The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

Curiously, I look around at the other dishes—some sort of seared meat, cooked to aromatic perfection and glazed with spices; a pile of rolls with beautiful golden crusts, grilled vegetables. There’s sauce I can’t identify, but which smells heavenly, and red wine to go with it all.

As I fill my plate, I look around the table, wondering which of them is hiding secret cooking skills, because this certainly isn’t take out. Hale watches me closely as I lift my fork to my mouth, taking a bite of potatoes.

Holy fuck.

I have to work to keep myself from moaning as the flavors fill my mouth, intoxicating herbs and spices. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t had much appetite for the past few days, but I’ve never tasted anything so good.

“Lucas and I made it,” Zaid says, shooting me an amused look.

My gaze snaps up to meet his before flicking over to Lucas. “I never knew you could cook.”

Lucas shrugs, not looking up from his food. “A lot can change in six years.”

His tone is cool, but I brush it off, focusing instead on the food. Just because they invited me to dinner tonight, that doesn’t mean I can expect this to be a frequent occurrence. I want to make the most of it while it lasts.

I can tell that conversation certainly isn’t flowing as freely now that I’m here, but I don’t give a shit. They can discuss their syndicate business later. I’m enjoying my meal.

I glance up at the men every once in a while, watching them relax incrementally as they drink and eat. Even Hale seems to unclench his ass just slightly.

He’s always been uptight, even when I knew him before, so it’s been strange seeing his personality slowly come through. I can tell he’s careful with how much he’s drinking, but as he pours himself another glass, I can almost picture what it would be like to know him well enough that he acts comfortable around me.

Almost.

The next several days pass in a strange sort of pattern, each minute seeming to both rush by and drag on interminably. I’m watched over constantly and spend most of my time tied to the bed, but every evening, Zaid comes upstairs and unties me to bring me down for dinner.

I hate that I’ve started to look forward to that part of the day, but I do. The food is delicious and well-cooked, and despite the fact that my stomach is still a constant knot of tension, I always manage to find my appetite. I don’t think the men eat breakfast or lunch together—they’re all too busy dealing with whatever syndicate business needs their attention—but the nightly gathering for dinner seems to be a tradition that’s existed since long before I came into the house.

There’s something nice about it, something almost homey, but I try not to let myself dwell on that thought. I’m already in a fucked-up mental space about everything that’s happened since my aborted wedding, and I don’t need to be humanizing these men in my head.

They’re monsters.

Kidnappers.

Violent criminals.

I have to remember that.

Nearly a week after my abduction, Zaid brings me downstairs as usual at around six o’clock. Dinner tonight is pasta with what tastes like a homemade sauce, and I do my best not to make small noises of appreciation as I chew my first bite.

I don’t often speak much during these meals. The men have started to relax a little more each night, and I’m hoping that if I keep my mouth shut, they’ll get sloppy and let some useful piece of information slip.

As I’m finishing up my second serving of pasta, a phone rings.

My thoughts instantly jump to the stolen phone hidden in the toilet paper roll, and my heart lurches in my chest. But Hale shifts, pulling his phone out of his pocket. The easy demeanor from seconds ago transitions into the same stiffness I’m used to as he answers the call, frowning.

“This is Hale.” He listens for a second, then nods. “Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”

His gaze darts to me for a second as he speaks. Hale’s always been the leader of this small group, but I can tell by his tone that he’s talking to someone higher up in the syndicate than he is. There are only a few people that could be.

And by the look on his face, he’s not pleased with whatever they’re asking of him.

“Yes, she’s with us,” he continues.

I know he’s talking about me. I catch a faint voice on the other side of the phone, but Hale is too far away for me to make out what the caller is saying. The conversation doesn’t last much longer before he hangs up, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Your father?” Ciro questions, glancing over at his friend.

Hale nods, standing from the table. The semi-relaxed atmosphere from earlier is gone, swallowed up by whatever syndicate business needs their attention. “He’s still out of town, and he needs us to take care of something.”