Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amidst dreams of getting chopped to bits with a chainsaw and watching my organs get fed to Pearl, it takes a while for the knocking to really break through. When it does, my eyes open, and I find myself sitting upright, trembling, before I really know that I’m awake.
“I-I’m up,” I gasp instinctively, my head reeling as I try to separate my dream from reality.
“I’m awake, I swear, I…” I trail off, my words fading while I blink stupidly into the fading light from the other side of the lacy curtains.
The clock on the bedside table reads just after seven thirty, and I squint at it, thinking that it absolutely cannot be right.
There’s no way I’ve been asleep this long without waking up at least once.
But judging by the way the sun is casting pink and orange streaks across the sky and dipping below the faraway trees, that’s exactly what time it is. I rub my eyes and the knocking comes again, softer this time.
“Yeah, I’m up,” I say again. “I’m awake.” Biting back an apology and pushing to my feet, hating how my eyes feel like they’re full of sand from crying earlier. The back of my throat is no longer sore, at least, and I’m hungry, rather than still nauseous.
Not that I’ll ever be able to eat again.
“You okay, darlin’?” Fox’s drawl sends a shiver down my spine as I remember this morning, and worse than that, what I needed to come to terms with in the workshop outside.
When I don’t answer, he continues, “I heard about what happened in the workshop. I, uh…” I hear him sigh, and he shifts his weight, making the boards creak under him outside.
“I told you not to go out there for a reason. Not because I was just being a jerk.”
I still don’t speak, and the silence stretches, becoming uncomfortable. “Look, dinner’s about ready. We’ve got Mrs. Hewitt’s biscuits and, well, Deacon really isn’t that bad of a cook.”
Nausea churns in my stomach, and I swallow back bile. “That’s, umm. That’s okay,” I call, though my voice is shaky. “I’m not hungry.” It’s a lie. I’m starving, and I’m sure by now my stomach is chowing down on my other organs…which is a pretty sickening thought, given my current situation.
Fox sighs, and I can hear him shifting uncomfortably again, like he’s not enjoying this conversation any more than I am.
“I’m not really giving you an option.” His words are carefully neutral and devoid of anything that might make them sound like a threat, but that’s what they are. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
As a wave of irritability goes through me, I bite my lip and shake my head. Even if he doesn’t see it, somehow the motion still makes me feel better. “No,” I say again. “I’m not hungry.”
This time, his knocking is slow, methodical, and thoughtful. “Little rabbit,” Fox admonishes. “Are we really going to do this?”
“Yeah,” I reply stubbornly. “Yeah, we’re really going to do this. If you want me to come down to dinner, then you’ll—”
I don’t expect the door to open. Even more shocking, Fox just strides inside, his dark eyes on mine. I stumble backward until my back hits the wall. Then Fox is crowding me against it, and his smile is just a little less friendly than usual as he leans on his arm to cage me in.
“I’ll have to come in here and get you?” he suggests, chuckling as his eyes dance with a dark mirth. “Was that what you were going to say to me, Sadie-Rae?”
It takes a second, and a few inhales, before I can whisper, “Yeah. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Well, here I am. Inviting you to dinner.” He leans forward, his nose brushing mine.
“You’re making this very hard on yourself, you know.
But I think maybe that’s what I like about you.
” One hand comes up to stroke down my cheek, but I don’t have anywhere to go to get away from him.
I certainly don’t have the guts to shove his hand away.
Not with my heart racing like a terrified rabbit’s.
“I really don’t want to go,” I murmur at last, shivering under the feeling of the pads of his fingers on my skin. “Please, Fox—”
“You need to eat. Deacon said you puked outside, and you haven’t eaten well since we found you.” His tone is kind, but that doesn’t make this any better. Before I can respond, the Wolf Lake sheriff suddenly grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder and ignoring my indignant shriek.
“Did he even bother explaining it to you?” Fox asks as he strides down the hallway. I feel him take the stairs, the bouncing is disconcerting, and I have to grab onto his flannel shirt for stability.
Not that he’s dropped me yet. Between the two of them, his grip on me always feels incredibly stable and safe, though Deacon is no slouch when it comes to carrying me like a sack of potatoes through the Shaw property.
Finally, Fox sets me down in the dining room, and I know better than to do something stupid when I don’t have a weapon.
Fox’s hand doesn’t leave the back of my neck, however, until I acquiesce to his silent nod and sit down hard in the same chair I ate breakfast in.
Across from me, there are two places set, and Deacon is already sitting at one of them, sipping water from a glass.
“We don’t usually eat like this. You know, all formal and everything.” Deacon delivers the words along with a roll of his eyes that Fox glowers at as he joins him on his side of the table. “He’s doing all this for you.”
“Because you made us seem like monsters,” his adopted brother shoots back while he sits down.
“No, I think you did a pretty good job of that too.” Deacon’s taunting gaze holds my eyes. “She saw us last night, lover.”
My stomach twists, and a jolt goes up my spine as Fox looks up at me in surprise. “You did?”
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, she did,” Deacon is quick to interject in his teasing drawl.
“After we heard her scurrying around the house, she apparently decided to be a little spy. She was standing out in the hallway. We didn’t close the door all the way, I guess.
” He doesn’t seem very put out by it. His eyes dance, the blue of his irises is almost bioluminescent in his mirth. “Did you enjoy watching Fox—”
“I didn’t see anything.” Denying his words before he can finish the statement, not wanting to hear what he could come up with.
“I didn’t see…much,” I have to amend, however, when he narrows his eyes and tilts his head just enough that he doesn’t have to call me a liar out loud. “It was an accident. I didn’t know.”
Fox sighs, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling like he’s asking God for divine intervention, or maybe just the patience to deal with Deacon.
He lets out another huff and gets to his feet, boots making soft noises on the hardwood floor as he leaves the dining room to disappear around the wall into the kitchen.
Which leaves me with Deacon, who’s still staring at me like a cat who’s eaten every canary on the block and is looking at the only survivor. His gaze is downright predatory, and his smile is less than friendly. “Hope you’re hungry,” he hums. “We made dinner special, just for you.”
As if on cue, Fox comes back with a basket of biscuits that he puts down on the table, a butter dish going down beside it.
The sight of food makes my stomach nearly claw up my throat in need, and I can already feel my mouth watering.
My hands itch to grab for the biscuits like a gremlin and drag the basked all toward me while hissing and keeping the boys away.
At least until Fox comes back again and sets down two more plates. The first looks innocent enough, and the potatoes and carrots are steaming, heaped high with butter, with steam curling toward me like a cartoon pie waving me forward.
No, the vegetables aren’t the problem.
The meat is.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was veal.
Though my experience with it has been limited to my parents splurging on their favorite meal for big anniversaries.
My stomach turns at the smell that’s not quite right, and I’m halfway to my feet when Fox suddenly leans across the table, his hands on the wood and a smile on his lips.
“Something I can get you?” he asks, his gaze on mine and much steadier than my racing thoughts will allow.
“I—” My eyes go to the plate, then back at him. From the corner of my eye, I see Deacon grin and sit back with a glass of tea in his hand, his attention on us like we’re his favorite sitcom. “I can’t do this.”
Fox doesn’t answer. He glances back down at my chair, pointedly, and stands there, unmoving, matching my pose.
I can’t do this.
“You’re making a big deal over nothing,” he murmurs in a voice that’s definitely supposed to be comforting.
“Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.
Not to mention…” He looks down and gently moves the basket of biscuits away from my outspread fingers.
“Mrs. Hewitt’s biscuits are the best biscuits you’ll ever put in your mouth.
Let’s try not to spill them all over the place, all right?
I like your dog a lot, but if we have to give these to her and the chickens, I’ll be pretty upset. ”
Chickens? My mind searches for signs of livestock on the property, but I can’t recall seeing even a coop. “You have chickens?”
“Of course we have chickens,” Deacon scoffs, already tearing apart a biscuit on his plate. “You just haven’t seen them. We don’t need some frantic, out of her mind guest”—he puts emphasis on the word that makes me shiver—“trampling all over them.”
“I wouldn’t hurt an animal.” My words come out just as offended as I feel and I sit down hard, shocked by the accusation.
“I’d never do that.” Hell, I haven’t even tried to hurt either of them.
Though, quite frankly, I’m willing to change that if they won’t let me out.
If hurting or threatening either of them is what it’ll take to get out of here, that’s definitely a line I’m willing to cross.