41 - Jocelyn
~ 41 ~
JOCELYN
“Beefsteak. Heirloom. San Marzano.”
Bruschetta Joe didn’t even look up from what he was doing. He continued pouring and mixing drinks, his two thick arms moving with fast, practiced ease.
“It can’t be cherry, can it?”
The man frowned. He rolled his eyes.
“Joe—”
“No respectable Italian would use cherry tomatoes for anything but a salad,” he admonished me. “The water content is too high. Everything turns to mush.”
“Fine, then,” I conceded. “Plum.”
He laughed, mockingly.
“Brandywine?”
I saw him stiffen, visibly. For a moment, he actually looked up.
“Brandywine!” I practically shouted. “You use Brandywine tomatoes because they’re sweet! And because the skin is thin and delicate, so they make good—”
“Here,” Joe grunted, shoving the serving tray in my direction. “Get these drinks to that table on the end. They’re getting antsy.”
“Let’s talk about garlic,” I half pleaded, half teased. “I know you did something magical to that garlic, Joe. And I know you—”
“Garlic’s garlic!” he boomed, angrily. “Now get back to work! Or do I have to make the drinks and serve them myself?”
I slid the tray into my arm and shuffled away, satisfied I was getting somewhere. In truth, there were a thousand other things I should be worried about besides Joe’s secret recipe for bruschetta. But sometimes, and especially in a room full of assholes like these, you needed a little levity to take the edge off.
On the other side of the room, poor Dorothea was lost in a sea of crude remarks, errant pinches, and attempted grabs. I felt terrible for her. Having worked as a waitress in college, I’d grown adept at dodging such unwanted advances. But this wasn’t a diner, or your normal group of customers. This was an entire testosterone-fueled mercenary company, packed under a single roof, with barely a woman in sight. These men were high on their own inflated egos, and emboldened by alcohol. They were on a field trip to an island of lawlessness, in a self-absorbed world where the rules already didn’t apply to them.
On paper, it was a recipe for mass fuckery and chaos.
Some of the men — the smart ones anyway — were wise enough to remain in control. Roman’s crew remained especially conservative. They huddled around the smattering of chest-high tables and drank very little. More often than not, I was bringing them a round of soft drinks, or water.
Every time I returned to the kitchen, I would touch base with one or more of the boys. Andre dragged me into an empty hallway, and shoved me against the wall. For two very hot minutes, we kissed so much we lost our breath. Kayden snuck another kiss while handing me a tray of cheese croquettes, while Bishop pressed up against me from behind. As his hands slid over my ass, it sent shockwaves of heat throughout my entire body. I couldn’t help remembering their touch, and recalling how it felt to be sandwiched between them. And especially, how very fucking much I wanted it again.
Whatever they were planning was still on, but I learned it would most likely take place after the dinner service. As stressful as it was, I had to admit it was a little thrilling, living in constant danger. We were surrounded by armed men, professional killers, and even some people who’d done terrible things. I’d come to Greece expecting forgetfulness and relaxation, and instead I was caught in a revenge plot, serving food and drinks to some of the most deadly men on the planet. When you really thought about it, I ought to be terrified. But between Kayden and Bishop, and now Andre? Somehow I felt protected, and knew in my heart that everything would be okay.
As the cocktail portion of the evening dragged into its second hour, my anticipation grew. I kept up my banter with Bruschetta Joe, to take the edge off my nervousness, until he’d become so busy he could barely speak. I spent some time watching out for Dorothea too, while avoiding Raif, looking out for trouble, and listening in on every conversation I could.
Everything was going great, in fact, until I was on the far side of the ballroom.
That’s when a hand clamped over my wrist, pulled violently, and dragged me away.