But there's a stiffness to it all. A performance. They're being careful around me, like I'm a bomb that might explode if they say the wrong thing.
I hate it.
This issomuch fucking worse.
"So what's the plan for today?" I ask, scraping the last of the eggs onto my plate. "Do I just... sit here? Wait for instructions?"
Cyrus and Jinx exchange a look that tells me they haven't actually thought that far ahead. I guess they don't do this often, buying random women and keeping them captive in a giant house.
It's a relief for all the wrong reasons.
"We've got business," Cyrus says finally.
"And I'm supposed to do what, exactly? Twiddle my thumbs in my pink cage?"
"You could unpack," Jinx suggests weakly.
"Already did. Took me twenty minutes." I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "What else?"
Before either can answer, heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs. My heart leaps instinctively at the thought it might be Tank, but Kade appears in the doorway, and I look away sharply, freshly humiliated from whatever the fuck that was last night.
But my eyes drift back as he strides into the room.
He's shirtless, too, packed with lean muscle and tattoos that have multiplied since I last saw them. So many tattoos. The flames on his arms have spread to his chest, and the scar on his forearm isn't the only one after all.
"The fuck is this?"
His voice cuts through the kitchen like a whip, and suddenly the easy atmosphere shatters. He's staring at the stove, at the plates of food, atmelike I've committed some cardinal sin.
"Breakfast?" I offer, trying for casual and landing somewhere around defensive.
"Did I tell you that you could touch our shit?" He moves into the kitchen, and the space suddenly feels claustrophobic. "That you could just make yourself at home?"
"You said thiswasmy home," I remind him. "For the next year. Or are you already sick of me?"
Why the fuck do I hope he's not?
"Yourroomis your home. The rest"—he gestures around the kitchen—"belongs to us. And I don't remember giving you permission to dig through our fridge and use our stove."
"For fuck's sake, Kade." Jinx sets his fork down with a clatter. "She made breakfast. That's not exactly a war crime."
"Not the point. She doesn't get to decide what she does anymore." Kade's eyes are on me, gray and hard as steel. "That'sthe point."
We stare at each other across the kitchen island, choking on an awkwardness that has nothing to do with my apparent breakfast crimes and everything to do with last night.
With me on my knees.
With him walking away.
Jinx grabs a piece of bacon and shoves it in Kade's mouth before he can say more. Kade's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow dangerously as he chews, swallowing with obvious effort like Jinx just fed him pan-fried fucking betrayal.
"See?" Jinx says cheerfully. "Delicious. Andfree. Which, last I checked, is your favorite price point."
"It's not free if I paid for it." Kade looks like he's considering murder, but then his shoulders drop slightly. "Fine. She can fucking cook."
"Such gracious permission," I mutter, turning back to the stove to hide my smirk.
"Where's Tank?" I ask, because I'm already on thin ice.
