Chapter 1
Emory
Oookay… I skip from one cooking pot to another, stirring like a whirlwind. Everything is under control. I’ve got six pots bubbling on two stoves; a lasagna and a tray bake in the oven, and I’ve just finished making up and wrapping a bunch of bologna and provolone sandwiches.
I told my boss I could do thirty extra lunches today, and I’ve pulled it off.
I take a moment to wipe a bunch of steam off my glasses and survey my work.
Running a kitchen used to be my dream—well, before I grew up and understood the life I’d been born into—and I am a little bit proud of myself for putting all this together.
In my fantasies, I’d have my very own restaurant, and a whole team behind me, chorusing “yes, chef!” to my every command.
But right now, I’ll settle for cooking lunches for convicts.
I hold my glasses up to the light, then I put them back on. Like my dark-brown contact lenses, they’re non-prescription, and they’re necessary. Along with my dyed red hair, piercings and ultra-realistic fake tattoos, they make me unrecognizable as the girl I used to be.
“Tiana! How you doing, hun?” The kitchen door swings open and Meredith, my boss, bustles in.
My name is not Tiana. And I hate that I’ve given my kind-hearted boss a fake name, but it’s also necessary.
I’ve built a little life for myself in Perdue Town—this little sanctuary of the lost. I don’t feel totally safe here—and I probably never will—but since I’ve been hiding out here, working in the kitchen of Sinner’s Refuge, I’ve stopped feeling like some terrified prey animal, just waiting to be devoured.
“Good—I think,” I reply, stirring four pots in quick succession.
Meredith stops in the middle of the kitchen, raises her nose and sniffs hard. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Tiana, are you cooking fancy food again?”
I giggle. “I just added a couple of herbs and spices,” I admit.
“Well, it smells fantastic. Hope you’ll have a couple of portions left over for staff?”
“Already assigned,” I tell her happily.
“Will you be ready for eleven-forty-five pick up?”
“Yup. Sure will.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Well done, hun. You’re doing great.”
This morning, Meredith got a call from the federal prison service, asking if we’d be willing to provide thirty lunches for a convict chain gang. They’re working on a highway twenty minutes from here, and their usual catering company let them down.
“Sure thing,” I told her right away. I’m by myself in the kitchen at the moment—since her sister, who usually works here, is out of town for the next few days—but I was excited by the challenge. Besides, I don’t want to refuse Meredith anything. She’s been so good to me.
She told me to focus on quantity rather than quality, because the prisoners will be ravenous after laboring in the hot sun all morning.
But I want to make sure they enjoy their food.
If the TV shows are anything to go by, prison food is one step up from pig slop.
I know some of these men must’ve done terrible things.
But others might have been wrongfully convicted.
Or they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I know about that more than most. And I’ll be glad if I can make their day a little brighter.
I keep an eye on the clock, and at eleven-thirty a.m., I start ladling all the food into delivery cartons. By eleven forty-five, I’m all done, everything packed up and labeled.
But Meredith is nowhere to be seen. Maybe the bar got busy.
While I’m waiting on her, I make sure everything is ready for the pub’s regular lunchtime rush.
At eleven fifty-three, she bursts into the kitchen. “The darn delivery company screwed us over!”
“What?”
“They’re not coming. They’re not allowed to expose their drivers to unreasonable danger, yada yada…” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know whether they’re referring to Perdue or to the convicts. But the upshot is, they’re not coming, and we have no way of getting the prisoners’ lunches to them.”
I turn and stare at all the packed-up cartons in dismay. “B-but all the prisoners will go hungry.”
Meredith’s expression softens. “You’re the sweetest person, Tiana.
There was me thinking of all the food going to waste.
But yes, there are going to be a bunch of empty convict bellies, too.
” She exhales slowly and gives me a long look.
“I hate to ask you this, hun. I know you’re not keen on going outside and all… ”
Oh no.
My gut tightens. I know what’s coming.
“…Is there any chance you’d be willing to drive these over yourself?”
My stomach flips and I think I’m going to be sick.
I avoid leaving my little safety triangle of bar, apartment and supermarket.
Everyone here knows it, and I’ve let them think I’m agoraphobic.
And yes, I am scared shitless of the outdoors.
But it’s not a phobia—it’s a legitimate fear.
There are people out there who would kill me without thinking twice.
Some of them I’ve known all my life. And I’ve got reason to think they’re actively looking for me.
I’m not na?ve enough to think that no one can get to me here, but at least I know every shadow, every alleyway. Every corner where someone could surprise me.
The last thing I want to do is step outside this comfort zone I’ve created. But if I don’t, the convicts won’t eat, and Meredith won’t get paid for all this food.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I hear myself saying.
She beams. “You can be real quick. Just hand the food over to the guards, and zip right back here.”
“Sure thing,” I mumble. My underarms already feel damp.
This doesn’t have to be a big deal, I tell myself, while Meredith and I pack all the cartons into the trunk and backseats of my crappy old car.
I’m not going to run into anyone I know.
And even if I do, they won’t recognize me.
In the last year, I’ve gone from being a blonde, blue-eyed picture of innocence, to a hip, flame-haired chick with dark, doe eyes.
The girl I used to be would never have styled herself like that.
I’ve even gotten curves, from all the good food I’ve been eating here.
“Thank you, Ti. Means a lot.” Meredith presses a hand to her heart.
I bend my lips into a smile. It’s the right thing to do.
And I’ll be back soon.
It’s a blistering hot day, a heat haze shimmering over the highway as I drive north from Perdue.
With every mile, my stomach turns another notch. It’s fine, I tell myself over and over. You’ll be in and out in five minutes, just like Meredith said.
Twenty minutes later, I spot a cluster of orange off to the side of the highway.
The convicts! My heart beats faster. But they look like they’re hidden in a dust cloud.
As I draw closer, I see why. They’re breaking rocks.
Like something from a bygone era, they’re hacking at a massive chunk of rock with pickaxes. In ninety-five-degree heat.
I pull into a makeshift parking lot beside a long gray van with tiny windows. When I climb out of my car, a wall of heat hits me. It’s like opening an oven door right in your face.
Heads turn in my direction, and I realize that I’m the only woman amid this mass of testosterone.
The prisoners are massive, scary-looking guys, working bareheaded, their skin streaked with dirt and perspiration. They’re shackled to each other by their wrists and ankles, while a bunch of prison guards are training firearms on them.
“Where shall I unload the food?” I call to the nearest guard. He’s leaning against the van in a patch of shade.
He pulls his sunglasses down. “There’s a table right there.” He has a slow, whiny-sounding voice. I see where he’s pointing and open the trunk. The heat bears down on me as I ferry the cartons over to the table. Sheesh. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face and I feel my cheeks getting hot.
When I see that the convicts are breaking for lunch, I hurry to finish before they arrive. The guards are waving their guns at them and screaming at them to leave their tools behind.
“Do they have to threaten them like that?” I ask the guard, who’s been watching me the whole time, chewing on a grass stalk.
He grins at me, the stalk poking out between his teeth. “Yew don’t know them, miss.” He scans me from head to toe, before his gaze comes to rest on my tits. I don’t care. I’m wearing a push-up bra as part of my disguise.
“They’d snap your spine soon as look at you. That one”—he points at the prisoner at the head of the chain gang—“murdered three women. Because he was bored.”
The prisoner looks feral. Crazed eyes, heavily scarred skin, tattoos covering his shaven head. When he notices our attention on him, he grins, revealing dark, glittering teeth.
I gulp. “They’ve all done stuff like that?”
“Pretty much. Rape, murder. Torture. Yew name it.” He cackles. He’s enjoying this.
As I scan them, my attention zones in on one in the middle of the line. He’s taller than the rest. Massive shoulders. Dark hair. His face is smeared with dirt, but a strange light glows from his eyes.
There’s something magnetic about him.
Like he’s calling to me.
Calling? What?
I don’t know where that thought came from. But now it’s planted itself in my brain, I can’t get rid of it.
I’m no longer aware of anything else—the heat, the danger, the prisoners and guards. All my attention, my senses are focused on him.
And holy crap, he’s looking at me, too. He’s at least thirty yards away, but I can literally feel his attention on me. The hairs on my forearms are standing on end and shivers run through my body.
“How about that one?” I don’t really want to ask the question, but I have to know. “The big guy in the middle.”
“That one—?” The guard sounds disappointed. “I dunno. It’s classified. But something real bad I reckon. They keep him in an electric cage at night.”