was Signora Amaranta Gambino’s husband before our man in LA, Sas, shot the bitch.
“He owned Enigma.”
Yep, one and the same Tommy Gambino. I peeked over my shoulder. I didn’t want to fucking talk about, let alone think about, him. “Don’t ever say his name around me again.”
Watching me with wide eyes, she slowly nodded her head.
I almost felt bad about that as I slammed the empty cabinets shut. “What kind of music do you think?”
She shrugged. “What were you listening to in the car?”
“Classic rock.”
“That’ll do.”
“Do you have favorites?”
“No. I just like the sound. I like how my body moves to it. It’s like I can give the music control and turn off—”
She cut herself off, and I glanced over with a raised brow. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem keen on finishing the thought. I had an inkling about what she was turning off. Hell, the voices in my head took years to shut the fuck up after my trauma. Hers lasted so much longer than mine.
I let the silence linger, thinking I wanted to see how her body moved to the music too. “I’ve got earbuds in my saddlebags. I’ll get you some music before I leave.”
Her big eyes turned scared. “Where are you going?”
“Shopping. I gotta get some food. And cleaning supplies,” I said. “If that’s really what you want to do?”
Her lips curled into a smile, warming my heart.
“The house isn’t exactly guest ready. Or really any people. It will need some fixing up.” I would probably have to find some tools in the shed—I shuddered—to fix the shower head. I reached over and turned on the faucet, letting water pour into the dusty sink. After letting it run for a second, I ran my hand under the stream. It was warming up, so the old water heater must still be kicking. Other than that, I had no idea what still worked and what didn’t.
“Am I going with you?” asked Maddie, her voice a little higher. Almost childlike.
I only had my motorcycle and would need the space for groceries and cleaning supplies. Fuck, I should’ve brought my Bronco.
“No,” I said, and she dipped her head. “You can stay here and clean. Listen to music.” I stopped myself before I asked if she was good with that.
Everything she’d done showed me she needed structure, rules, and someone else to make her decisions. A submissive through and through, but I didn’t have a clue how to manage that. I clamped my big mouth shut before giving her options.
That, though, was fucking hard.
I grabbed my keys off the counter. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Maddie
I only needed to take one sniff of the dust to know the house hadn’t been lived in for a long time. Still, it smelled better than the shit, piss, blood, and cum I often had to clean up at the old mill or at Enigma when Tommy G. wanted me to work.
When Cook said he had no cleaning supplies, he meant it. He had the tools, but nothing to use to actually clean the floors or dust the surfaces. I took the bar of soap from the bathroom and dropped it into the mop bucket with hot water to let it dissolve. The floor had boot prints tracing a regular path from the front door to the bedroom. Dirt would fester if not scrubbed clean. At least that’s what Signora always said when she punished me by locking me in a cage.
She did that when I failed at something. At anything. Whether it was failing to please a client or leaving a spot of dust on her desk when I had to clean it.
The cage had always waited for me to screw up.
I shivered and hugged myself. “This isn’t a cage, Maddie,” I told myself and the empty house.
Cook had left the door unlocked. I was free to go. I liked where I was and who I was around Cook, but I was just so used to fighting, to being aware of every move I made. I was exhausted, but I didn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t constantly on guard.
I no longer needed to spend my energy that way. No more fighting or pretending to be someone I wasn’t. No more being taken against my will without the ability to say no. I wanted things for myself, but I’d never been able to hope.
This was my chance to find something good. Was this what freedom meant? What it felt like to be safe?
Slipping the earbuds in my ears, I plopped the mop in the bucket. Suds rose to the surface, and bubbles floated into the air. As the guitar started to play, I stared at my own face, morphed by the curve of the bubble.
I swished the mop in the bucket around and then splattered it against the floor. Music roared into my ears from a playlist Cook said he’d made a few years ago for working out. It had a lot of heavy beats that reminded me of a hammer falling. I wasn’t sure if I liked it, so I picked another song. Turning the music louder, I started mopping the floor.
Better. As I dragged the mop across the floor, my body moved to the tune. My hips twisted. I bobbed my head to the music. This song was actually awesome. I would need to ask Cook for more like this. Maybe I’d create my own list. Spinning around, I skidded to a halt, almost falling on my ass. The floor was slick, but the bigger concern was that there were two people in Cook’s house—neither of them Cook.
“What the fuck?” I raised the mop like it was a weapon and pulled one of the buds from my ear.
A woman moved closer, her hands raised as if she were about to approach a snake. Her hair hung like curtains around her face. “Hey, Maddie. Sorry. We were calling out—”
“How do you know my name?” I snapped.
Why was she here? I swung the mop at her, but the man grabbed it out of the air. He ripped it from my grasp, nearly splintering the wood and tweaking my shoulder. When I fell forward a step, the woman reached out to me, but I scampered backward. I could keep myself standing, especially when strangers had invaded Cook’s house.
“Wilde,” murmured the woman. Then she turned to face him and gave him a warning look.
My eyes dropped to the bump that protruded from her midsection. Pregnant?
“What did you want me to do, Bou?” the man asked. “She was about to attack you.”
I wasn’t. I only needed to protect myself.
Bou crossed her arms. The pose made her belly balloon out, and her breasts toppled over her arms. I looked away. Signora had kept pregnant women from time to time, but they always disappeared before the babies came. Once, though, I overheard Signora talk about how one of the clients had requested a pregnant whore. I didn’t know what had happened to them after they left, but I had to be thankful that wasn’t me.
“She was scared. She didn’t hear us,” said Bou. “And can you blame her after all that has happened to her?”
They talked about me without talking to me, like I was back at the mill. Like I was back in the hospital. Like this life wasn’t my own.
Wilde raised his eyebrows, as though he was about to fight, but then Bou spun on me. “Sorry about that. And sorry about him. We were calling out, but you obviously didn’t hear us.”
“Obviously,” I said, my voice rough.
I didn’t have a weapon now, so I scanned the bare living room and kitchen. What could I grab to defend myself? Bou might be harmless with that pregnant belly, but Wilde—probably her baby daddy—was pure muscle and tattoos. I tried to look over Wilde’s broad shoulders and to the front door. Could I make it out if I ran? I could dodge Bou, but Wilde would be on me in a second.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Bou held out her hands, palms facing me. “I’m Bou. This is Wilde. We’re Cook’s friends.”
I narrowed my eyes. “He didn’t say you were stopping by.”
My hands balled into fists. Cook had mentioned Bou as Celt’s sister, but nothing about this Wilde person. My gaze darted between them and Cook, but none of their expressions eased the roiling fear in my gut. I would fight my way out of this before I let them take me. I would die before I let them take me back to any of the shitholes I’d been in before. And I’d be damned if I’d become a slave to them too.
“Sorry about that,” said Bou in a kind tone, the complete opposite of Wilde.
His eyes shot down to my hands, and a vein in his neck twitched under the rose tattoo. He braced his feet shoulder-width apart, somehow taking up more space than seemed possible. I bet he rode a motorcycle too. His leather jacket pulled against his shoulders.
Bou, talking straight to me, said, “Cook said he had to run out to get some food for you two, and he asked me to stop by.”
“Then why is he here?” I jerked my chin at Wilde.
“She’s my ol’ lady,” he said. “Where she goes, you can bet your ass I’ll be there.”
I pinched my lips and scowled. “Do you use her?” I hesitated. “She’s your sex slave?” Just as Signora used me and the others.
Wilde stepped toward me, and I tried not to run away. I didn’t understand his reaction, like he doubled in size before my eyes. His jaw jutted out, and he snarled, “I would never—”
“Wilde, stop.” Bou put her hand on his chest, and he deflated underneath her touch.
Though his chest continued to heave with the deep breaths he took. Bou’s hand moved right above his heart, soothing him. And he responded by focusing his entire being on her. Having never seen a man settle like that, I cocked my head curiously.
“Maddie,” said Bou, turning back toward me, “we just came to see you. Wilde’s with me because we were running errands. That’s all.”
“But why are you here?” I demanded, darting my gaze to Wilde.
With Bou’s hand still on his chest, he backed up a step... and then another. He stood behind her, and he looked a little less imposing when he was no longer near me. Even less imposing when his pregnant girl stood between us. Pregnant, soft, nurturing—Bou cradled her belly as if the baby was already in her hands. Bou didn’t want any problems, and she obviously didn’t think I was a problem if she was willingly putting herself between her man and me.
“Cook asked me to bring you some girl things,” said Bou like it was the simplest thing in the world.
She took off a backpack I hadn’t noticed her wearing and pulled a shopping bag out. Wilde stepped outside and returned, carrying a couple more bags. He put them on the floor inside the door, staying away from me. Good.
“I didn’t know what you would like,” continued Bou. “Cook didn’t know what size you were either, so I brought you a collection. When you’re feeling up to it, we could go pick out some things that fit your taste. Although you looked pretty good while dancing.”
My taste? I almost snorted. Who cared what I wore as long as it didn’t include lingerie and having my ass hanging out for the world to see or grab? Instead of arguing with Bou while her man scrutinized me, I nodded. It was the most I could do when backed into a corner.
“Okay.” Bou smiled. “Do you want to see what I bought you? Maybe we could try some on?”
She extended the bag to me slowly, like I was a spooked animal.
Probably not far from the truth. I had been caged more times than I could count.
Slowly, I took the bag from her and looked inside at the mixture of fabrics and colors. “You’re really giving all this to me?”
“Yeah. Some of it I just can’t wear anymore.” Bou rubbed her belly and laughed. “I may never get my figure back. And honestly, I needed to do a big blowout of my closet before we move into our new place. Gotta make room for Wilde’s shit too.”
He scoffed. “My shit?”
“Yeah, your shit,” she said, and they shared a knowing look.
I’d never heard a woman talk to a man like that before. Yeah, Signora bossed her minions around at the mill, but she paid them to do a job. Most of the men I’d met would’ve backhanded me for saying such things.
Turning back to me, Bou smiled. “Come on. Let’s go see what we’re working with.” She grabbed the other shopping bags and then took me to a bedroom that had a bathroom attached.
“Why don’t you try this on in the bathroom,” she suggested, holding out a tank top and jeans, “and I’ll pick through the rest of the clothes? That way you can have some privacy.”
I flicked my gaze back to the open bedroom door. “And Wilde?”
She glanced over her shoulder, but then shrugged. “He’s a big boy. He can entertain himself. Go on.”
Bou shooed me into the bathroom, and I changed, walking out in the first outfit. I was used to uncomfortable outfits, but the fabric gripped my breasts, pulling hard against my shoulders. Bou and I shared a look, and a silent no passed between us.
Picking up another outfit, I turned around and walked back into the bathroom. We repeated the process, throwing clothes into two piles: keepers and hell nos. I did like some of the clothes, twirling in front of the mirror to get a better look at myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I looked at myself in a mirror besides quick glances.
I didn’t recognize myself. It wasn’t the clothes, but the woman I had grown into.
“Cook mentioned that you’re good in public,” said Bou.
I turned away from my reflection. “As opposed to?” A rabid dog?
She frowned. “I’m just saying you’re doing really well, Maddie. Some of the kids from Signora’s... they’re really fucked up.”
“We had really fucked up things done to us.” I picked through the clothing I hadn’t tried on.
“Melanie’s been asking about you,” said Bou suddenly.
I stilled. If I said nothing and did nothing, maybe I would fade into the background.
She didn’t seem to notice. “Wilde and Lanie’s man, Angel, go way back.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat, hoping she’d drop the subject.
No such luck.
“Your sister’s quick as a whip,” she pressed. “Very strong—”
“Stop.” I grabbed more clothes from the bed and headed into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind me.
Immediately, I turned on the fan for the noise and changed. Why did everyone keep bring up Melanie? Cook and Bou and the doctors. I didn’t want to see her, though. Melanie grew up with our mom and dad. She had family. Freedom. Education and all the things normal kids got.
She kept what was ripped away from me when I was twelve. I didn’t know if I was jealous, running from my past, or if I was just a different person from when I’d been taken. Still, I didn’t want to face my twin. Blood be damned; we really weren’t sisters anymore.
Why couldn’t anyone understand that? Why did they so desperately want me to see her?
I slipped the shirt over my head, already hating it. I had only grabbed something so I could leave the situation.
A rumble of voices echoed from the other side of the door. They were too low to be Bou’s or another female. Who else had they brought to Cook’s house? I whipped open the bathroom door, coming face to face with Cook. His head was bent, talking to Bou sitting on the bed, and Wilde stood between them. All three heads swiveled toward me, and I tried not to bristle.
I hugged myself, not wanting to be on display for their entertainment.
Well, maybe for Cook, but the others could leave.
“I got some food and cleaning supplies,” he said, inclining his head toward the kitchen and living room. “I see you started mopping.”
“I was interrupted.” I chewed my cuticle on my thumb.
“We startled her,” said Bou. “All good now, though. Right Maddie?”
Cook squinted at me, then said, “Wilde, I need to speak to you outside.”
My shoulders deflated. He just got here, and he was leaving again? Didn’t he want to see the new clothes he asked Bou to bring over? Or didn’t he want me to cook the food he brought? Instead, he and Wilde headed out of the bedroom, and I almost chased him down. But for what?
He was apparently just taking care of me. Nothing more.