“What the hell is this?”
I dropped the utensil with a start, but the outburst had nothing to do with my table manners. Felix was addressing the kid who’d delivered the food—who, given Felix’s all-too-familiar tone, had to be a slave.
Yep.
I was almost starting toregretbeating the real Corey into a coma, if only because it was cruel to prevent the guy from being united with his platonic soulmate.
“I said gluten-free, you little shit.”
The kid, freckled and strawberry blond, looked about fifteen and had that gawky, underfed look we all had at that age. And a death wish, apparently. “With all due respect, sir, this is pea flour. There’s no gluten in it,” he said, glancing up from under his hair with what I could swear was a glimmer ofwhat-a-dumbass-style amusement, one that Felix would never—couldnever—pick up on.
But I did. Instantly.
“Pea flour?What the fuck is that and what do I care?” Felix demanded. “Bring it back and get me another one.”
“But—”
“Go, before I get the manager.” Whether by accident or design, he shoved the plate—actually a wooden plank with a stylish little metal stand where the tacos were arranged—toward the slave a little too forcefully, and it flipped and landed face-down on the floor, quiet enough to humiliate the kid without attracting additional attention. Wouldn’t want to ruin the evening, after all.
But as I looked closer, that defiant glimmer wasn’t justthere, hiding under that hair. It was directed at someone—atme.
I wasn’t sure how or why, but this kidknew.
“What are you waiting for, boy?” Felix said. “Pick it up.”
If he was as smart as he seemed, the boy would clean the mess up quickly, disappear back into the kitchen, and end this for all of us. But he didn’t get the chance.
“Is there a problem over here, sir?”
Everyone’s heads turned. The manager—huge, well-muscled, and red-faced, with a name badge reading “Bryan”—had arrived. But I barely listened to Felix’s angry, mostly inaccurateexplanation. I just watched the boy, who had frozen and lowered his eyes, growing paler by the second as he listened. He wasn’t afraid of Felix, and good on him. But hewasafraid of this man. The day-old bruise around his left eye probably explained it.
Shut up. Keep your head down. Get out alive.That was the voice whispering to me as if I were just another slave standing there, observing, trying to go unnoticed. Except—for all they knew, anyway—I wasn’t. I coulddosomething.
Bryan’s lips curled in a smirk toward the boy, who had made himself as small as possible, having kneeled down to frantically scrape whatever he could of the mess on the floor into some napkins. “Rest assured, it’ll be taken care of.” The glare Felix sent in the boy’s direction was enough for the manager to know what he expected.
Shit.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The boy’s head shot up for a second before he forced it back down to the floor.
“Yes?” Bryan asked coldly. He looked from the boy at me—the sophisticated, impeccably stylish, obviously privileged young man who had just spoken.
And so did Felix. As if all the evidence piling up had just collapsed under its own weight and fallen right on top of his head. As if he were now X-raying my expensive ensemble to all that lay beneath—to every bruise, to every scar, to the thin white line hiding beneath the luxurious watch. The thin line between one life and another: betweenthislife and the life that was destined to be mine, again, forever, if I couldn’t get all of us the fuck out of here without doing something as idiotic as what I’d been about to do.
“He—” I swallowed, turned away from the kid—and the hope in his eyes—and faced the manager’s scowl.It’s for Maeve. It’s for Lemaya. It’s for the girls. It’s for all of us. I’m so sorry,kid.“Nothing.” I waved my hand, glancing contemptuously at the kid. But not in his eyes. “Clean it up and get lost, boy. We’re trying to have dinner here.”
I turned away as the disgusted manager sharply grabbed the crestfallen, now-visibly-shaking boy by the back of his shirt and shoved him back in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’m terribly sorry for all of that, sir,” the man said obsequiously. “We’ll have a new plate out for you in no time.”
Felix waved off the manager almost as easily as he’d waved off the boy. “Good,” he said, turning his attention back to whatever Arlo—who’d lost interest in all of it five minutes ago—was sniggering at on his phone.
I collapsed in my luxuriously upholstered seat, close to shaking now myself.Nothingwas worth this. Well, almost nothing.
I would have been relieved when the bill finally arrived a half hour and another round of dumb, pretentious cocktails later—if only it hadn’t been the biggest minefield all night. But at least I was prepared for this one. I grabbed it, whipping out my thick, crisp wad of one-hundred-dollar banknotes like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Lost my company card at the gym this morning,” I said with an exasperated shake of my head. “Spent an hour and a half on the phone with that fucking bank, but they told me seven to ten days for a replacement. Can you believe that?”
