Vicki stormed out of the study and followed the heavenly scent of vanilla toward the kitchen, a professional chef’s wet dream. Once there, she ignored a wary Malcolm and focused on another Ravager standing near a bowl of batter. “You, at the griddle.”
“Yeah?” The large Ravager with the raspy voice cocked an eyebrow, waiting. That he didn’t project any of the hostility or aggression she’d sensed in the other males eased some of her tension, as did his tussled hair and sloppy dress. His wrinkled t-shirt and ripped jeans didn’t shout “enforcer” so much as “slacker.”
“Gimme a stack.” She’d save thepleasefor people who deserved it. In her limited experience, Ravagers didn’t rate manners.
“Better do it, Rule. Woman’s got a mean right hook.” Malcolm surprised her with a wink and a grin before leaving.
“Pancakes, coming up.” Rule turned back to the stove, and Vicki took a deep breath, wondering how she planned to make good on her large gestures of defiance. Because if she really wanted to leave, and she did, how did she think she could power through a compound full of Ravagers, even with Sean’s sorry help?
Twenty minutes later, she didn’t much care. She felt too full to do more than digest her food. A glance at her companion showed him in no hurry to push away from the table.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked.
He grunted and shoveled another hunk of food into his mouth. A few Ravagers had come and gone through the kitchen while she’d been eating, but none stayed longer than to get a good look at her. Rule hadn’t acknowledged any of them either.
A glance around her showed that the kitchen had more than enough space to feed two dozen comfortably. She and Rule sat at a smaller table in a nook overlooking the backyard—a vast field to the south of the house. The rolling splendor of Kansas had changed little from the pictures her great-grandmother liked to whip out at Monday night dinner. Sprawling fields under a baby blue sky littered with cottony white clouds—
Shit.Monday dinner.
She looked around for a phone and saw nothing.
“Need something?” Rule asked in more of a growl than a human voice.
“Yeah, a phone.” She dared him to deny her.
He shrugged. “No need for one out here.”
“Why not? You don’t have emergencies out here in the country?” They couldn’t be more than an hour outside the city limits. Cross Step just wasn’t that big.
“Prime can contact anyone he needs to.”
“What, is he psychic?”
Rule ignored her and ate some more.
“Is he?” She genuinely wanted to know. It just figured she’d be taken in by the Voiders she knew the least about. Her parents had always cautioned her to keep a wary eye on Valks and Vulcani, both races of outsiders that could kill with little effort. The Ravagers mostly kept to themselves, or so she’d thought. They seemed to be pretty particular about whom they accepted into the fold.
Lucky her.
“No.” Rule sighed and leaned back.
“No what?” she murmured, astonished that he’d polished off a dozen thick pancakes. “You eating for two?”
“No, he’s not psychic. And I’m not eating for two. We have a high metabolism.” He grinned, making him look almost appealing, despite his slovenly ways. Then again, she’d yet to meet an unattractive Ravager. Something about that wildness called to every woman seeking a bad boy, she supposed.And that’s the last thing I need.
“I didn’t see any other Ravagers in here eating breakfast.”
He shrugged. “Guess Prime doesn’t want ‘em looking at you.”
“So what makes you so special?”
“I’m the cook,” he announced, as if that explained everything.
“Congratulations, Shaggy. I need a phone.”
“Hey, you need more pancakes, a steak, chicken cordon bleu, I’m your man. Other than that, I can’t help you.” And with that, Rule stood and returned to the stove.
Chapter Thirteen
