Page 12 of Risk (Mayhem Makers: MMM #3)

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

McKenna

When my alarm sounds off the next morning, my body protests and I groan as I reach out and my hands flail as I search for the offending object to shut off the shrilling sound.

I have a severe case of the ‘I don’t wanna’s’ and decide to hit the snooze button so I can rest my eyes a little longer.

The only problem is, it’s set to go off every fifteen minutes and because of my exhaustion, when I finally do crawl out of bed, I’m in a foul mood.

“Stupid obligations,” I complain through puckered lips, life is souring on a good day let alone one like today. As I drag my feet to the bathroom and turn on the shower so the water can warm, I pout. “I don’t wanna adult anymore.”

While that’s in progress, I grab my toothbrush and paste out of the drawer, spread it along the bristles and wet it before zombie walking my way to the toilet to relieve my bladder.

In between brushing, I wipe, flush, and run back to the sink to spit out the foam.

I’ve always been a gagger when it comes to brushing, and no matter how much I age, that’s something that I’ve never grown out of.

“Damn toothbrush trying to choke me,” I say, looking at it as if it’s my enemy.

Snorting to myself, I step into the shower and start my routine.

Once my skin has been scrubbed and my hair is squeaky clean, I grab my beach towel and wrap it around me and tuck the sides in and toss on my hair wrap to hold it in place until I’m ready to brush and dry it.

Even though I’m beneath a prostitute on the totem pole and just above a stripper doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of myself.

Every single day, no matter how I’m feeling about myself, I moisturize my face, pluck my eyebrows because they’re hairy beasts that tend to bristle overnight—I’m beginning to think Big Foot is one of my ancestors—and lotion my body from head to toe before going in search of my morning caffeine.

When I make it into the living room, I jump a mile high when a chirpy voice says, “Good morning, sunshine.”

I grunt before bellyaching. “You’re a morning person, huh? That sucks because I don’t play nice until after my second cup of coffee. You have been warned.”

“Good to know,” she snickers, waving me off. “Where do you want me to store my blankets and pillows during the day?”

“Don’t care,” I mumble as I place my favorite tumbler underneath the spout of my Keurig and reach into the cabinet to grab a pod and my three packets of cane sugar.

As it brews, I stumble my way to the fridge and grab my creamer then dazedly make it back over to the machine just as it whistles letting me know it’s done. “Did you get any sleep, Isla?”

“An hour here and there. I’ve never required a lot of sleep. What about you, McKenna? Did you manage to get any?”

“Not much. My brain likes to punish me when I close my eyes by reminding me of how much of a failure I am,” I admit, lifting up my cup and inhaling the aroma.

I sigh before lifting it up to my lips and taking a small taste.

It’s hot so I only drink enough to coat my tongue and start the process of getting my java into my system. “This is heaven.”

“Coffee tends to make me jittery,” Isla tells me. “I usually have a glass of juice in the morning to give me a kickstart.”

“You offend me,” I tease. “If I don’t have a mug as soon as I hop out of the shower, I’m a bitch.”

“At least you’re an honest one, McKenna.”

“Don’t know how to be anything else when my brain isn’t functional,” I murmur. “Put your juice on the shopping list that’s on the fridge and I’ll grab some for you when I go to the store tonight.”

“Thank you, McKenna. I know you have suspicions about me, but you’ve still made sure I have what I need.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re not more of a mess, Isla. I was in a corner rocking myself when I was taken. I’m not computing why you’re not a drooling disaster or having an epic meltdown.”

“Because this is the safest I’ve felt in weeks, McKenna,” she explains. “It’s the first time I’m not surrounded by men who leer at me and say nasty things in regard to my body.”

“It’s how they desensitize you, Isla.”

“Well, they did a mighty fine job of it,” she laments. “Plus, today’s my birthday.”

My eyes widen and I drop my cup onto the counter and the contents of it splash on my wrist. “Shit.” I begin to hiss like a wet cat as I run over to the freezer and grab one of my cold packs and place it over where it’s burning. “I hope that doesn’t blister.”

Rushing over to me, Isla asks, “Do you have any aloe?”

“I have a plant in my bedroom,” I answer as I begin to dance in place while my eyes water.

“Straight from the source. I’m gonna go break off a stem and I’ll be right back,” she tells me but I’m so busy concentrating on not crying that I don’t respond.

Minutes later, she comes back and is applying pressure to the shoot and as liquid oozes from it, I know in mere moments I’m going to have some sort of reprieve.

“It’s not usually this hot,” I remark as she fights me to remove the ice pack.

“We have to get this salve on there or it will blister,” she chides, sounding a helluva lot like my mother when she chastises me. “I promise, it’ll feel better as soon as you let me slather this on.”

“Fine,” I grumble but relent because she’s right.

After she gives it a thick coat, I sigh. “Better?” she asks.

“For now,” I convey. “Happy birthday, Isla. I’m sorry this is how you’re spending your… eighteenth birthday?”

“Yeah. I’m the big one-eight, or I will be once the clock strikes six forty-three tonight, according to my birth certificate. Sucks, huh?”

“It does,” I confirm. “All we can do is make the best of it.”

“How do you propose we do that?” she inquires. When I look over at her, I see sadness written all over her. “From what I took from the conversation yesterday between you and Marshall, this will be my first official training day.”

The reminder slaps me in the face. I was already making mental plans to hit the grocery store, grabbing a pint of ice cream, a couple of cupcakes since I’m not a baker, and whipping her up some spaghetti and garlic toast for dinner.

Cheap but filling. “Yeah, but it’s a short day for me.

That means I can hit the supermarket around the corner and grab some things to make this day better for you. ”

“Pretend like we’re normal?” she snickers.

“At least for a little bit,” I tack on. “Two new friends celebrating life.”

“What there is of it,” she snorts.

“We have to make the best of the hand we’ve been dealt. We’ll never survive otherwise and drown in depression. One day, we won’t be fresh faces or desirable and they’ll let us go.”

“You and I have different presumptions about that,” she whispers. “I don’t see them cutting the strings and wishing us the best.”

“Hopes and wishes are all I’ve got, Isla.”

She tilts her head to the side and counters, “Or we can pray for a knight in shining armor to find us and rescue us like the maidens we are.”

Risk’s face flashes through my mind but I quickly shake that off. He’s better off not being dragged into the middle of this shitstorm. “From your mouth to our knight’s ears.”

“One can only dream,” she subtly adds.