When we’re back inside, he sits me down in a chair and cuffs my arms behind my back. The hardback wooden chair is stiff against my back. Once I’m secured, he goes over to the supplies and retrieves a large jar of peanut butter and another of strawberry jam, along with a loaf of white bread. My stomach growls.
I've never been a peanut butter and jelly sort of girl, but anything sounds good right about now.
He makes three, presumably two for him and one for me, takes two blue speckled camp mugs from a rustic shelf, and I watch him go outside to pump water. My heart pumps a little faster when he does, but he’s only paces away. I can’t run. I’m not even prepared, and I’m starving. My lips and mouth are so dry, and I haven't really thought about it until now, but I'm seriously dehydrated.
When he comes back in, he's all business. He stands by the table, his large frame unencumbered by the loose, dirty clothing he wears. I must look a sight myself. It would be good to change into something clean.
He's something to look at, I’ll give him that. His profile speaks of power and an ageless strength. Square jar tinged with stubble, framing a handsome, square face. A girl can at least admire him.
I wait for him to unfasten my cuffs so I can eat. I suppose I’m pretty naïve since he has no such plans. He pulls a chair directly across from me and straddles it, lifts the sandwich in his large, rough hands, and takes a huge bite.
Did he wash those hands? I saw no washing. I imagine he washed them in the water outside and stifle the wave of nausea.
"Open up, buttercup." I stifle a sound of disgust, open my mouth, and actually let him feed me little bites of sandwich. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. You don't realize how much you value your own autonomy until you’re reduced to feeling like a child. Someone providing for your food, watching your every move, hand-feeding you. It’s demoralizing, which is probably exactly why he does it.
"So,” I say to him. "Do I get to ask questions? Or is that only your job?”
The peanut butter sticks to the top of my mouth, making it hard to speak. I move my lips and try to swallow. Wordlessly, he lifts the cup and brings it to my lips.
I have to intentionally mute the part of me that likes this. The way his hand cradles the back of my head. The way he gently tips water into my mouth while I swallow, not so much that I choke, but enough that I get a nice full sip. When I give him a little shake of my head to tell him I’m done, he rests the cup on the table. He's so careful it's almost gentle.
I don’t think I’m the only one affected, either. He reaches over and brushes a droplet of water from my lips, his face pensive.
"Need more?" he asks, his voice a little husky. He looks straight into my eyes. We’re sitting only a few feet away from each other.
I swallow hard, and when I speak my own voice is affected. "I'm all set, thank you."
It takes me by surprise how emotionally I react to his feeding me. I've gone from feeling humiliated to feeling… something decidedly very different.
There's a crumb on my lip. I capture it with the tip of my tongue, and he watches every move. I like the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard, trying to mask emotion. He’s sitting so close to me, he could kiss me if he wanted to. But we both know that's not allowed.
"Go ahead," he says. He’s waiting on another hard edge. Pulling himself back. “Ask me. I won’t promise I'll answer everything."
I dive right in, feeling stronger after some food and water. “I grew up within the Montavio family. We were always with the Rossis. And you were not around then. When did you join their family?"
He takes a large bite of a sandwich. No, scratch that. He eats half the sandwich in one gargantuan gulp, swallows, then swigs down some water before he answers. “I served time with Orlando," he says in his raspy voice. "I got involved with the wrong crowd. Unlike some people I know, I grew up poor.”
Ouch. Jerk.
“Hit the streets to survive. My grandma raised me, and she never knew how I got my money. She wasn't dumb, so I'm sure she suspected, but she decided it was in both of our best interests if she didn't ask questions, so she didn't. I started with small theft, when one of the local guys took me under his wing. Showed me how to work for money, and for a long time, I was clean. Enlisted, because I looked up to the military and found it was a way out. But it didn’t last. When I was on leave, I came home to find my grandmother sick and in need of more medical care than I could afford. So… I didn’t re-enlist and went back to what I knew would bring me money. People respected me. I graduated to being the best car thief in the entire neighborhood. I got away with it for a long time. I'm fast, I'm not stupid. And it paid really fucking well."
Well, that was more than I expected.
He takes a sip of water and sees me watching him. "More water?"
I nod just because I want to see if he uses his cup or mine. He doesn't put his cup down but places his to my lips. I take a long, refreshing sip and try not to think about the Rossi family tradition about two people drinking from the same cup. I wonder if he knows it.
"Spent some time in juvie when I was sixteen but didn't serve real time until I met Orlando."
“And that was after you’d served in the military.”
“Yes.”
"So this was… when Orlando was arrested for manslaughter," I say, putting the pieces together. All of us know when one is arrested. My brothers and cousins do many things that skirt the law, and they mostly get away with it, but every once in a while, someone gets caught, tangled in a net, and dragged to jail like a fish on a line. We all knew when Orlando was arrested because it was shortly following my uncle Narcisso’s death.
"I served two years." He doesn't give me any more details, but I know that’s all it takes serving that much time. Hell, serving any time. The guy serving time, or a guy at war, both suffer. "When Orlando got out, he told me to find him. So I did. It didn't take long to prove myself to the Rossis, and they inducted me in because they were short a man." He looks at me seriously, all traces of humor gone. "And they are the best family I have ever had. I take my loyalty to them very, very seriously."
"I know," I say. “Believe it or not, I take loyalty seriously too."