35. Chapter 35
Rosalina
The sound of the lock disengaging dragged me from my meandering thoughts. My eyes flew to the door, and I waited.
I’d long since finished the bottled water Nico had brought, and hunger gnawed at my stomach. Maybe someone had remembered they needed to feed me, so I wouldn’t starve to death. Unless that really was what they wanted.
The sweet scent of thick syrup on perfectly custardy bread drifted to my nose. The things I would do for French toast right now. That thought made me miss Maria. I could always count on her when I needed comfort food. Right now I would settle for any food at all.
No sound came from behind the door, but I’d definitely heard the lock click.
Where were they? I pushed myself to my feet, every muscle protesting after being cramped up on the cement bench for so long.
The door hadn’t opened, so I shuffled across the floor, skirting the finger, to peek out the high window.
As far as I could see in either direction, the hall was empty, with an ambient glow coming from the left.
That was weird.
I nudged the door, and it shifted as if it had never been locked at all.
I knew it had. This wasn’t the first time I’d pushed against it, or pounded on it screaming.
But no pounding or screaming was necessary.
It swung open on silent hinges. This had to be some kind of fucked-up trap.
Tentatively, I peeked out of the door, looking both directions.
To the right there were more doors, similar to this one, and a dead end with a tiny window high in the block wall, too small even for an omega to fit through.
To the left, a set of wooden stairs led up to a well-lit corridor.
I inched out of the cell, padding slowly across the frigid floor toward the light.
Each step I placed carefully, half expecting the door above to slam shut to a chorus of laughter.
I checked over my shoulder, but there was no one behind me sneaking up with a knife, either.
The scent of salty, sweet breakfast teased me, coaxing me up the steps. If I was going to die anyway, I might as well not die hungry.
I emerged from the shadows into a tasteful hallway.
Creamy walls boxed me in as I made my way across the dark mahogany floor.
Faintly in the distance, I heard a muffled banging, but there was no other direction to go.
So I picked my way quietly toward the noise.
The first open door I came across led to a bathroom, which I took full advantage of, and noticed it had a narrow window high above the bathtub.
If I had something to break it with, I could probably fit out of that.
I’d keep that in mind for later. The next two doors I passed were locked, and then the hall ended in an open, airy living space.
I paused, listening for anything to tell me where danger might be coming from.
A set of wide, polished stairs led up to the second floor on my right, and to my left a set of double-doors with sidelights led to a porch.
Beyond the porch was darkness and a hint of trees hanging past the roofline.
The hollow clanking of pans sounded around the corner from the steps.
From where I stood, I could see a long kitchen island and warm, bright lights spilling from beyond it.
I might be able to make it out the front door before anyone noticed if I were quiet enough.
The tattered gown, bare feet, and empty stomach were still a problem, but it was worth the risk. This couldn’t have been any easier. It made me suspicious.
I tiptoed to the left, casting a glance toward the kitchen. So far, so good. Just another couple of feet.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice, soft and thick like whipped cream, called out from around the corner.
Fuck.
I froze. The soothing voice wasn’t familiar, but it had a core of steel, and I turned slowly to face it. My breath hissed from my lungs.
Bathed in light from the kitchen stood something from a dream. He wasn’t terribly tall, but his features were refined, and his fine-boned posture was perfectly elegant. A tousle of golden-brown hair fell over piercing blue eyes, and a haughty smirk played across his narrow lips.
“I mean, you can if you want, but it won’t work.” He turned and walked back into the kitchen, giving me a good look at his muscled back and narrow hips.
My fingers tingled to run down the divot of his spine.
He was stunning, so stunning I just stood there trying to remember where I was going and why I needed to leave at all.
Oh right, my best friend was kidnapped, and I was his fucking captive.
The shoulder of his white T-shirt peeked out from behind the industrial fridge door before he disappeared into the kitchen again. I warred with myself for half a second.
Hot boys did not beat out my freedom, so I turned back and lunged for the exit before he could stop me.
My fingers curled around the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no visible lock, either. I searched around for a keypad or something, and found a flat panel that looked out of place, but it didn’t do shit.
“I told you,” he said, calling from across the room. “How do you like your eggs?”
I spun around to face him, but his back was to me again while he did something at the stove. “I don’t want eggs. I want out!”
He dropped some food into the pan, and a chorus of sizzles filled the air. “Sucks to want what you can’t have, doesn’t it?”
That little prick. “How dare you. Let me out.”
“Well, I was going to make you breakfast for dinner, but if you’re not hungry, I’ll just eat it myself.” He flipped whatever he was cooking, tapped the spatula on the edge of the pan, and set it aside. The unmistakable scent of bacon billowed through the room.
The delicious smells filling the space were not helping me stay the course.
My stomach tightened with hunger and promptly rumbled its displeasure.
He couldn’t have heard it from the kitchen, but he turned to look at me across the entryway expectantly.
His eyes trailed over my body, lingering on my every curve.
If he noticed my disheveled appearance, he didn’t mention it.
Normally, if a stranger looked at me like that, while I was wearing this little, I’d slap that smile right off his face, but instead my back arched as if his eyes were stroking the length of my naked skin.
His teeth caught his lower lip, and he leaned back on the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The front of his gray sweats did nothing to hide his growing appreciation.
My cheeks warmed. Everything smelled so good, and my hunger soared, not just for food.
Fucking omega brain.
The front door was a no-go, but there had to be other ways out of here. I’d be able to think better on a full stomach anyway.
A black hoodie hung on a hook by the door, so I grabbed it and pulled it over my scrap of a dress, covering my indecent display.
Big fucking mistake.
I was hit with the most delicious smell. I almost moaned out loud, and my knees felt too weak to hold me upright. Sweet and buttery, with hints of maple, cinnamon, and nutmeg. All of my favorite things.
“Sure, you can borrow my hoodie. All you had to do was ask.” The man busied himself filling two plates on the counter next to the stove as I blinked stupidly.
My head spun, and my eyes closed, as I tried to get air into my lungs, but that only made everything worse because now they were filled with the pheromones coming from the sweater I’d stupidly put on.
“Come eat before it gets cold. No sane person likes cold eggs.”
When I opened my eyes, he was setting the plates at a round table in front of a pair of oversized french doors.
“They’re locked too, in case you were wondering,” he said, noting the direction of my gaze.
I made my way over to the table, trying to play it cool, and sat down in the chair he pulled out for me.
“Uh, thanks. I guess.” Honestly, I was a prisoner, so why the fuck was I thanking him for the bare decency of feeding me.
Maybe it was poisoned, and that was why he seemed so smug.
I tried to hold on to that anger and rage, but it fizzled out faster than I could bolster it under the pale blue gaze of this man.
“I’m Oliver, but you can call me Ollie. Nico and Cruz had to run an errand and won’t be back for a while. They told me to feed you.” He sat and picked up his fork.
Errands to cut off more fingers, probably.
I shook that thought away and picked up my utensils.
My stomach chose that moment to groan in protest despite the disgusting thought.
I hesitated, but as he bit into his food, my resolve crumbled, and I started to eat.
I was too hungry to worry about body parts, poison, or to bother responding.
Fuck, this was good, though. The bacon was just crisp enough, the scrambled eggs with cheese were light and fluffy, and the over-medium egg had the perfect runny yolk to sop up with golden-brown, buttered bread.
I shoveled it all into my mouth. The only thing that would have made this better was French toast, which I kept getting whiffs of.
I didn’t want to believe the smell was coming from the hoodie, so I sniffed the collar to be sure. The scent grew stronger. If I could’ve side-eyed myself, I would’ve. Was I bonkers to think the fabric was where it was coming from? It had to be, but why?
“You didn’t tell me what kind of eggs you wanted, so I gave you options. I see you don’t have a particular preference.” He smirked, picking up a piece of bacon to snack on while he watched me inhale the meal he’d cooked.
“Fuck you. They starved me. The last thing I had was a mimosa at brunch yesterday morning. I’m fucking hungry,” I said, not lifting my eyes from my food. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had breakfast yesterday either, but I was being a little dramatic. I was hangry, give me a break.
With a scrape, his plate slid into my line of sight. “Eat. I can make more.”