Chained to You (Dark Billionaires 3, 4)

Patrick laughed. "You cook, huh?"

"Of course," I said. "I'm pretty good, you know. Andy loves my cooking."

He chuckled. "And I'm sure Mr. Maxwell will enjoy it, too." He started the engine, and a moment later, we were out of the parking lot.

I gazed out the window and stared mindlessly at the busy traffic as we sped through the streets.

Mr. Maxwell will enjoy it, too. The statement both excited yet saddened me at the same time. The thought of James eating and liking my food made me deliriously happy. The sad part was he wouldn't be able to eat the food I was going to cook tonight. But there was always another time.

It was a full hour later when I finally arrived back at the hotel, my arms full of groceries. It didn't help that people were looking at me weird. Well, of course they would. Who in their right mind would buy groceries and cook while staying in a five-star hotels in Las Vegas? Where there were literally hundreds of renowned restaurants sprawled within easy access across the city.

After closing the door of the suite behind me, I went straight into the kitchenette and began my magic. I was quite excited to finally be able to eat something homemade and, of course, made by me.

After placing the groceries on the counter, I quickly phoned Andy. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, guess what?" I asked excitedly.

Andy chuckled at my unmistakable enthusiasm. "What?"

I shook my head. "No, you're supposed to guess my guess what."

He laughed. "All right," he said. "You're going to cook something, aren't you?"

I was shocked he was so spot on. "How did you know?"

"Well, you did promise me you'd cook something for me while I was in the hospital. That never happened, did it?" he asked rhetorically.

I sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. A lot happened during that--" I paused immediately, thinking about Andy and Matt and their relationship.

Andy seemed to understand my abrupt break in speech and continued. "Hey, it's not too late." This was followed by a chuckle. "So what ya cooking?"

"Spaghetti Bolognese," I replied eagerly. "One of your favorites."

He laughed. "Cool. I'll come over and help. Got nothing else do to."

"Is Matt busy again tonight?" I asked curiously. I also wanted to add like James. I wasn't surprised of course, since they ran some of their businesses together, like ruling their underground domain in Las Vegas and this hotel and casino for example.

"Yeah," Andy said. "Look, I'll come over now and we can talk while we cook."

"Sure," I said and then hung up.

After putting the phone down, I got the ingredients out of the grocery bags and everything ready: saucepan for cooking the spaghetti, chopping board, knife, and other utensils. By that time, Andy knocked on the door, alerting me of his presence. I rushed over to let him in.

"Look what I got," he said the moment he stepped into the suite, a cheeky smile playing on his face.

I chuckled as I gazed at him, pleased at what he was holding. I believed it was one of Matt's favorite and most expensive wines, Sangiovese.

"Nice," I said, taking the bottle.

As Andy made his way into the kitchenette, I eyed him like a mother hen for any sign of pain or discomfort. I simply couldn't help myself. He'd only just been released from the hospital, after all, and as his older sister, his health and well-being was my responsibility.

He looked well today, though, which I was glad for. Although, I had noted there were still quite a few bruises on his skin. This worried me a little, but then again, I was always worried about Andy, so that couldn't be helped. I noted also that his gait was still awkwardly slow and slightly crooked, as if he had a very sore backside. I knew this was due to the many brutal injuries he'd received during his kidnapping.

I sighed, my heart aching. My poor brother. He had been through a lot of shit. I had known living with Uncle Herbert had been hard enough, but to be kidnapped and brutally beaten was altogether another level of hardship. It was probably hell. Torture.

Tears stung my eyes. Not wanting the damn things to pour down my cheeks, I sniffed.

Andy turned to look at me then for a moment. He must have seen my tears, because he sighed and raised his eyes heavenward.

"Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms. "You're being silly. Stop being so emotional."

Gosh! Once again, I knew he knew I was thinking about him, about his brutal kidnapping, about the cruelty that had been inflicted on him during those dark hours.

I shook my head. "I'm not being emotional, you ass," I snapped, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands.

Andy chuckled as if he found my defensive words amusing. "It's not that painful," he said to reassure me. "I'm used to it. It'll go away in a few days."

I didn't like the sound of that. I didn't like the fact that he was accepting the beating he'd received as if it were an everyday event, a routine of sorts, like drinking, eating, and sleeping. As we had when we were little and living under Uncle Herbert's cruel reign, kicking and smacking us because he felt like it. I thought we'd had enough of that shit. I'd thought we refused to accept that sort of life as being something normal. The day-in, day-out beating and abuse, both verbally and physically. Had I been wrong? Had it just been me who refused to accept something so cruel and tormenting was normal?

Or was it the fact that it was hard to let old habits die? Because for Andy and me, abuse had been normal during our teenage years. And once you accepted something like that as being a normal occurrence, I guess it was hard to let it go because it was so ingrained within you now, something that was a part of you.

"I know that," I said. "But still... You've been beaten so badly. It's painful just thinking about the torturous things you went through that night."

Andy stared at me for a moment. He looked a little lost and confused at my words. Then suddenly, he laughed as if he found something oddly amusing.

I, on the other hand, didn't find anything amusing at all. Not one bit. I was worried sick about him, and here, he was laughing at my concern.

"Stop it," I snapped, my face red. Gosh, I simply wanted to end this discussion right now. "Come on. Let's start cooking. I'm starving." With that, I turned my back on him and picked up some onions and garlic. I peeled the skin of the onion and was just finished chopping the vegetable into small pieces when Andy said, drawing my attention to him, "Thanks for worrying about me, Mia."

My heart skipped a beat and tears brewed in my eyes. I sniffed, and Andy laughed. I knew he was laughing at me because I was crying. Instantly, I was annoyed.

"It's the onion," I snapped. "You're jumping to conclusions."

He kept laughing until I lightly slapped him on the arm to make him stop.

Chapter 28

Mia

We took our time making the spaghetti Bolognese, and we enjoyed every moment of the process. About half an hour later, the kitchenette and living area smelled like an Italian restaurant. After putting some delicious-looking food neatly onto plates, I admired my handiwork while Andy poured us some wine.

As I gazed at the two plates, I couldn't help but gush with delight at the fact that it looked restaurant or recipe book worthy. Not wanting to let the pretty sight go to waste, I rushed in search of my cell phone while Andy watched me with interest. A moment later, I came back into the kitchen and took loads of photos, moving the plates this way and that, snapping the image in every which way possible.

I was about to put the phone away when Andy stopped me.

"Hold on. You haven't taken photos with the wine yet." With that, he placed two glasses of Sangiovese next to the plates of spaghetti Bolognese.

I chuckled, gave him a thumbs-up, and then continued to take photos. Once I had enough, we sat on the couch in the living area, and with the TV on and the volume low, we started eating.

Needless to say, we both enjoyed our dinner tremendously. It was better than going to a restaurant, and for what it was worth, cooking had kept

me busy, which meant I didn't have to think about James.

This situation, Andy and me sitting quietly together eating our dinner, reminded me of us back when we were in Mystic Spring, living in a small, rundown one-bedroom apartment. I had the cramped bedroom while Andy slept in the living room connected with the kitchenette. The memory made me smile as I observed him enjoying his food. It had been a while since I'd seen him looking so content, so at ease, and simply enjoying the moment.

He must have noticed me looking at him, and he put down his fork. "Stop daydreaming and eat your dinner."

I chuckled. "I haven't lost my touch, have I? It looks like you still enjoy my cooking."

"Your cooking is the best, Mia," he said and then devoured another forkful of spaghetti.

I nodded and returned my attention to my own meal, a smile playing across my face.

"So when are you due back for work?" Andy asked suddenly, his eyes on his plate.

I licked my lips and said, "In a week."

"Have you told Mr. Maxwell yet?" he asked. "I mean, he needs to know, right? I mean... how is everything going to work out?"

"I don't know," I said. "And I haven't told him about my job. I guess we'll work something out."

Andy nodded. "I guess so." Though he looked doubtful.