My stomach nearly shrivels in on itself as I stare at the bag, temptation tugging at me to reach out and take it.
I clear my throat. “It’s not… there’s nothing in it?”
My voice croaks, and Hudson’s face tightens in understanding. “Nothing in it,” he reassures me. And even though he could easily be lying, I believe him.
Slowly, I take a few steps forward, reaching my hand out for the bag. He holds it steady, the warmth of his hand brushing against mine as I take it from him.
“Thank you,” I whisper. He nods, his eyes scanning my face closely.
I sneak a final look at Nate, who’s watching me with his brows lowered.
“Hey,” he says quickly as I turn to leave. “You still need a job?”
I pause, my shoulders bunching up.
A job.
Hudson jumps in. “We have a kitchen spot open. Nate didn’t know – the other night. You interested?”
The sudden want nearly makes my knees buckle. Am I interested?
But it’s tinged in distrust.
“A kitchen job?” I ask, shuffling my feet as I hug the bag to me with one arm. Delicious smells waft out the top, the heat warming my cold arms. Belatedly, I glance around, letting out a little sound of relief when I spot my discarded duffle bag just behind me.
Hudson nods. “It’s not easy,” he warns. “Big pots, lots of vegetable peeling and running around. But the pay’s decent, and you get meals when you’re working.”
It’s clearly a pity offer, but as I hesitate, the thought of heading back to the dungeon, to another night of cold air with no hope, makes my decision for me.
I nod decisively. “I’m interested.”
Hudson’s smile lights up his face, turning him from interesting to devastating. The laughter lines running from his eyes crinkle.
“Want to start now?” Nate steps forward, and Hudson pins him with a look.
“You,” he says pointedly, “need to get to work.”
Nate’s pout is omega-worthy, but he nods reluctantly before he backs away from us.
“It was nice to meet you,” he calls to me. “I’ll see you later.”
I nod, my eyes flicking from him to Hudson as he waves me up the steps.
“Follow me.”
ChapterFifteen
Hudson
Turning my back on the omega, I hold my breath as I walk back inside. Soft footsteps pad behind me, the scent of butterscotch softening from the bitterness of a moment ago. It’s still a little sharp, her nerves clear, and I’m careful to keep my distance as relief fills me.
I thought she might run off as soon as I turned my back.
The sheer amount of relief I feel makes me blink as I stop at the door to the kitchen, turning to face her. She stares at me, still clutching her bag of food tightly to her chest.
I’m not actually expecting her to start work right now. I’m not in the habit of forcing traumatized and possibly injured omegas to scrub filthy pots until they keel over.
I just didn’t want her toleave. But I need to tread carefully, mindful of her skittish movements and the way she keeps glancing towards the door.
