Page 95 of Villainous Rise

I sighed, too tired to fight this particular battle. “Fine.”

“Would you like breakfast before you go?” he asked, already walking toward the door.

I raised an eyebrow. “You can cook?”

He shrugged, the gesture almost boyish. “As long as you want scrambled eggs and toast, yes, I can cook breakfast.”

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll eat when I get home.”

“There isn’t anything for breakfast in your fridge or pantry,” he said matter-of-factly.

I opened my mouth to be annoyed that he knew the contents of my kitchen, then closed it again. What was the point? Of course he knew. He probably had a satellite dedicated to monitoring my grocery situation.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he said, already heading for the kitchen like the decision was made.

I hesitated, then followed him, settling onto one of the stools at the massive kitchen island. The whole scene felt surreal, me perched at Cipher’s kitchen counter while he pulled eggs and bread from his refrigerator. This was uncomfortably intimate. Fucking was one thing. It was raw and physical and disconnected if you tried hard enough. But breakfast? Breakfast was domestic. Normal. Something couples did.

“You’re overthinking it,” Cipher said without turning around, cracking eggs into a bowl. “It’s just breakfast.”

“Stop reading my mind,” I muttered. “It’s creepy.”

“I’m not reading your mind. You’re just extremely predictable when you’re uncomfortable.” He glanced over his shoulder, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Your left eyebrow twitches.”

I immediately tried to relax my face. Great. Now I had to add “facial tic management” to my list of things to worry about.

“Do you always cook breakfast for women you kidnap?” I asked, trying to reclaim some semblance of normalcy.

“Only the ones I plan to kidnap again.” He flashed me that dangerous half-smile that did unfortunate things to my pulse.

Footsteps padded down the hallway, and I froze mid-sentence, expecting Hunter to enter the kitchen.

Instead, Dawn rounded the corner, her copper curls a wild nest around her sleepy face. She wore an oversized t-shirt that definitely wasn’t hers and rubbed her eyes.

“Morning, Thomas,” she mumbled, not even glancing my way as she zombie-walked toward the coffee maker.

“Good morning, Dawn,” Cipher replied, his voice suddenly wrapped in that soft Scottish accent he used as Thomas. The transformation was jarring. It was like watching Clark Kent put on glasses and somehow become unrecognizable.

Dawn stopped mid-stride, her hand hovering in the air. She turned slowly, eyes widening as they landed on me.

“Annie?” Her voice climbed three octaves.

“Um. Hi.” My voice emerged as a strangled croak.

Oh god. What was I supposed to say? Just stopping by for some post-coital eggs after using Cipher’s body to exorcise my emotional demons. How’s your morning going?

“I can explain,” I blurted, then immediately realized I absolutely could not explain. Not without sounding like I’d lost my entire mind along with my dignity somewhere between Cipher’s bedroom and kitchen.

Cipher, the traitorous bastard, just continued to cook the eggs, not even attempting to help me out of this social quicksand.

“I...” My voice trailed off pathetically.

Dawn’s eyes widened further, her gaze darting between us with growing comprehension. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Oh. My. God.” Each word emerged with increasing volume and delight.

Cipher’s Scottish lilt still colored his voice as he asked, “Would you like some breakfast too, Dawn?”

But Dawn was already backing out of the kitchen, her face splitting into a grin. “No, no, don’t mind me. I just need to—“ She pointed vaguely down the hallway.