Chapter Six
Malory
The afternoon sun casts long shadows as we enter the cabin, kicking our shoes off by the door.
I’ve always preferred being barefoot inside, it’s a lot cozier that way.
“What would you like for dinner?” Tyson asks casually, heading straight for the fridge.
“What are you having?” I counter as I awkwardly hover near the entrance, unsure what to do with myself yet again.
“I stocked the pantry before I brought you here so feel free to choose pretty much anything.” He shrugs and I wonder if he’d let me cook for myself. I don’t want to bother the man with my dietary choices even though he brought this upon himself.
“If you need anything else, tell me or write it down.” My captor nods towards a magnetic notepad on the fridge.
“And I don’t mean just food. In case I missed any toiletries or clothes.” His gaze softens when he sees me looking mighty uncomfortable, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, and it does something to my insides.
“There are some books and art supplies that could interest you over there.” The man points a thumb over his shoulder, towards the built-in bookcase under the stairs and my eyebrows shoot up. Talk about being treated like royalty.
“Y-you didn’t have to do that.” I stammer over my words.
“I want you to feel at home here, to have everything you could want. There’s no arguing about this, Malory.” Not a morsel of him indicates that he isn’t one hundred percent serious about this.
Shaking off my stupor before I can start overthinking what all of this means, I open the fridge only to immediately go back to being completely dumbfounded.
It’s filled to the brim with fruit and veggies, there’s even tofu and a giant tub of hummus. And olives, I adore olives.
“You’re vegan?” I ask incredulously, searching for any trace of something that was once alive.
Judging by his lethal appearance, I wouldn’t be surprised if this man ate steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“Yeah, I’ve looked into it after learning that that’s what you preferred.” Tyson explains nonchalantly as he fills two glasses with water, handing one to me.
I gape at him, stunned, totally floored.
Not even my parents were this open-minded, and sure as hell didn’t want to try it.
Being vegan was one of the few things, if not the only one, where I was able to enforce my will.
Ever since I was a child, I hated the idea of eating innocent animals, hysterically crying whenever I was forced to eat at least one bite of whatever meat they put before me.
Eventually, my mother gave up the useless fight and switched to vegetarian meals. But as I grew older, it wasn’t enough.
I felt bad for eating any animal product and when the guilt became unbearable, I switched to being vegan and have been absolutely content with my dietary choices ever since.
It never made sense to me why helpless beings were being slaughtered and mistreated just to satiate human greed. Why would my life mean more than theirs?
Nothing could sway me in this. Not even my parents.
“You were watching me?” I squeak and this time it’s his turn to quirk an eyebrow. Yeah okay, way to ask the obvious, Malory.
“Well, I gathered as much but how…” I try recovering my composure. “…and for how long?”
“I was wondering when you’d start asking questions.” Tyson sets my glass on the counter next to me before downing his own in one gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.
“I asked yesterday but you were being vague as fuck.” I shoot back.
The corner of his mouth tipping up at hearing me swear since apparently his manners are starting to rub off on me.
I have to get out of here before this man can corrupt me further.
“The need for revenge has been there for a better part of my life, but it took me years to find you.” He places the empty glass in the sink before shifting his undivided attention to me.
“Your father keeps his private affairs meticulously under wraps, so it took me some time to find the just right leverage. I didn’t know of your existence until two years ago. That’s when my plan solidified.”
Just the right leverage. Honestly that’s not the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.
If you’re forced to attend as many formal dinners as I have, you get used to backhanded comments pretty quickly.
Wait, did he just say two whole years?
“At first, I watched from afar, spending most of my waking hours at your side. Even if you didn’t know I was there.” His words make my blood run cold. Just how blind have I been.
“As time went on, I was forced to split my time between being your shadow and building this for you.” Tyson gestures at the cabin with a wave of his hand.
This man has dedicated two freaking years to learn my every habit, watching my every move. Which admittedly must have been extremely boring given I rarely left my room, all the while constructing this incredible, absolutely over the top place.
All for me.
I mean if the man was merely after vengeance, he could have easily locked me in that basement. But no, he went all out.
I don’t know what to say to that. Or think.
If there were tiers to beings an unhinged stalker, Tyson would have surpassed them ages ago.
How did I not notice him at all. Have I been completely oblivious or is he really that good?
Deep down I know I should be freaking out, trying to run from him with everything in me but somehow, I’m strangely touched that he bothered.
The food, the clothes, even cutting the damn zip ties last night.
That’s more care than I’ve received from anyone. And I absolutely refuse to think about how depressing that statement is.
Anyway, the point is that I don’t know whether I’m imagining things or Tyson isn’t the heartless man he appears to be at first sight.
“Enough of that.” He grabs me by my hips and I yelp in surprise at his large, rough hands palming the spot where my sweatshirt has ridden up as he plants me on the counter with ease. “You still haven’t told me what you want to eat.”
“You can cook?” My voice turns breathless since he hasn’t let go of me yet.
“Sure, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” Tyson’s expression darkens for a split second, but whatever flashed through his gaze is gone in an instant, covered by an impenetrable mask.
“Shoot, I’m yours to command.” He orders as a swarm of butterflies erupts in the pits of my stomach.
“Ehm… okay, what about grilled veggies?”
“That’s what you always eat. Change it up, little one.” His hands on my waist flex, making my breath stutter.
“There’s nothing wrong with… having a routine.” I fire back, a little offended that he called me out on something any other stranger shouldn’t know about me.
“I’m not your mother, I won’t judge your choices.” He says in a calm tone. Maybe a little too calm because I don’t miss the murderous glint in his eyes.
“Alright…” I say slowly, stunned at how easily he can see through me. “How about the tofu, I’ve never really tried many recipes with it.”
Watching Tyson move around the kitchen is an experience on its own.
His broad frame effortlessly leaning over the stove while he keeps adding different spices to the sizzling pan.
Pulling one knee against my chest, I prop my chip up, content to just watch him from afar.
Also because he refused to let me help and from the looks of it, he doesn’t need it.
“Why is there no dining table?” I eye the bar stools on the far side of the island.
“It’s more casual this way.” He shrugs. “And you never eat at a table anyway.”
That’s true. I always ate sitting by the counter or on the couch if my mom wasn’t home.
It’s weird how he knows all my habits, catering to them at every turn. I’d never expect him or anyone for that matter to go out of their way for me. Definitely not to this extent.
But I’d be lying to myself if I denied the warmth spreading through my chest at his every small gesture.
At last, we settle on the buttery soft couch with me huddling in the corner of the giant sectional just like last night, or more like this morning.
Has it really only been a day? Not even that.
It kind of feels like an eternity already.
Tyson sets the warm plate with a deliciously smelling grilled tofu with white rice, broccoli and some fancy sauce in my lap before seating himself right next to me, our thighs touching.
When I go to pull away, he swings his arm around the back of the sofa, keeping me rooted in place.
Snatching the fork from my hand, the man scoops up a bit of everything before blowing on the steaming food. My eyes widening at the way his full lips nearly touch it.
He brings the fork up to my mouth, something in his dark gaze making me incapable of protesting as I obediently wrap my mouth around the utensil.
I have to suppress a groan as the flavors explode on my tongue. It tastes like nothing I’ve tried before.
Tyson keeps watching my face while feeding me a few more bites that I readily accept, too lost in his black eyes to think better of it.
Then I get the bright idea to steal the fork from his plate, earning myself something resembling a deep chuckle as I escape his dominating stare. Finally able to gain some much needed distance, I dig in on my own.
Only this man can take the simple act of eating and turn it into a sensual experience.
Tyson’s muscular arm remains perched behind me while he devours his portion with his other hand. It doesn’t escape me that he’s using the same fork that has touched my lips just moments ago.
We finish our meals in silence, the comfortable kind, all the while sneaking fleeting glances at each other.
Or I’m the one who’s just peeking at him because every time I do, he catches me looking. Meaning that he’s been staring at me blatantly this whole time.
“It was delicious, thank you.” I meet his gaze once more before gathering the plates with the intention to do the dishes since he was the one who cooked.
“Watch a movie with me.” His husky voice stops me abruptly.
It’s not a question, but a request.
An entirely mundane request. This whole afternoon has felt weirdly domestic, blurring any boundaries that would be appropriate for two people who barely know each other.
Well, that assumption only goes one way since he seems to know everything there is about me already.
Still, it’s too much too soon.
Too much normality in an abnormal situation.
“I-I should go to bed. It’s getting late.” His proximity is messing with my head and if I don’t get away now, I’ll be tempted to stay.
Despite Tyson reassuring me time and time again that I’m entirely safe with him, I still can’t fully gauge the scope of his intentions towards me.
The man treats me more than well, but to what end. It’s not like I could fight him off if he tried something.
Then again, I haven’t been exactly opposed to his not so subtle advances either.
“Sweet dreams, little one.” Tyson whispers directly by my ear, his hot breath brushing my sensitive skin.
With that he takes the dishes from my limp hands, backing off unexpectedly.
Nero, who’s been napping in front of the fireplace, blissfully ignorant of the tension between us, rushes after him, begging for leftovers.
Using the opportunity, I bolt up the stairs without looking back, locking the door to my new bedroom behind me.
I slump against the cool wood, listening to my heart beating wildly in my chest.
I’m alone at last.
The next few days pass in a similar manner.
I wake up early to the sound of Tyson chopping wood instead of chirping birds since the noise sends them flying away along with the rest of the wildlife.
Everyone except for me apparently.
Either way, the early mornings have been helping me maintain some semblance of a routine, keeping me from retreating into myself too much.
Breakfast is always ready when I come down, the man himself usually joining me with a loaded plate of his own, telling me about his projects around the property before withdrawing into the garage that doubles as a workshop. Like I said, it’s disturbingly domestic.
We have lunches and dinners together as well, but other than that I do my best to keep to myself.
Which is mostly by making my way through the large collection of my favorite romance novels that I found stacked in the living room library. There isn’t much that would surprise me at this point.
The books have been good at keeping my mind occupied, keeping me from spiraling. Especially when I’m cut off from the world by not having my phone, for obvious reasons.
However, I haven’t been able to paint.
Partially because of the new environment since I’m used to thriving in my own space. The other reason is Tyson.
He keeps me on edge, not only with his overwhelming presence.
Whenever he’s near, he keeps touching me, making my body come alive for him every time.
Whether it’s brushing a hand over my hip when we pass each other in the kitchen, holding my hand as he guides me towards the couch or keeping his palm splayed on my thigh when we’re sitting plastered next to each other on the couch.
It’s not inappropriate per say, more like he subconsciously needs the reassurance that I’m there.
And I never pull away.
It feels inexplicably good. Comforting yet unsettling at the same time.
I don’t want it to stop.
The latest addition to my life is the newfound freedom in the kitchen that I’ve been thoroughly enjoying.
Tyson has been slowly teaching me how to cook new recipes, allowing me to experiment with different food combinations.
He even has the decency to pretend that they’re edible.
Being allowed to do whatever I want, having free reign and being able to make a mess in the kitchen without getting scolded for it. It’s liberating in a way I never knew before.
We’ve also been cooking together, silently chopping side by side. Tyson passing me his peeled potatoes that I slice into thin circles, making home-made chips while he takes care of the dishes.
He’s the brooding type who gets around without saying much save for a few grunts. Except when it comes to his woodworking projects.
Neither of us feeling the need to fill the silence and I’m grateful for it. Words don’t come easily to me.
Meeting new people and having conversations that go beyond what is the necessary minimum of politeness were always difficult.
I wasn’t just introverted but downright disinterested in most human beings, never caring about the latest gossip.
All those interactions seemed so shallow and pointless that after a while I stopped trying so hard to make friends, to fit in and be accepted.
I felt most comfortable on my own.
It wasn’t isolating when I didn’t seek the company of others in the first place.
I’m sure my controlling parents were partially to blame for these tendencies but it’s who I am at my core, and I’ve come to terms with it.
Even learned to embrace it once I realized that I don’t have to fit the mold of what society expects of me.
Despite having to act the part on the few social outings a year, at home I could be myself.
What I didn’t expect was that my desire for being left alone and live somewhere secluded would come true to such an extreme extend. In a way, I got what I always wanted.
I guess it’s true when they say to be careful with what you wish for.
Except I didn’t account for a dark-eyed mountain of a man in my dreams.
In the past, whenever I was forced to be around other people, there was always this itch go get away as fast as possible. To flee to my room to read or paint in peace.
Yet with Tyson, that urge seems to vanish into thin air.
He has this irrevocable pull on me that I can’t quite put into words. I kept chalking it up to simple intrigue but I’m not so sure anymore.
Altogether, I’ve grown to be somewhat content here.
There’s no pressure to always be my best, to look and behave like a perfect doll, not making a single mistake in the twenty-one years that I’ve been alive.
Aside from initially bringing me here, Tyson has never forced me into anything, genuinely listening to my opinions, treating me as an equal.
Maybe it’s just basic human decency but it’s still a lot more than I was used to and it’s making my head spin.
I never realized how restrained I was until he cut me free.
Let me be unconditionally myself.