Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
It feels like a test, but even if it didn't, I know the answer.
"No, sir. Not quite yet."
He nods before clapping me on the back and walking away.
If I didn't have a terrified woman hiding out in my closet, my answer might've been different, even though I know the answer I gave was the one my boss was looking for. He needs us to be a hundred percent when we're on a mission, for our own well-being and the safety of the others on our teams.
I realize as I get to the bedroom door with a plate in each hand that I could've never been a waiter. I nearly lose both meals on the floor, trying to get the door open, grateful that it's no longer locked.
"We were seconds away from eating turkey off the floor," I tell her as I step inside, using the side of my foot to close the door once I enter.
I hand over a plate but realize when she scrunches her nose that I'm offering the one with the pickle by mistake.
"Shit, sorry. Crap, I didn't mean to cuss."
Her eyes narrow at me, and I don't like the speculation.
"Cerberus is urged not to cuss in front of women and children," I explain. "Apologies if I offended you."
I grin when she rolls her eyes.
When she takes the correct plate from my hand, I pull her bottle of water from the pocket of my sweats.
I turn back to my bed, not wanting to put her on the spot if she decides she can't trust the sandwich the way she couldn't trust breakfast this morning and the food I offered last night.
I sit on the bed, making sure to shift enough to the left so I don't block her line of sight to the television. She has something else on, and I smile as I lift my sandwich to my mouth. I don't know if it's a test, if she's trying to determine if I'm going to be upset that she’s turned on some cartoon with different animals exploring things in the ocean.
Cartoons are my jam too. They're always on in the living room for the kids when folks are getting ready for a gathering or a party. Loads of people come over just to hang out and socialize, and we aren't paying any attention to what's on the television.
I haven't seen this show before but it looks like one that Hound's gaggle of kids would enjoy. I make a mental note to ask him about it as I lower my sandwich to my plate and snap off a bite of my pickle.
I don't look over my shoulder, but I can tell from the sounds that she's making that she's eating. She could've unwrapped things while I was gone, but I want to believe she's finally accepted the food I brought as safe, and she's eating the sandwich. The crinkle of the bag of cheesy chips is expected as she ate those last night.
We sit for the next hour, eating and watching cartoons, but she never laughs. After the third episode draws to an end, I climb off the bed, holding back my smile, to see that all but the top crust of bread from her sandwich is gone.
Chapter 12
Brielle
Eating the sandwich doesn't mean I trust him. It just means that I think he's unlikely to hurt me in this way.
Seeing Emmalyn this morning helped. I know she does a lot of good for the shelter.
I stare down at the empty plate. What is it about food prepared by someone else that makes it taste better than something I'd make myself?
It was only a turkey sandwich and chips, but it seriously hit the spot.
When I ran away from Nathan's home in Ohio, I couldn't think of one thing I'd miss about being there, but I found early on that the food at the shelter was much different. Instead of gourmet meals prepared by a classically trained chef, we had to make our own meals, and those consisted of quick and easy dishes since there were so many people that had to eat and the rather picky appetites of small children.
Thinking of the chef makes me recall all the times I begged the staff to help me, but they were so terrified of my stepfather that they wouldn't even make eye contact with me when I spoke to them. When I was younger, I wondered why someone would continue to work for a man who they were afraid of, but I understood better when I was older. Nathan doesn't like rejection, and he likes being inconvenienced even less. They were no less trapped than I was despite them being able to leave the house after their shift was done, unlike me.
Nathan's threat of harm or even death extended to everyone he touched, and there was a reason for that. Someone had to have seen him do things that would instill that fear in them, but no one ever spoke of it.