Page 56 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“Good.” The vehemence in my voice startles me, but I’m not ashamed of it.

A smile tugs at the corner of Cade’s mouth. “Glad you approve, princess.” Then his eyes drop to my midsection. “Now, when did you last eat?”

I try to remember through the fog of the past twenty-four hours. “Uh . . . water this morning? Before that . . .”God, how long has it been?

Cade jerks his head toward the kitchen. “It’s fully stocked. And since you’re now an expert on where everything is, knock yourself out.”

Yes, I’d noticed the kitchen was stocked like a mini Whole Foods. The problem, though, is that it’s all raw ingredients. No quick fixes, no sandwiches, not even a cookie—just endless produce.

“Do you want to eat anything?” I try for casual, hoping to manipulate him into chef duty.

But he just gives me that maddening shrug and heads back into the den then clicks his tongue. Saint follows like his shadow, those red eyes finding mine one last time.

I see we’re back to the grunts and shrugs. Still, I can’t squash the ridiculous feeling that I passed some sort of test.

I, who makes men jump through hoops just to earn a coffee date, am sitting here getting giddy because some dangerous, infuriating man approved of how I handled his dog.

What the actual fuck, Luna?

Pulling myself up to my feet, I stalk back to the kitchen and eye the gleaming appliances with trepidation. The fridge yields eggs, milk, butter, and an array of peppers.

Now if only I could cook.

But there aren’t many ways to fuck up an omelet, right?

19

Luna

The first attempt ends up in the trash, blackened bits stuck to the bottom of the pan like some sort of culinary punishment.

Alright. Fine. Maybe browning the butter wasn’t a genius idea.

I take a breath and start over, this time with olive oil.

Feeling more confident, I pour in the eggs. Slow and steady. This is fine. I’ve got this.

Except I don’t. The edges start sticking immediately, and my panicked poking only makes it worse.

No, no, no!This was supposed to be the redemption omelet. I dial down the heat, but it’s too late. The edges are crispy-burnt, while the middle stays stubbornly liquid.

I wait, hoping it’ll somehow fix itself. But the burnt smell creeps up again. You’ve got to be kidding me.

I literally turned down the heat and change the cooking fat. What the fuck else do you want from me?

Thepan just sizzles in reply, egg glued to it like it’s holding a grudge. I grab a fork. Maybe it’ll taste better than it looks.

It doesn’t.

“Having fun?”

Cade’s voice slides through the kitchen. I glance up to find him lounging against the doorframe, all coiled grace and crossed arms as he takes in my culinary crime scene. The scent of charred eggs hangs between us like a confession.

Another witnessed fail. Perfect. And the worst part? He doesn’t even need to smile. He just stands there, perfectly stone-faced, while his eyes are practically howling with laughter.

How does he do that?

I toss the spatula down with more force than necessary and wipe my hands on a dish towel. “I’ve had a bad day, alright? It’s not every day you slide down twenty-three floors, stunt-ride around town with a madman then watch gangsters get turned into roadside fireworks.”

---