“Yes.” My eyes are on the floor until I remember his rule. Snapping them up, I meet his gaze. While he radiates dominance, he doesn’t seem to crave my fear the way Dylan did. I knew how to please Dylan. I don’t know how to please Cutter yet, and that makes me nervous.
“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.
The bowls and plate balance precariously on his arms, but still I stay still. “I want you to eat all of it.” He places the bowl in front of me and also fills a plate with the other stuff. “Start without me. I need to make a call.”
He walks out of the room and I pick up the fork in front of me. Having someone feeding me, not needing to worry about the placement of the silverware and plates, it all feels so foreign but it also feels right. The moment the first bite hits my lips I become ravenous. By the time he walks back into the room a few minutes later, the bowl is empty. His eyes widen. “Guess you were hungry.” He laughs as he sits down at the table.
I eat some of the fruit while he starts on his lunch. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to eat different things that I don’t even notice him looking at me until I put the last cookie in my mouth.
"You need things. If you don't feel like anything at that house is yours, then we’ll get you your own things." His hand scrubs over his face, smoothing out the stress lines. "I didn't think taking you to a store to shop would go very well. Lucy and a few of the other girls are going to pick some things up for you, just for now. Eventually, I want to take you out and buy you whatever you like."
I stare at him. Gifts come with conditions, guidelines, repayments.
He doesn’t say anything else and it strikes me as odd.
He’s a quiet eater, I think to myself. Dylan was noisy—messy, even. “What do you want me to do?”
He pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “You mean now?”
I shake my head. “You are getting me these things, what would you like me to do in return?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. The scraping of his fork against the bowl as he simply pushes the food around fills the air. “I want to do things for you, Jasmine.”
He stands up bringing his bowl to the sink. I look up, holding my breath. “But when I do these things, I don’t want anything from you in return.”
I stand up and follow him to the sink, taking his bowl out of his hands and reaching for the sponge. He sighs, leaning back against the cabinets, looking at the ceiling. The sound of running water fills the silence between us.
“Jasmine, you don’t have to do this. You aren’t here to clean up after me. This isn’t like it was before.”
“I want to.” I offer him a tiny smile. “You made lunch.”
His face softens and he nods. “I’m going to shower. When I come out I want you to be sitting on the couch. Turn the TV on and find something for us to watch. Do not try to put on something you think I might like. I’ll know if you do.”
"Okay," I say and he turns and walks down the hallway.
Moving around a kitchen again feels good. The fact that it isn’t my kitchen doesn’t really register until I have to search around for where Cutter keeps things. Everything has its place, at Dylan’s house, but this kitchen feels lived in. I smile when I open a drawer and find it bursting with takeout menus, all of it junk food. Cutter obviously wasn’t kidding wh
en he said he couldn’t cook.
Never mind. I can show him how. Perhaps that’s one of the ways I can show my appreciation.
I wash the few dishes that we made before drying them and putting them away. Finding something to watch, however, is not an easy task as clearing up. When I walk over to the couch and turn on the TV, pushing the button that says guide, tons of titles fill the screen. I haven’t even heard of half of them. I didn’t watch TV at home, and all Dylan ever watched was the sports channel. My lips quiver. The past five years I have lived in a bubble, hidden from everything. Now that bubble has been popped and it almost feels like I’m suffocating.
I hear footsteps in the hallway and click on a random channel.
A vacuum cleaner commercial is playing when Cutter walks into the room. He smiles at me. “Whatcha watching?” He sits down next to me, ignoring the obvious choice of the comfortable recliner.
I bite my lip.
He picks up the remote and then starts to laugh. “Infomercials? Really?”
I shrug.
“Any reason? Or you just like to watch them?”
Should I tell him? I decide that I need to be honest, I don’t want to lie to him. “I actually just randomly picked this. I haven’t watched any TV, other than sports, for years. I really had no idea what to pick.”
He is quiet for a minute. “Okay then, maybe I’ll find something.” I watch him out of the corner of my eye, the bright screen casting a blue hue over his skin, making him look strange. He flips through the guide and lands on a channel. “This movie is funny. I think you might like it.”
I lean against the back of the couch and tuck my feet underneath me.
“Cold?” he asks. I shrug, not wanting to be any bother.
Cutter’s weight leaves the couch and he leans over to grab a blanket from the recliner. “Here.” I freeze as he leans over me, tucking the thick material in around my thighs, his hands brushing me. It’s been so long since a person looked after me, since a man touched me in a way that wasn’t designed to cause pain.
“Thank you.” My voice is a whisper but I know he heard me because the smile comes back.
About half an hour in, the main character makes a joke and I laugh out loud. Cutter turns in his seat and looks over at me. I freeze.
He nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t stop. It’s nice to hear you laugh.”
A giddy feeling wells up inside me and I blush. He doesn’t move his arm away and the heat coming from his body seeps through the blanket. I feel the weight of it like it’s more than just a simple body part, and it take a good five minutes before I can concentrate enough to pay attention to the movie again.
We sit on the couch laughing at the movie until the credits start to roll. I yawn, stretching my arms out, carefully, so as not to hurt myself. The light from outside has begun to fade. I look around for a clock, but find nothing.
“I’m going to order a pizza for dinner. They usually take about an hour, anything you don’t like?”
I shake my head.
“Okay.” Cutter stands up and grabs his phone off the table, punching in a number without even looking at a menu from the kitchen. I hear him ordering food and can't help feeling awkward. I should be doing something. I’ve never just sat at home all day.
Chatter sounds outside and when the front door opens, Lucy and the man who was here yesterday walk in. There is another girl I don’t know who is with them. They’re all carrying bags and walk over to the kitchen table putting them down.
Cutter walks over to them and they start to talk, I don’t get up.
“Jasmine, you already met Lucy. This is her man, Whip.” He gestures to the other girl. She smiles shyly, and gives a small wave. “This is Izzy. She’s with another one of my brothers.” I give them all a smile but feel awkward as I sit here. Like an intruder.
“All right, brother, we’ll catch up with you later,” Whip says to Cutter.
The girls give him a hug good-bye before offering me a smile and leaving.
"Come here."
I stand up and walk over to where he is. Digging through one of the bags, he comes up with a pink pair of pants and a black T-shirt. "Go put on some clothes that fit. There are plenty of other things here, but we can check those out later."
I take them from him, my eyes growing wide when I take in how much he actually has for me. “Thank you.”
I don’t know what else to say, or how to react to him.
When I walk into the bedroom I get dressed and look in the mirror. I gaze at my reflection in the glass, noting my protruding collarbone and sunken cheeks. Thanks to my shower the dried blood is gone and only a few scratches remain. Who knew scratches could bleed so much?
I’ve never been a vain person. Never looked in mirrors for more than a brief glance. But standing here in my new clothes, clothes that fit, in a house where I don’t feel scared, having spent the afternoon watching the television of all things, I almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. For the first time in years, I don’t see what Dylan saw.
I don’t see a chubby, lazy, ugly girl.
I don’t see someone who doesn’t belong.
Someone who is worthless.
I see a woman.
A beaten, battered, bruised woman. But not entirely broken. Reflecting back at me in the glass, I see something more than just clean hair and new clothes.
I see hope.
My eyes roam from one feature to another, cataloging everything, committing it to memory in case this is the last time I ever look at myself and be okay with what I find. When I walk back into the living room I’m about to say thank you when there is a knock at the door. Cutter walks over to it and there is a guy standing there holding three boxes.
Jesus, how hungry is he?
Cutter shuts the door and then turns to me. “Got a bunch of different stuff. I figured you might not know what you like.” He places them on the counter and waves me over.
When he opens the boxes, the smell jumps out at me and my mouth starts to water. My eyes go wide as I look at everything. I’m not even sure how I’m hungry again, but I almost feel like I’m starving. Cutter hands me a plate and I reach to grab a slice but hesitate.
“Your ass is getting fat. If you want to keep a man around, looking like a pig isn't the way."
“Hey.” Cutter’s voice makes me jump. “What’s wrong? Shit. Did I manage to get everything that you don’t like?”
I shake my head, my eyes welling with tears. Despite my efforts to hide them, he sees, taking my plate and putting it down. I can’t help but wonder how long it will be till he gets sick of having me around too.
“Talk to me.”
I look at him and I’m scared to tell him what I’m thinking.
“Tell me, now.” It’s not a request.
I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound stronger than I feel. "As hard as life was with Dylan, I knew what to expect. Since being here, everything is a guessing game. My mind is constantly racing; overanalyzing everything I do or say. I don't want to disappoint you, or have you tire of me like he did. When I see that pizza all I can think about is how I haven't worked out lately, and that I don’t want to gain weight and be undesirable." Remembering his rule, I don’t look away from him even though I want to. “Or any more undesirable.”
Cutter’s hands cup my cheeks and the contact feels foreign to me. His touch is soft and gentle, nothing like what I’m used to.
“Listen to me and accept what I’m saying. You have never been and could never be undesirable. I will not get tired of having you here. I know you need direction because of how things used to be and I can give that to you, but don't ever think twice about eating with me. I want you healthy. Eventually, I want to be the one to make you happy."
A tear slips from my eye before I can stop it. Looking into his eyes, I know that he's telling me the truth; although, what he's saying seems so unbelievable. He wants to make me happy? I don't remember the last time that my happi
ness was a priority.
He smiles at me and his hands drop from my face. “Now eat my food until you’re so full it hurts to move.”
I feel like that might be one of the best things anyone has ever said to me.
Chapter Twelve
Cutter
Her hesitation gutted me.
When I look at her I struggle not to see my mom, cowering in the corner, my dad hovering over her. Even after he was gone, she was never the same. A ghost in a woman’s body. Having Jasmine here, everything about that time is thrust back into the limelight: the loneliness I felt even when she was in the same room, the underlying anger at everything she was still doing despite being free, the smell of the rain pouring down on me as I stood at her grave.
I lost it after that. I managed to get my hands on a police scanner and every time a domestic violence call was answered but not handled, I took care of that shit. It’s where my name came from. Men who hit women deserve to never have one again. I’d wait till the night came and go into the house. Before the asshole knew what was happening I’d have him begging me for mercy as I cut off the thing that he thought made him a man. It’s how I got my name. Our old president, Shooter, found me after a job one night. Apparently the club had been trying to figure out who was behind it. I agreed to not go rogue anymore and they all welcomed me into their family.
I will not let Jasmine spiral. She won’t be overcome by the darkness. She’ll survive this.
I promise.
With two pieces of pizza on her plate, she walks back over to the couch. Her movements are still slow and careful. Perhaps I should offer her some Advil? I don’t want to seem like I’m hounding her, but maybe that’s what she needs. Knowing what to do is so fucking hard. I load up my plate and grab a couple breadsticks for her. When I walk over I put them on her plate. “You forgot these.” She smiles at me and sinks her teeth into a slice.
How he could have treated her the way he did I'll never understand. He stole the light from inside of her, and I'm making it my mission to put it back little by little, day by day. When Lucy told me I had to become my worst nightmare to bring her out of this I wasn't sure if I could do it. The more time I spend with her I know that I'll do anything I can for her.
Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5) Page 8