Page 53 of Vendetta

A set of wide, polished stairs led up to the second floor on my right, and to my left a set of double-doors with sidelights led to a porch. Beyond the porch was darkness and a hint of trees hanging past the roofline. The hollow clanking of pans sounded around the corner from the steps. From where I stood, I could see a long kitchen island and warm, bright lights spilling from beyond it. I might be able to make it out the front door before anyone noticed if I were quiet enough.

The tattered gown, bare feet, and empty stomach were still a problem, but it was worth the risk. This couldn’t have been any easier. It made me suspicious.

I tiptoed to the left, casting a glance toward the kitchen. So far, so good. Just another couple of feet.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice, soft and thick like whipped cream, called out from around the corner.

Fuck.

I froze. The soothing voice wasn’t familiar, but it had a core of steel, and I turned slowly to face it. My breath hissed from my lungs.

Bathed in light from the kitchen stood something from a dream. He wasn’t terribly tall, but his features were refined, and his fine-boned posture was perfectly elegant. A tousle of golden-brown hair fell over piercing blue eyes, and a haughty smirk played across his narrow lips.

“I mean, you can if you want, but it won’t work.” He turned and walked back into the kitchen, giving me a good look at his muscled back and narrow hips.

My fingers tingled to run down the divot of his spine. He was stunning, so stunning I just stood there trying to remember where I was going and why I needed to leave at all. Oh right, my best friend was kidnapped, and I was his fucking captive. The shoulder of his white T-shirt peeked out from behind the industrial fridge door before he disappeared into the kitchen again. I warred with myself for half a second.

Hot boys did not beat out my freedom, so I turned back and lunged for the exit before he could stop me.

My fingers curled around the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no visible lock, either. I searched around for a keypad or something, and found a flat panel that looked out of place, but it didn’t do shit.

“I told you,” he said, calling from across the room. “How do you like your eggs?”

I spun around to face him, but his back was to me again while he did something at the stove. “I don’t want eggs. I want out!”

He dropped some food into the pan, and a chorus of sizzles filled the air. “Sucks to want what you can’t have, doesn’t it?”

That little prick. “How dare you. Let me out.”

“Well, I was going to make you breakfast for dinner, but if you’re not hungry, I’ll just eat it myself.” He flipped whatever he was cooking, tapped the spatula on the edge of the pan, and set it aside. The unmistakable scent of bacon billowed through the room.

The delicious smells filling the space were not helping me stay the course. My stomach tightened with hunger and promptly rumbled its displeasure. He couldn’t have heard it from the kitchen, but he turned to look at me across the entryway expectantly. His eyes trailed over my body, lingering on my every curve. If he noticed my disheveled appearance, he didn’t mention it. Normally, if a stranger looked at me like that, while I was wearing this little, I’d slap that smile right off his face, but instead my back arched as if his eyes were stroking the length of my naked skin.

His teeth caught his lower lip, and he leaned back on the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The front of his gray sweats did nothing to hide his growing appreciation.

My cheeks warmed. Everything smelled so good, and my hunger soared, not just for food.

Fucking omega brain.

The front door was a no-go, but there had to be other ways out of here. I’d be able to think better on a full stomach anyway.

A black hoodie hung on a hook by the door, so I grabbed it and pulled it over my scrap of a dress, covering my indecent display.

Big fucking mistake.

I was hit with the most delicious smell. I almost moaned out loud, and my knees felt too weak to hold me upright. Sweet and buttery, with hints of maple, cinnamon, and nutmeg. All of my favorite things.

“Sure, you can borrow my hoodie. All you had to do was ask.” The man busied himself filling two plates on the counter next to the stove as I blinked stupidly.

My head spun, and my eyes closed, as I tried to get air into my lungs, but that only made everything worse because now they were filled with the pheromones coming from the sweater I’d stupidly put on.

“Come eat before it gets cold. No sane person likes cold eggs.”

When I opened my eyes, he was setting the plates at a round table in front of a pair of oversized french doors.

“They’re locked too, in case you were wondering,” he said, noting the direction of my gaze.

I made my way over to the table, trying to play it cool, and sat down in the chair he pulled out for me. “Uh, thanks. I guess.” Honestly, I was a prisoner, so why the fuck was I thanking him for the bare decency of feeding me. Maybe it was poisoned, and that was why he seemed so smug. I tried to hold on to that anger and rage, but it fizzled out faster than I could bolster it under the pale blue gaze of this man.