Chapter Seventeen - Elise
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elise
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah, just a second.” As I straighten from slipping my shoes on, I lose my balance and sway on my feet.
“Woah.” Joshua puts a steady hand on my lower back. “Are you okay?”
My cheeks flush. “I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, is all.”
I expect his hand to fall away once I’m balanced, but it doesn’t. He keeps a possessive hold on me as we make our way to the kitchen.
Much like yesterday—when he held my face so tenderly—I can’t bring myself to stop him. As unconventional as it may be, there’s something comforting in his touch. Besides, it’s not worth the fight it would likely start.
We’re halfway to the kitchen when I sneak a side glance at Joshua.
Though he doesn’t meet my gaze, he must feel it because he mutters, “What?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“You can ask, but I may not answer.”
When I narrow my eyes, his only response is a what did you expect? look.
“How do you pick who works in the kitchen? Is it some rotation?”
When I first went to the kitchen, I figured that everyone in there would be a chef of some sort, but that’s not the case. A few men seem to know exactly what they’re doing, but most look completely lost and need detailed instructions from Tripp or Jay for each task.
“It’s mostly a rotation of recruits. Some men work primarily in the kitchen because it’s where they’re most useful, but all of my soldiers are trained on the basics of every possible field of work within the base before they’re placed.”
Two parts of his answer surprise me.
The first is that he gave me an explanation when all I had expected was a simple yes or no.
The second is that, though I’m no expert in the ways of mafia recruit training, I know enough to recognize that this isn’t a traditional approach.
Most bosses aren’t concerned with having well-rounded soldiers—just functioning ones.
He chuckles at whatever expression my reaction created.
“Jay will be giving instructions today,” he tells me when we get to the kitchen doors.
“Where’s Tripp?”
Joshua shifts his gaze to Ryder, who, as always, is a few steps behind me. “He’s out for a while.”
“Does this have anything to do with the comment I told you about yesterday?” I try to sound casual, but I can’t help shivering at the memory of Tripp’s callous words.
Joshua doesn’t answer—which is answer enough—and does something far stranger.
Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead before turning to leave. It happens so fast I wonder if I imagined it, but the lingering warmth where his lips met my skin still tingles with electricity.
Joshua’s halfway down the hall when he turns to flash me a rogue grin, leaving me reeling. What the hell just happened?
How does Joshua have the ability to affect me this strongly? I want to be mad at him for abusing his control, but after everything that’s happened, I have to admit that I much prefer it when we’re this way. I’ll take playful and confusing over combative and suffering any day.
I can imagine that today is a more accurate representation of how the kitchen ran before I came to work here.
Instead of Tripp roaming the room, barking orders, Jay takes a more subtle approach to leadership.
He floats from one station to the next, teaching and assessing the work being done by each soldier, myself included.
Unlike Tripp, Jay treats me the same as everyone else. He doesn’t single me out or shoot nasty looks my way every chance he gets.
It’s unbelievably refreshing.
I’m not the only one who seems to notice the change in atmosphere.
Usually, the only sounds filling the room are chopping knives, a sizzling stove, and running water in the sink, but today, it’s accompanied by a pleasant chatter.
I even catch some of the guys laughing among themselves in their private conversations.
Ryder stands a few feet away, watching as I mix the bowl of cherry pie filling that Jay assigned to me. I’d usually ignore him, but he’s closer than normal and the lively setting has sparked my own desire for conversation.
“Are you normally a babysitter or does Joshua let you do actual work sometimes?”
I peek up and find Ryder caught off guard—which, with his stoicism, just means he lifts an eyebrow. Aside from asking him if he wants food, I’ve never tried to talk to him before.
“I go where I’m needed,” is all he says.
I get the impression Ryder is a man of few words, but that doesn’t stop me.
“Come on, this can’t be fun for you. Shouldn’t you be in the middle of a shoot-out or a car chase? Or anything more exciting than watching a twenty-three-year-old make cherry pie?”
He laughs for the first time since I’ve met him, and the sound is delightful. “You really have been sheltered, haven’t you?”
I shrug. “By choice. Besides, I’m sure my theories are much more interesting than reality, so don’t ruin it for me.”
He shakes his head, though a small smile touches his handsome face. “Miss Consoli, you know we’re not supposed to be talking, especially about work.”
“First off, call me Elise. Second”—I scan the room dramatically—“I don’t see Joshua anywhere. And third, I believe we were discussing my imagination, so unless car chases are a normal part of your workday, I think we’re in the clear.”
“Elise,” he says slowly, like he’s testing out my name. “Unfortunately, I’m more afraid of Mr. Moreno than I am of you.”
I put down the bowl I’m holding. “Ryder, I’ll handle Joshua. I’m pretty used to getting yelled at by him. Besides, I haven’t talked to anyone but him since getting here, and I’m sure you can imagine how that could make a person lose their mind.”
He just laughs.
The mesmerizing sound draws the attention of those around us and brings a genuine smile to my lips. “What’s so funny?”
He tosses me a hand towel from the counter beside him. “You have cherry filling on your face. It’s not exactly the most intimidating look.”
Somehow, my pleas work, and I’ve convinced Ryder to indulge me.
I expect to carry most of the conversation but am pleasantly surprised to find that words flow easily between us, requiring little effort on my part to keep things from being awkward.
Though I do most of the talking, he always has a thoughtful comment or challenging question on the tip of his tongue, and the afternoon passes in a blur.
Jay tells me it’s time to take my break, and he allows me time to make food before the thirty minutes begin. I throw together a bourbon and honey chicken salad for Ryder and myself, and we settle in the break room.
“I’m surprised you enjoy those movies at all. You don’t exactly strike me as the graphic and gory type.”
I shrug. “Movie violence doesn’t bother me. Besides, it’s good versus evil, and good always wins.”
The real meaning of my words hangs heavy between us, but he says nothing.
I’m not under the impression that our situation is good guys versus bad guys, more like bad guys versus worse guys, but who’s to say what title goes to what family?
From my perspective, my father and brothers are the heroes, soon to save me from the clutches of the evil Joshua Moreno, but that’s not exactly the case anymore.
Sure, Joshua is far from an upstanding citizen, but do I believe he’s evil?
My hands twitch with the memory of how his body felt against them in the garden.
Solid, capable, warm. His lips were soft and sure against mine, moving with confidence similar to that of putting the first pieces of a puzzle together when you still have no idea what the whole picture will look like, but you know this match is the start of figuring it out.
No, I don’t believe Joshua is evil. In fact, I think there’s a decent man beneath the rough exterior and instinctual need for power and obedience.
Ryder’s analytic eyes don’t leave my face, and I redden under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m surprised you even have time to watch movies. Don’t you sell drugs at night or something equally as illegal?”
A hint of a smile replaces the seriousness. “No, no. We’ve already established that you have no idea what this job entails.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way.”
A beep from his phone steals Ryder’s attention. Since we’re done eating, I take our plates and clean our spots. I’m surprised the kitchen is so empty, but it’s Friday, and my guess is that most men don’t stay at the base over the weekend, so there isn’t a need for many cooks today.
Ryder walks out behind me, his focus on his phone.
“Everything okay?”
“I need to step away for a bit.” He turns to survey the kitchen, easily finding who he’s looking for. “Jay, will you keep an eye on Miss Consoli? I’ll be back soon.”
His words instantly rub me the wrong way. After talking all day, I got used to Ryder acting like a friend, but that’s not the case.
He’s my babysitter, here to ensure I’m on my best behavior. It’s dangerous for me to believe anything more than that.
A short silence makes me think Jay didn’t hear Ryder, but then he yells, “Yeah!” Jay doesn’t even bother to look in my direction, though, too busy digging through a cabinet.
Ryder nods, flashing me a small, apologetic smile before leaving.
I’m about to ask Jay what I can do next, but he talks before I can.
“Oh yes! Here it is! Thanks for your help.” When he turns, I see the cell phone pressed to his ear.
Taking the bag of pecans that he just found, Jay walks back to the storage room without sparing me so much as a glance.
I take a moment to process what just happened.
He didn’t hear Ryder’s request to keep an eye on me.
I’m unsupervised.
I don’t think. I just walk as casually as I can to the kitchen door.
I step out and scan the hall for witnesses but find none.
My feet carry me to the bathroom of their own accord, and in the blink of an eye, I’m standing on the toilet seat, pushing the curtain aside and unlatching the flimsy lock.
It takes a few shoves, but eventually, it slides open, and I’m staring into my literal window of opportunity.
It’s a narrow fit, and it’ll be hard for me to maneuver through without any leverage on this side, but it’s possible.
A breeze flows into the room, and with it, a slap of reality.
What the hell am I doing?
One hand reaches through the open window as if needing proof that nothing is stopping me from climbing to my freedom.
So then, why am I still standing here?
With every passing second, I risk someone noticing my absence, but I can’t bring myself to move. My breathing shallows, and my head spins so fast that I press my palms against the wall to steady myself.
Is escaping really my best option?
If you don’t leave now, they’re going to kill you! one voice hisses in my head.
And if there’s only wilderness for miles? You’d just die out there anyway! says another.
Better to die trying to escape than as a complacent hostage, my pride argues.
What about the note? my logic asks. Dad could come any second now, and you could ruin his plan.
My pride scoffs. Every second you stay, Joshua gets one step closer to finding a loophole to kill you.
And if he catches you, he’ll make you wish you were dead!
I audibly groan, desperate for the warring voices to shut up and let me think clearly, but they’ve made their points. My palms dig into my eye sockets until indistinguishable shapes and colors dance through the oblivion.
Is this chance worth risking Joshua’s wrath? Is it worth risking screwing up Dad’s plan? Is it worth risking my life in the wilderness?
But can I afford to take the alternative risk of staying put?
The worst part is that I know the answer before I even ask, and it terrifies the hell out of me. I’m not sure there was ever a real choice, and I only told myself there was to help soothe the fear that never stops twisting in my gut.
I only pray I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.