Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

I try not to react. My eyes gloss over, and I smile politely. But my heart is beating fast in my chest. My feet are jittering at just the thought of food. And I can’t keep my lips from curling up. Matteo forgot to tell Dierk he isn’t supposed to feed me or let me sleep. If I play this cool, I might get to eat.

My stomach is going to give me away, though. It’s booming loudly now at the thought of getting fed. I try to calm it down by holding my belly gently, but it can’t be calmed.

Dierk turns and starts walking toward the kitchen at a much slower pace than I’m used to following Matteo at. I don’t like it. Especially not now, when I might be getting food.

We finally make it to the kitchen, after what seems like hours have passed. Lines at Disney World have moved faster than Dierk.

“I’d like a Turkey sandwich with fries,” he says to Emelia.

He looks at me, waiting for me to give Emelia my order as well.

“Same,” I say, though I really want a Turkey sandwich, fries, a burger, tacos, and a milkshake. I try to act like I haven’t eaten in hours instead of days.

The woman’s eyes bulge while I stare at her, biting my lip hard, begging her with my entire body to not give me away. To fix me food and not question if she should be feeding me or not.

I don’t know how Matteo treats his staff. I’ve never seen him treat the men who work for him poorly. The worst I’ve seen him do is raise his voice slightly when he was frustrated with them. I’ve never seen him hurt them or threaten to kill them or something. But for the most part, I’ve never seen any of the men who work for him do anything that would deserve punishment. They practically worship him.

I’m not sure if the regular house staff would be immune to any discipline if they were to fuck up. If this cook got caught giving me food when she knew I wasn’t allowed to eat, what would Matteo do? Dock her wages? Fire her? Beat her? Or kill her?

I don’t know the answer, and I hate making this woman take the risk, but I’m desperate.

She nods and turns toward the grill to start preparing our food.

Dierk turns, takes a few steps, and waits for me to follow him until we are standing side by side. He doesn’t go to the main dining room as I expect. Instead, he walks past it to another room, which I realize is an office.

“You okay eating in here? I like having some quiet time to think before things become crazy at night.”

I nod, happy not to have to eat in the dining room where any number of people could walk in and remind Dierk he’s not supposed to be feeding me.

He slowly walks m

e over to the small table in the corner of the room where two chairs are seated around it.

He pulls out my chair for me like we are on a date or something.

I smile at him as I take my seat. I try not to let his simple charms eat at my heart. There is a high probability this is all an act. Like a good cop, bad cop routine. Dierk is going to treat me nice so that Matteo can treat me like crap later and I’ll let something slip.

“What do you do?” he asks.

I snort.

His eyes wide and his mouth parts questioningly, like he doesn’t understand why I could find what he said funny.

“You’re serious? I’m a slave in this house, and you want to pretend we are friendly strangers chatting for the first time?”

He rubs his neck with the hand tied to me. He stares at the chain like he’s seeing it for the first time and realizes what it means.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes show the sadness of the world as he speaks. He leans forward in his chair placing his hands in his lap. “I’m sincerely sorry. I know you don’t understand, but I am.”

I frown. Dierk can’t be serious. I distract myself with the office filled with ancient wood, worn like it was made in a different time, as is the entire house. It looks old-fashioned and regal. The mahogany desk takes up most of the space in the room, leaving enough room for a bookshelf and this small table.

“This is your office, right?” I ask.

He nods.

“Then I don’t think your sorrys mean very much. You decided to work for the devil. So you are just as culpable for what happens to me as he is.”

A knock startles me.