Her Alien Captor: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Alien Pirates Of Cania Book 1)
Page 28
I looked up, surprised. She had already told me I could have the night off. My heart dropped with disappointment.
“It’s Corinne’s birthday—” I started, but she cackled in that creepy, brittle voice of hers as if my personal affairs were none of her concern and she couldn’t care less about them.
“So, the little sponger is having a birthday? Well, wouldn’t it be a nice present for her to have a big sister who doesn’t just expect handouts? You’re not going anywhere.” She spun, eyeing the other prep workers and cooks. “Any of you! Don’t think I won’t be coming back before your shifts are over to see what you’ve got to show for yourselves . . . and if I’m not happy with what I find, no one is going anywhere.”
She stomped out of the kitchen, and for a beat, we all held our breath, waiting to hear her if she’d come back before the collective sigh was released. I stared at the ceiling so the well of hot tears wouldn’t instantly pour down my face like a broken-hearted waterfall.
“What a pain in the ass.” Felix, one of the grill cooks, grumbled and kicked the side of a table with resentful scorn.
Quiet murmurs of agreement were shared, but I kept quiet. If I’d learned anything from all the years on my own, it’s not to trust anyone. I couldn’t be certain if any one of them might turn on me. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. In this day and age, I had little time to make either.
Of course, I wanted to defend myself against Darla’s rants. And sure, I’d like to vent with everyone else about pulling fourteen-hour days of grueling work in the stifling heat of the kitchens in this floating alien palace. But I also need to survive. So, I bit my lip, swallowed my frustration, and kept my head down. There was no room for error or protest. I had to think of Corinne above all else. Her wellbeing was front and center in my mind.
When I first got hired on the ship, I’d been foolish. I’d thought I could trust people, thought that this was my magic ticket to a better life for Corinne and me. Darla had been so friendly at first. Looking back, it was clear that she was looking for weakness to manipulate. She was nothing if not crafty. Darla knew exactly how to put pressure on people, how to bully them, how to get under their skin and make them feel like the tiniest scrap of human existence. She also knew how to extract information.
She was a snake in the grass, ready to pounce. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or any other common phrase used to describe people like her. Well-meaning as my coworkers might have been, I didn’t trust any of them not to repeat my complaints to her to save their own skin. It just wasn’t worth the risk.
I could almost laugh, looking back at how misguided and naïve my first impressions of her had been. She’d seemed so genuinely interested in being friends, checking in with me through training, even coming over to our apartment and meeting Corinne. The reversal had slapped any foolish notions of friendship clean out of my mind though. It was as if Darla had flipped a switch and completely altered her demeanor in a flash.
You’d think it wouldn’t have surprised me so much. After narrowly escaping a violent, bloody war that claimed my parents and scrounging to survive as a thirteen-year-old taking care of her baby sister, there shouldn’t be much optimism left in me. I’ve seen enough backstabbing, enough betrayal, enough violence to last ten lifetimes. Maybe I was just too tired, too relieved at the idea of someone looking out for me for once, that I didn’t want to see it.
Either way, Darla reminded me of the truth. No one would ever have my back, no one except Corinne, and for Corinne, I had to endure. There was no other option. We were family, and we had to preserve that tie at any and all cost. I’d do anything to keep Corinne under the umbrella and blanket of my security.
I started plaiting the dough for another tray of brioche and let my thoughts drift back to that happy place, the place that didn’t have to be tainted by reality. My hands were shaking with anger and anxiety, but after a few minutes, I began to plateau and calm down.
I wondered what Prince Gardax would look like at the party, whether he’d eat the cakes and tarts I’d made while dreaming of him . . . if he’d find his bride. Envy lashed at me like a whip, but it was no use in dreaming that he’d ever be mine.
With a sad smile, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be one of the guests, to have his eyes upon me, to be the focus of his attention. The sigh that escaped was entirely involuntary, but I was fully immersed in my own little world while I worked.
“Contents of bay four have surpassed maximum preparation cook time,” the automated voice announced.
Sure enough, the distinctive smell of charred dough filled the space. I rushed forward and sent up a silent plea that Darla wouldn’t smell the burned fumes and come charging back into the kitchens.
I pulled the pan out and singed my wrist in the process, a painful reminder to get my head out of the clouds and back to reality. I lived to dream but dreamed to live.
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