It was simple work, the sort she was used to handling. Her stepfather had always seen her as little more than his maid and cook. She had been taking care of all the laundry, meals and cleaning for her family since the day her mother first got sick. She allowed herself a moment of pettiness as she imagined her stepfather having to fry his own eggs every morning and wash his own clothes.
As she smirked at the image of him barefoot and eating scorched eggs, Maisie became aware of the presence of another person. She kept rinsing and drying the last few dishes rather than turn around. The familiar scent of Terror hit her, and she faltered momentarily before regaining her composure. She could feel him. He was moving closer, like a cat stalking its prey.
He must have known that she was aware of him. He stopped behind her, so close that the tips of his boots were touching her heels. Trapped between his body and the sink, she couldn’t retreat or move forward. When she tried to step to the side, his arm was suddenly there, reaching around her to place three empty mugs in the soapy water. She glanced over her shoulder, looking up and realizing that he had her in the same predicament he was in back at the mine. Then, he had been the one immobile and surrounded by her as she cleaned his cell and his body.
He stared down at her, his one-eyed gaze never wavering, and she understood that he was testing her. He wanted to see how long she would allow him to invade her personal space. If he expected her to shove him away, he would be standing there forever. She pretended to ignore his warm breath on her neck and the slight shift of the toes of his boots against her heels as she scrubbed, rinsed and dried the mugs. Not ready to move just yet, she cleaned both sides of the sink until they shined and then placed the damp towel and rag to dry on the edge of the butcher block counter.
She inhaled a sharp breath when his hand moved to her hip. His searing hot palm slid along the side of her pants, gliding over the empty belt loops. She breathed raggedly and marveled at the sensation of being touched so intimately by a man. Until now, she had only ever been pushed or smacked or shoved out of the way. His fingers slipped under the too-big flannel shirt and grazed her belly, his trimmed nails scratching ever so slightly.
An electric arc sizzled through her. She couldn’t help it. She pressed back against him, silently begging him not to move away just yet. She ached for his touch. She wanted to be held by him and feel safe in his strong arms. She wanted to turn and face him, to lift up on tiptoes and brazenly brush her mouth to his jaw. Would he kiss her back? Or would he turn his face and reject her?
Before she could work up the courage to try it, he stepped away and left her alone by the sink. She didn’t need to hear to know someone else had entered the kitchen. Lowering her sleeves, she turned around and found the general eyeing them suspiciously as he walked into the room. He shared a look with Terror that communicated his disapproval.
It was clear to her in that moment that what she wanted most from Terror she would never get. The general’s expression was one of disdain and irritation. He didn’t like her. Maybe because she was the daughter of a Splinter operative. Maybe because she had technically been part of the cell that had been holding Terror hostage. Maybe because she was deaf and a Defect.
It didn’t really matter why the general disliked her. She had seen the easy friendship between Terror and the general. It was clear to anyone who could see them that their friendship went back to childhood. They were like an old married couple, sharing glances and quick words to communicate entire paragraphs of thoughts. If the general didn’t approve of her, Terror would take that to heart and keep her at arm’s length.
The general stepped forward and made sure she was paying attention by waving a finger in her direction. She nodded to assure him she was watching. He spoke carefully, not too slowly thankfully, and explained that a rescue team was on the way but