Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 151304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
My hand banged against the door feebly, and I called out, “I need to use the bathroom.”
And I really did. It bordered discomfort, and I squeezed my legs together as my bladder screamed out for relief.
I tried over and over again to garner some attention, and it was only when I’d given up hope that anyone was there when I remembered what Castor told me.
I didn’t expect much, but that didn’t stop my heart from catching in my throat when I said the pathetic words out loud.
“I’m hungry.”
Testing the theory, I kept quiet and simply waited.
So, imagine my surprise when not five minutes later, I heard approaching footsteps. I backed up as the closet door opened, and when Roam stood imposingly tall in the doorframe with narrowed eyes, I stopped breathing. He looked down at me with petulance. I peered up at him with apprehension. Then, he jerked his chin, holding the door open and moving out of the way, and because I was exhausted and didn’t have a lot of energy, I crawled out on my hands and knees, only managing to stand when Roam’s fingers curled around my upper arm and pulled me up.
It worked.
Oh my God. It worked.
I made a mental note to kiss Castor smack on the lips the next time I saw him.
Roam didn’t release my arm as he walked me down to the kitchen, steadying me as I took slow, precise steps down the stairs. Once we were in the kitchen, Roam left me by the double-wide doors as he opened cupboards, picked up boxes and containers, then sighed out, “Sick and tired of this shit being left in my fucking pantry.” His jaw tightened as he lifted one box, shook it, and said, “Nothing but crumbs.” Then he peeked in another box. “Four crackers left in this one.” He pulled out a box of mac and cheese and examined it before throwing it onto the counter. “Out of date.” He moved to the fridge and opened it, inspecting the contents. “Can you cook?”
“Not well,” I admitted quietly, my voice rough.
And he narrowed his eyes on me. “Why the fuck not? Your mom didn’t teach you?”
In my head, she cackled, and my arms broke out in goose bumps.
I took a cautious step forward, unconsciously scratching at my arm, shook my head, and offered a reluctant, “She died when I was a kid.”
I wasn’t looking for sympathy, so I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t get it. Instead, he scowled at me. “What do you plan on feeding your child? Frozen nuggets and Eggos?”
Firstly, I loved dino nuggies. I started by nibbling their limbs, then their little heads, until finally devouring their delicious bodies. I always kept a box in my freezer for the days I kidnapped Lidi, and whenever I did, I fed her all the things she wasn’t normally allowed to eat.
Secondly, there wasn’t a child alive who didn’t love Eggos. My child would be so lucky to have Eggos for breakfast. And occasionally, we would. So, sue me.
This topic of conversation had me feeling more at ease with this unpredictable man. I took another step forward, then another, until I took a seat on a stool at the island. And I had to concede, Roam was right. I really did need to brush up on what little cooking skills I had. “I was thinking of asking Vik’s mom to teach me.”
“She good?” he asked distractedly as he threw a couple of eggs into a pan.
“The best,” I revealed with reverence, and as I glanced at this hard man who was cooking me eggs simply because I told him I was hungry, I wondered if light conversation would unravel the first thread of what I hoped was many. He was manipulative, but I could be too. So, I began to talk, carefully at first. “She cooks like she never left Russia.” Then, a little more openly. “Makes meals that make your mouth water. Her cakes are to die for. My mom wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart, so when I went to Vik’s and saw the kind of mom he got, I was jealous. I always felt more at home at his house than I did at my own.” I hoped to appear obedient and passive as I lowered my gaze and uttered, “I want to be that kind of mom.”
But if I hoped Roam would be moved, I was sorely disappointed. Especially when he uttered an aloof, “Look, I don’t need to hear your life story.” He scooped the eggs onto a plate and slid it over to me. “The quicker you eat, the quicker you go back in your cage and I can get back to work.” He handed me a fork, and as I stretched out to take it, he pulled it out of reach. And I blinked. “You got something to say to me?”