On the opposite side of the table, a huge TV is mounted to a wall above an impressive fireplace. Some framed photos line the mantlepiece. Beyond that, an enormous black glass dining table stretching beyond view, with at least a dozen high-backed chairs.
“I don’t think you can stomach anything we have right now,” Alfie says with his head in a cupboard above the counter. “We should have some cans of soup somewhere. But you’ll need to get your protein in sharpish if you want to recover.”
I let him shuffle through all their inventory while I take in this giant of a man in front of me. He’s built like a house, biceps the size of my thighs, with the sinews of muscles rippling and contorting as he sifts through the contents of the cupboards. I quickly realise how similar his build is to Drago, the masked man I had to meet to arrange the new partnership. The only distinct thing that could allow me to identify him is a tattoo on his thigh. It was a sword, over a long slice of a scar. There’s no way to see this guy’s skin through his black jogging bottoms. I shove the thought away. I remember Drago being taller. Anyoneway over six feet and built like a tank could be him, I don’t think it’s Alfie.
His dark clothes match the rest of the house. Even the tattoos on his golden skin are black ink. The only thing about him that emits any type of light is his eyes. A lot of life in them, but tinged with a type of sadness, like the light is there for my benefit rather than being there naturally.
His blonde hair is shiny and smooth looking, still slicked back, but a few loose tendrils are falling into his eyes as he moves, more of it curling upward at the nape of his neck. My brother had similar hair. The memory pierces my chest, so I shove it away.
I absorb the chiselled square face, strong jaw and sharp nose with the little bump on the bridge. He’s the pinnacle of health, like a guy you’d find on an advert for a gym membership. He’s rather beautiful.
“Here,” he says, coming back to me with a can in his hand, “you like chicken soup?”
I nod, hugging my arms around myself. My muscles are beginning to spasm, and I’d really like to lie down on this comfy looking granite floor.
He goes to the stove and sets about heating the soup for me and I take the liberty of placing myself on one of the bar stools on the other side of the island before my legs do give out. I’m losing myself in the spectacle of the wide expanse of Alfie’s back narrowing into his hips, his black joggers accentuating his pert ass.
He puts a metal spoon on the counter, and when it rattles, his hand shoots out to still it. He releases it and it rattles again, then he picks it up and chucks it into the sink with a loud clatter. A familiar feeling simmers somewhere deep inside, making the hair on my arms raise. Before I can analyse it further, I hear a frantic set of pitter-patter steps behind me. I whip my headaround and with a strength fuelled by adrenaline, I leap onto the counter with a panic-riddled yelp.
Alfie swings round, then chuckles at my terrified stance. “Sorry, probably should have warned you. They’re like blood to a shark when they hear someone in the kitchen.”
I’m staring down at two of the most terrifying beasts I’ve ever seen. They look murderous. Like they eat fucking steroids for breakfast and small children in the dead of night.
Alfie comes round and pats both dogs on the head, telling them to chill out.
“This is our new member, Elodie Valor, boys. You’ve got another life to guard, hope you’re up for it.”
My eyes dart back and forth between Alfie and the dogs, unable to comprehend how they look ready to tear my throat out and he’s finding it entertaining, as if they’re not a threat at all. They’re pure muscle. One nudge from them would send me across the room. One bite… with those teeth…
“This strapping gentleman is Bob,” Alfie says, patting the fawn-coated Boerboel on the head as it glowers at me. “He’s Fiz’s dog, hence the stupid name. And this…” He moves on to the American Bully with sleek blue fur and a mean glimmer in his eyes, “is my boy, Bruiser.” This absolute hulk of an animal could rival Alfie’s muscles. I can’t imagine even he could get this monstrosity under control if it decided it wanted to take a chunk of my leg for supper. “Caden has a black Cane Corso called Sergeant, who’s out with him at the moment. They’re intimidating, but once they get a feel for you, they’ll be good to you. Don’t feed Sarge, though, my only warning. Caden’s weird about anyone else looking after him. These two are yours to do with as you please, I don’t give a shit, neither will Fiz. They’re needy little bastards, so any attention you give them will earn you brownie points.”
“They look like they’re about to fucking eat me.”
Alfie chuckles again and goes back to the stove, sticks his hand in a pot beside it, bringing me two dog treats. “Trust me, they’re fat fuckers. You feed them and they’ll be all over you.”
I tentatively take the treats and hang them over the edge of the counter, studying the beasts. Their guards drop a little, and when Bob hops up onto his hind legs to grab the treat, his growing height stretching enough to make me gasp, I pretty much throw them and scoot farther back on the counter.
Alfie’s arm comes around me from behind and hooks into the arc of my waist, hoisting me off the counter. He laughs again and places me down on another stool. “They don’t like pussies though, El, if you’re scared of them, they’ll bully you. Gotta show them who’s boss.”
I tuck my knees under my chin, holding my whole body together on the stool, only half aware that Alfie just called me El and I haven’t been called that since Lewis was alive, as I watch the two dogs come around to sniff at me. My heart’s pounding erratically in my chest. When Bruiser hops up to inspect me closer and I yelp again, Alfie steps back in.
“Alright, lads, cool it, you’re making her nervous. Take your shit and be gone.” He carries a large bag of dog food away to another room, the dogs following him hesitantly. Both of them glance back at me several times before disappearing completely.
Alfie comes back alone and finishes my soup.
As soon as the smell hits me, my stomach grumbles. He places a steaming bowl and a tall glass of water in front of me. I guzzle the water first, reminded of how wonderful fresh, cold water is. Alfie refills the glass while I dip the spoon into the bowl. I take the first sip and nausea swells in my mouth. Flavour. Heat. Nutrients. Fuck, it’s been so long.
The imposing man sits on the opposite side of the counter and watches me as I struggle to get through half before finally surrendering.
“I feel sick.” I push the bowl away.
He drums his fingers on the granite. “Alright, we might have to get you on a drip or something, get your body nourished again.” He clears the bowl away.
I sit stupidly mute, wondering what the hell is even going on. Why is he being so nice? What does he want? Why is he not doing something dramatic and violent?
Calm before the storm,the darkness says.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
