Page 20 of Brutal
She shrugs and settles with her back against the island counter again. “If that’s what you want.” She pulls her legs up to her chest, and I don’t know if she’s trying to hide her body from me or if she’s cold.
“So what temp would you put it at?” I ask her through gritted teeth. “If this isn’t good enough for Her Royal Highness.”
“425,” she answers easily. “But I would have seasoned them first, too.”
“Excuse me. I did.” I point to the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. “Why the fuck am I justifying myself to you?” I wonder aloud, turning the temperature on the oven up.
“Rosemary, chili powder, paprika, lemongrass, oregano…” Mimosa lists off. “Those could all add more flavor. But maybe you prefer bland and predictable.”
I take a deep breath, flipping the steak before going over to her and shoving her hard with my foot. “Maybe you need to keep your fucking mouth shut before I shut it for you.”
“Okay,” she says before closing her eyes and resting her head on her knees. Like she doesn’t care either way how this argument goes, like she’s not bothered by anything I’ve said or done to her.
I hate it.
“Maybe I’ll return you,” I say before turning on my heel and stalking back to the stove. I touch the steak, which is cooked more than I usually like because of the fucking distractions, then take it out of the pan so it can rest. “Would you like to go back to fucking anyone who can pay enough? Get a diseased cunt, die before you’re thirty?”
“If you want,” she answers, not even lifting her head.
“Don’t you care at all?” I demand, staring down at her. “For fuck’s sake, you should be bending over backwards to avoid going back to Pavone. Instead, you’re… you’re…”
Acting like a house pet, and instead of enjoying it, I’m annoyed by her obedience. Maybe it’s because she’s acting so nonchalant; I don’t really know. I thought the face-fuck would have humbled her more.
Maybe my mood is because I always get irritable when the drugs wear off…
But I’m not thinking about that.
I pull the potatoes out of the oven, setting the sheet tray on the stovetop with a clatter.
I’m not really hungry anymore.
CHAPTER 6
Mimosa
“Good morning, Mimi,” Brutal greets me as he pulls the sheet from over the kennel.
I blink at the sudden influx of light, but I’m grateful for it. I’m not a bird to be kept in a covered cage at night, and I’d spent the night restless for it.
He at least sounds like he’s in a better mood, and I wonder if he’s taken his drugs or if he’s in a good mood because he hasn’t.
“Good morning,” I answer. I remember just how pissed he’d gotten when I’d been perfectly compliant, which makes me wonder more about him. Clearly, he doesn’t actually want an obedient little pet, or he would be happy about that.
He unlocks the cage and opens it, and I crawl out, stretching my aching joints. I know I’d be stupid to try to run again. If he thinks I won’t, he might let me have a little more freedom.
Then again, he’d been pretty pissed the night before, and he’d probably have shoved me inside the kennel anyway.
“Go to the bathroom and do your business,” he says, like I’m some pet. “I put a toothbrush out for you. Shower, do all that crap. I should get the results from your blood tests today. Won’t it be nice when I can fuck your loose little cunt?”
No, but I know my actual opinion doesn’t matter. I go into the bathroom and get myself clean, happy to brush my teeth and get the lingering aftertaste of his cum out of my mouth.
I think back to the days before I knew what cock and cum tasted like. That sure had been nice.
Once I’m done with everything, I head back to the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around me. I’m sure he won’t let me keep it, but I’ve got to take the few moments of warmth where I can get them.
“Is your hair why he called you Mimosa?” Brutal asks from where he’s tapping at a tablet on the bed. “Or is there another reason?”
My hair used to be blue, in fact. And pink before that. It was one of the few fashion luxuries I allowed myself.