Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC #5)(27)

"What do you usually eat?" His strong frame is next to me, taking my weight. He's the only reason I'm standing.

"Peanut butter and jelly." Just thinking about it, the memories it evokes, is enough to make my stomach roll. And yet, I don't even know if I can eat anything different. So much has changed in the last forty-eight hours. It might be nice to keep something the same.

"What else?" He's looking at me, his eyes searching mine and trying to find something.

"Nothing else. I haven't earned the privilege of dinners or other food yet. I wasn't able to please him." My voice dips low as I admit my own shortcomings.

"You're telling me that all you eat every day is fucking peanut butter and jelly?" His voice is hard. I can hear the anger building. I want to shrink away from him but all I can do is nod, afraid of the weakness in my own voice. "Jesus Christ."

He walks over to the fridge and begins to pull food from it, tossing item after item onto the counter, not looking at me anymore. I hope that if he asks me to make him something I can. I don't want to disappoint him.

This is my chance.

I can't blow it.

Once he has at least half of his fridge spread out over the counter he comes back to stand next to me. "In this house, you will eat. We will eat the same things." He walks over to the pantry and retrieves a jar of peanut butter, then grabs a jar of jelly I hadn't seen on the counter. In a few short steps, Cutter is standing in front of his trash can, his body tense. "These are banned from this house." He lifts the lid ceremoniously and drops the jars into the can, landing with a thud that makes me flinch.

"Come over here." I rush to his side. "I will pick out items for our lunch." He begins to grab different fruits and a few boxes of cookies. He lines them up on one side of the counter, pushing the other stuff away. "I've picked most of it. All you have to do is pick the main ingredient."

I look at him. He wants me to make a choice? The pressure of my decision weighs on me, the vein in my temple throbbing painfully. If I pick the wrong thing, will he get angry? Is this a test?

"This is not a choice, Jasmine. This is a command. Pick something now." His voice travels through my body and my limbs react almost instinctively.

I want to listen to him.

My hand reaches out grabbing a box and I hand it to him.

"Mac and cheese? Good choice."

And then he smiles at me. A smile that is so genuinely sweet that it spreads like a warmth through my body, soothing my aching bones, injecting me with a newfound energy; a want and a will to do whatever necessary to keep that smile on his face. His fingers run through my hair and I relax. Maybe this time it will be easier. "Go sit at the table."

My legs move as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. I sit there and watch him as he puts on a pot of water. He washes the strawberries he picked out and then takes some of the cookies out of the package. The directions on the box of macaroni must confuse him, as I watch his brow furrow and I want to laugh at his concentration on such a menial task. He continues to move around the kitchen like he knows it well, which I find odd. Men don't usually spend time in the kitchen.

Do they?

Then again, I have a feeling that he isn't like most men.

Once he pours the macaroni into the pot, he walks over to the table and leans against one of the chairs. "I'm kind of glad you picked something with directions. Hate to break it to you, but I'm a shit cook."

"I can cook for you . . . if you want." I want to make him happy if cooking does that, I want it to be my job.



       
         
       
        

"We'll get to that, but for today, lunch is on me." His eyes seem to study me and I want to squirm under his gaze. "Do you need me to take you back to the house to get your stuff? He isn't there anymore."

Dylan isn't at the house?

Where is he?

Do I want to get things of mine from the house?

My mind spins, trying to process what he's told me and what he's asking. "I don't have anything."

He cocks his head at my statement.

"None of it is mine, I can't take it."

Cutter's fists clench and the fear that invades me is all consuming. Blood rushes to the surface of my skin and my heart races at a mile a minute. Did I make him mad? I'm just trying to be honest. I'm trying to learn as quickly as I can what he wants from me. Experience tells me that silence is often the best reaction so I stay quiet and still, waiting for him to make his next move.

He is quiet for the longest time. An awkward silence fills the room. A beeping sounds and he walks back over to the stove, finishing up the mac and cheese before grabbing two bowls out of the cupboard and filling them.