Chapter 7 Allegra #2
“Cassian,” I say, walking toward what is now the fully functioning, beautiful kitchen with a stunning Aga stove at the heart.
The counters are a sleek marble with what must be custom modern appliances.
The windows along the back wall are arched and wrought with iron, the glass stained with scenes I could study all day and not get enough of.
I notice below those tall windows shorter ones have been installed, these only made to look old.
He has opened two to let in the bright sunshine in spite of the freezing air.
“Wow,” I say, as he pours coffee and holds the mug out to me.
“I know,” he says. His mouth stretches into a wide smile. I take it in, my lip curling into a sneer. He’s too smug.
“It is impressive,” I continue, taking the mug, watching that satisfied smile widen. “If you don’t mind a graveyard for your backyard I mean,” I add, enjoying how his face falls.
“Cream and sugar are there.” He points.
“I take it black.”
He turns back to the stove where a pan is warming. “You eat bacon and eggs?” he asks, glancing at me. I nod, my stomach growling loud enough for him to hear.
“I didn’t have dinner,” I say, feeling embarrassed.
“You should have told me you were hungry last night.”
“When? Before or after you stripped and beat me?”
He glances at me over his shoulder, amused. “I didn’t beat you. I spanked you. Which you and I both enjoyed.”
“Fuck off.”
He chuckles. “Well, I don’t plan on starving you. Sit.”
“Since you brought it up, what do you plan to do with me?” I ask. Since our casual interaction this morning, since that banter, I’ve nearly forgotten that I’m his prisoner and to do that would be a mistake.
He won’t hurt me, I tell myself. If he was going to hurt me, he wouldn’t have me sitting in his kitchen while he cooked for me. I’d be in some damp, dark basement, freezing, starving. Losing all hope.
No. Stop it.
I shake my head to stop my brain from continuing down that road. This isn’t that. This is different. This is nothing like that.
I slide into a seat at the counter which would once have been the altar. It feels weird. Like it shouldn’t be allowed or something.
“Scrambled okay?” he asks.
“It’s fine.”
He cracks four eggs into the pan then breaks the yokes. I watch him cook. It’s weird, like it was weird to see his bare feet. This is so domestic.
“You don’t have someone cooking for you?” I ask taking in his broad back, noting how the muscles work beneath the white button down.
“I enjoy it. It relaxes me.” He plates breakfast and carries both dishes over along with two forks and one knife. I guess he’s not taking any chances. I pick up a fork and eat some eggs. I’m starving.
He sits across from me and watches me eat for a minute while just sipping his coffee like he’s considering something.
“Why aren’t you eating? Is it going to make me sick or something?”
He smiles, eats a strip of bacon. “Nope.”
“Are you going to answer me?”
“You’ll be safe.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said.”
I push some of the eggs around with my fork. “How long will I be safe?”
“Well, for starters, I won’t put cigarettes out on your neck or cut off a finger.”
My heart races and my appetite vanishes. I’m sure my face has gone white. Is he trying to be funny?
His eyes narrow. His gaze moves to where my finger should be. I set my fork down and place my hands in my lap to hide them from him.
“No one hurt me,” I say quickly even though he hasn’t asked. “I lost my finger in an accident.”
“Really?”
I nod. It’s what I’ve always said to the few people who have seen it. Who have dared to ask.
“The marks on your neck? Those an accident too?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly too dry to speak. “You misunderstand,” I say, setting my hands on the edge of the counter to push my chair back. Before I can, though, he covers my left one with his right. The tip of his finger caresses the nub where my missing finger is.
It’s a strange sensation and I look down at his hand so big around mine. I don’t try to pull away.
“Even if you’re not lying and this was an accident, which I don’t believe, the marks on your neck are not and there aren’t too many options as far as who could have done that to you.”
“You don’t know anything and besides, it’s none of your business.” I try to pull my hand out from under his, but he shifts his grip, taking my wrist, not letting me go. This is more what I’d expect from someone like him, after all. It’s more fitting for a mafia boss.
“But I made it my business. Who hurt you?”
“Why do you care? You who apparently sleeps with his brother’s wife—”
“What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know, her clothes in your closet maybe?”
“That’s quite the conclusion to jump to.”
“Well, it’s none of my business if you’re fucking your brother’s wife so I’ll keep my nose out of it just like you should keep your nose out of my business.”
His grip goes from tight to hurting. “I am not fucking my brother’s wife,” he says, tone different. Dark. Scary, actually.
“I don’t care if you are,” I say, but as I speak the words, I note how the turquoise of his eyes has changed, that sea blue turned stormy.
There’s an infinitesimal shift in the muscles of his face, too.
I’ve triggered him. But as I watch, I see he’s trying to keep control of himself.
It feels like his grip on my wrist is some sort of anchor for him to do that, something solid to keep hold of.
But he must be aware of how much bigger than me he is.
How much stronger. How much damage he can do and how quickly.
“Let me go,” I say, hearing how my voice betrays my panic. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I watched him break Michael’s wrist with one hand and I’m sure that’s just a tiny sliver of what he can and will do.
“My brother is gone,” he says, grip hurting now. “And she wasn’t his wife yet. She was his fiancée, and she is the mother of my nephew and a good friend. I won’t have you disrespect my brother or her or me.”
I snatch up my fork and press the prongs against the back of his hand. “I said let me go.”
“You do that, sweetheart, and you will be in a world of hurt.”
Before I decide how to respond, what to do, footsteps echo behind me.
“Am I interrupting breakfast?” a man asks.
I turn to look. The man, who is maybe a couple of years younger than Cassian, walks up the steps to the kitchen. His steps are confident, his expression relaxed although I see him quickly take in the scene.
He’s dressed in a dark suit with a navy button down and tie. He’s built like Cassian, big, but they don’t look alike so I don’t think they’re related. This man has dark hair that’s combed back from his face and green eyes, and his skin isn’t olive, like Cassian’s.
He gives off a similar energy though. Asshole.
“Jet,” Cassian says, releasing me and standing. I rub my wrist. Cassian turns his back to us and walks stiffly away. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t I drop in on my brother?”
So, they are brothers?
“Didn’t realize you’d be having breakfast with, what is she? Your houseguest?” Jet asks, looking me over. From his expression, I think he must recognize the clothes, but he doesn’t comment.
“Don’t get too close. She’s feral,” Cassian warns him before turning to me. “Go to your room.”
“I don’t have a room,” I say, slipping off the stool.
He grits his jaw. “Go to my room then. Now.”
My gaze moves from Cassian to Jet, who picks a strip of bacon off Cassian’s plate and bites down on it, grinning, watching our interaction with keen interest.
“Now Allegra,” Cassian says.
I look back at Cassian whose eyes have narrowed to slits.
“Fine. Asshole.” That last part I mutter under my breath as I walk away, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Cassian is on me in a second, tugging me to him by my hair, his other arm banding over my ribs so my back is flush with his front, my head tilting upward, his face right there.
“What did I tell you about that smart mouth of yours?” he asks, the spikey short hairs along the hard line of his jaw scratching my skin.
“You’re hurting me,” I say, trying to pull his arm off.
The weight of it is making it hard to breathe.
All the same, I hate the fact that my mind makes a note of his aftershave.
Of how his body feels against mine. How big he is.
I hate that when I look at his mouth, all I can think about is how his tongue felt on me.
“Am I?” he asks, not loosening his grip. He leans his face closer, makes a point of inhaling. “I’m starting to think you like it,” he whispers so only I can hear.
“You’re mistaken,” I say, nudging my elbow against his injured side in warning.
“Be careful, Little Moth. Be very careful.”
I turn my face a little. “Just let me go.”
“Answer my question. What did I tell you about your smart mouth?”
“That you would put it to good use,” I say, answering his question.
“And you remember what I’d hate to do?”
My heart pounds, sweat pooling under my arms, panic rising in my belly. “Let me go. Please!”
“No, that’s not it. Although I do like the polite way you asked.”
“Cassian,” Jet says, coming toward us and placing a hand on Cassian’s shoulder.
“Do you remember or do I need to remind you?” Cassian asks, ignoring his brother. My breaths are coming in gasps, but it’s not the restriction of his arm across my chest. It’s panic.
“Hard to forget a threat like that,” I tell him, reminding myself that playing good little victim doesn’t help. It only makes them want to hurt you more.
“Cassian,” Jet snaps. “Let her go.”
“Then don’t taunt me,” Cassian says.
“Hey. You’re hurting her,” Jet says.
That gets Cassian’s attention. He looks down at his arm as I claw at it, then at my face as I try to calm my breathing.
He loosens his grip, but it’s a minute before he releases me.
The instant he does, I stumble out of his reach drawing in a lungful of air.
I see how his forehead is furrowed, his eyes narrowed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell.
“Go to your room!”
“I don’t have a room!” I tell him again.
Cassian takes a step toward me. Jet rushes to block him, his back to me.
“Be smart. Get the fuck out of here. Now,” he tells me without looking at me.
Cassian’s jaw is set, eyes locked on me over his brother’s shoulder.
I decide not to stick around. I hurry back to his bedroom, slam the door, then go into the bathroom where I can lock myself in.
I lean my back against it and listen to my panicked breaths, trying to calm myself, not sure how that all just went so completely sideways.