Page 39 of Cruel Debts (Killers of Port Wylde #4)

THIRTY-FOUR

HAWKE

I had no idea what the fuck possessed me to get up at the crack of dawn and cook a dish I'd never made in my fucking life.

There was no reason I should be in the kitchen with an apron on, dusting cocoa powder into a panko breading as I eyed air-dried eggplant slices sitting on a sheet pan next to me.

I certainly shouldn't be preparing to fry up the fucking sliced vegetable into an Italian dessert to please the little vixen who'd ruined one of my best fucking skillets yesterday by burning chicken so bad it was permanently stuck to the bottom for the rest of eternity.

But here I was, hands coated in cocoa powder and bread crumbs, my eyebrows smudged with flour, as I struggled to maintain the perfect temperature of oil in the nearby pan to flash fry these and make them nice and crisp on the outside but not soggy inside.

And then, I had to roll them in crushed almonds, or they wouldn't be finished.

This dish was so fucking frustrating, mostly because I abhorred eggplant.

It was like the bane of my existence. But Trinity liked them.

And she'd gone out with Liam at six in the morning to the gym, of all places, so I figured the least I could do was make something for her to look forward to after she let him put her through her paces.

Anyone who came back from a morning in the gym with that animal needed a pick-me-up to give them hope for life again. I would know.

About ten minutes later, I had a solid portion of these things prepped and finished, coated with a tiny dusting of powdered sugar that I thought really made them a little over the top sweet, in a good way.

It wasn't in the recipe, but I wasn't the intended cook they wrote it for, either, so fuck it.

She'd either like the adjustment or hate it.

And if she hated it, oh well, I guess.

The front door opened, and Liam was of course the first one through it, looking none the worse for wear. His eyes were filled with emotions he clearly wasn't dealing with, but his body looked no different from when he left.

Except for the scratches down the side of his neck and arm. Those were new.

Trinity trudged through the door after him, her face a mask of disgust and exhaustion.

"You know, next time, you should just leave me to die on the floor where I lay once you've shown me just how shitty I am at this whole self-defense thing, Liam.

" Her frown is bone-deep and weary, and she looks like someone dragged her through one of those old school washing boards and wringers, and then hung her on the line to air dry.

"You're being dramatic," Liam grumbled, sitting on the couch in his sweats with a huff. "Get a bottle of water and hydrate. You're the one who didn't think to hydrate before you worked out."

"You made me run a mile before the sun was properly up, Liam. What kind of human does that?" She yanked open the fridge and did as he instructed, though, and I watched as her throat worked, gulping water down like a fish who hadn't seen the ocean in years.

Liam turned around, watched her, and shook his head, muttering about idiots and making themselves sick. Once he'd huffed his piece, he shoved off the couch and headed for his room with a flippant 'I'm going to take a shower, don't bother me,' and a frown.

I turned to Trinity, who looked at the empty bottle like she regretted her choices. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up."

Her brows rose, and suddenly, she didn't look like someone who'd been run over with a steamroller. She looked intrigued and slightly mistrustful. "What kind of pick-me-up?"

I slid a plate of finished mulignane cu a ciucculata across the counter at her, watching intently, though I tried to make myself look nonchalant about it. "I made your favorite."

Her eyes danced with excitement as she took in the food on the plate, then her brows furrowed. "I haven't had these in ages. But what's the white stuff on them?"

"Try it first," I encouraged her, a small smile on my lips. "Then tell me whether you like it or not. And I'll tell you what it is."

She brought the delicacy to her lips, then bit into it with a crunch.

"Oh my god!" she whisper-shouted around her full mouth.

"That's delicious! They're perfect." Her hand moved up to hide her face as she chewed and talked simultaneously.

"So crisp! And the powdered sugar on top is new, but so good! "

"I'm glad you like them," I said with a sigh of relief, "because there's no amount of chocolate on this planet that can make me like deep-fried eggplant."

"I'll eat as many as you need me to. Wouldn't want them to go to waste," she muttered, her mouth still full. The plate started with six of them, and now she was down to two.

She worked fast.

"I can't believe you eat those," I said with a hint of disgust. "Eggplant, really? How does the chocolate make them better in any way?"

"You're just uncultured, Hawke," she mumbled around the last of them, relishing the crunch of the fried shell around the still-crisp insides. "But for someone who hates them so much, you really did a good job making them."

I watched her lick the remains off the tips of her fingers, and the whole thing was so erotic, I found myself getting hard at the sight.

No. No way in hell. I'm not getting the hots for Trinity McCoy. Abso-fucking-lutely not. She's just goading me, is all. I won't fall for it.

I shook the strange sensations from my mind and grabbed a coat from the hook by the door. "I'm gonna go grab some things for later. You want anything?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, her eyes skimming the shelves in the pantry as she moved around looking for something else, now that she'd totaled the food I made her. "A day pass from this hellhole."

"No can do, sorry, squirt," I told her, grinning wildly as I closed the door behind me. She'd get over it, eventually. We wouldn't have to keep her locked up like some little porcelain doll forever. And when she finally had her freedom back, she could do whatever she wanted.

Though that was likely to be her, going back to her old life, and leaving this all behind.

Maybe.

Or maybe she'd stay just to torment us. It would be irritating, but it might've been fun just to watch Liam be aggravated at someone else for a change.

I didn't pass anyone looking to talk on the way down the road, but at the store, I ended up chatting with the older Italian guy who ran the little store and did most of the work himself.

He was troubled.

"Ayy, Damiano, what's new in your world, old man?" I patted him on the back, knowing he wasn't one to open up, but he looked like he could use a friend right about now, and I could lend an ear.

It would buy me time away from the Guild, too, and Liam's grouchy ass.

"Not much in mine, but my sister is having a hard time," he grumbled, setting his arm atop the end of his broom as he stopped cleaning to regard me with a semi-friendly smile that felt forced. "Her daughter, my niece, is missing."

The story grew more and more common every day, especially in the poorer districts of Port Wylde.

Our people couldn't even live their lives without fear that one more would go missing in the dark of pre-dawn.

The people we'd sworn to protect when we joined the Guild.

The same people who turned to us for help when they needed it the most.

I couldn't turn a blind eye to them. Once upon a time, I was one of them.

"Damiano, this niece of yours," I said slowly, making eye contact with the man about to come into the store—a clear direction to get the fuck out for a while. "Tell me about her."

I guided him to a nearby empty crate, forced him to sit down, and slid effortlessly into my Guild persona as he opened up about the girl.

Marguerite. Fourteen. Innocent. At the top of her class in school, and about to go on her first date this weekend.

Not anymore, though. Now she was gone, and nobody had heard from her.

Not her friends. Not the boy who she'd stand up in her absence.

Not the school. It was as if she vanished into thin air.

Just like all the others.

When he'd given me everything I needed, I told him not to worry, and to pray, because I could smell a Catholic a mile away. If his guilt wasn't a heavy indicator, the rosary on his wrist and the cross around his neck were dead giveaways.

I shot off a text to the guys, and looped Lilly in on the situation. She had a soft spot for Damiano, and I had the sneaking suspicion Marguerite was connected to the contract we were working—one of them.

And then I made my way home, with a few fresh mangoes and some pasta in hand.

I hadn't had someone in the house who enjoyed my cooking in a long ass time, so cooking for Trinity was a refreshing new experience. She enjoyed food like a child enjoyed candy, and she didn't hold back. Her refreshing personality at the table was enough to revive my desire to cook every day.

As I marched back into the dorm, I found myself whistling, excited to dive into the kitchen.

I wondered if Trinity would want to learn more.

I could teach her the thing that saved me from becoming my mother, and then later, my father.

I could share this part of me with her, and then when she left, it would be like taking a piece of me with her everywhere.

She would always think of me, and there would be no getting me out of her head.

"Trinity, do you have any food allergies?" I called out, but there was no answer. "Trinity?"

The bag made a dull thud on the counter as I set it down and moved to her door. Open, and the room empty. I knocked on Liam's, and he growled at me to go away, so he's likely not in there. Asher was still out on recon for the job, so it wouldn't be possible for her to be in there.

That left?—

My room.

I'd never moved so slowly and so fast at the same time.

I can't explain it, really. It was like running in slow motion, though I didn't choose to.

My legs moved, but now how I wanted, and my worst nightmares were revealed to me when I rounded the corner and found her standing int he center of my room with a broom.

She'd taken it upon herself to clean the space, it seemed, and in her hands?—

"What are you doing with my mother's diary?"