Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,24

rumbles are coming from. If I leave the hot dish in his hands, I risk being scolded by more than his eyes when I refuse his generosity. As far as Vladimir was concerned, being discourteous was as punishable as being disobedient.

With his hip balanced on the counter next to my practically bare thigh, Trey’s eyes bounce between the bowl of stew and me for the next several minutes. They’re darker than they were earlier, somewhat fortified.

“Eat,” he commands a few seconds later, his tone gravelly. I shouldn’t find his accent comforting, but for some reason, I do. It reminds me of home even with it belonging to a country thousands of miles in the wrong direction.

Trey’s jaw is covered by a wiry beard, but I still spot its tick when I timidly shake my head. I’m starving, but how can I be sure he didn’t turn his back on me for no reason? The burgers were safe. I saw them prepared in front of me, and they barely left my sight during our trip.

This meal wasn’t scrutinized in the same manner.

Furthermore, I don’t know this man, so I have no reason to trust him.

As his pupils dilate, Trey gives credit to my distrust. “Don’t force me to hurt you, K.” He brings his six-foot-three height down a couple of inches so he can meet me eye to eye. “You need to eat. If you won’t do that without me ramming food down your throat, so be it, I’ll do that. I will shovel it into your stomach until it bursts if that’s the only way I can get you to eat.” His words are barely whispers when he adds, “Then the hungry growls of your stomach might stop fucking killing me.”

I peer at him through scrunched brows, shocked. I thought his threat to hurt me centered around a sexual preference. I had no clue he was referencing my refusal to eat.

Although the knowledge has me wishing I could sample the food warming my hands as well as his prolonged gawk heats up my dead-cold heart, I can’t. He isn’t the first man to bribe me with food. Vladimir starved me for three days straight before he entered my room with a sandwich. It was bland and boring, a combination many residents of the United States are a fan of, but it cost me a fortune.

That was the first time I broke.

I’ve not yet forgiven myself for it.

I will never eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without tasting Vladimir’s cum.

With my stomach flipping in contempt, I thrust the bowl of stew back toward Trey. My refusal to eat means not a speckle of blue can be seen in his eyes. His nostrils flare as he rakes his hand across his jaw, pondering. He looks torn between wanting to backhand me or forcefully spooning the food into my mouth as threatened.

I realize it’s the latter when he jabs a spoon into the meaty goodness with so much force, broth spills over the edge of the bowl and splashes onto my thighs. It sizzles on my skin, but I’m too stunned by Trey shoving the spoon into his mouth to worry about a little burn.

“Do you trust it’s not laced with drugs now?” he asks through a mouthful of meaty goop. “Or would you like me to feed you like you’re a baby bird? I’m up for both, K, so spell out what you’d prefer.”

I freeze, both shocked and excited by his comment. How is it that he already knows me well enough to know I’m panicked my food is tainted? We’ve only just met, haven’t we?

I freeze again when panic slams into me. He couldn’t have been one of Vladimir’s guests. He hated him. I could feel the dislike pumping out of him when he helped me light the match that sent Vladimir to hell, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t one of Vladimir’s goons. This isn’t an industry where you must like the man throwing around orders. As long as it pays well, some men have no limits on how far they’ll go for a man they hate.

I learned that the hard way many times the past twenty-two years.

The knocks keep coming when another disturbing notion smacks into me. What if we weren’t saved? What if we’ve been captured by another sanction as demoralizing as Vladimir’s—or worse, one shoddier?

I barely survived my last trade.

I won’t survive a second one.

Preferring to die fighting than be seen as weak, I kick out