Page 9 of Broken

“Ah, Chef. Ava here is a lobster virgin and I am taking her cherry. If you could de-shell it to make the experience easier for her, and be quick because I want to start eating,” he states, with no please or thank you. No manners at all, just the ridiculous sexual entendre. The chef clearly looks startled by his instructions and looks to be contemplating if he should do it table side, which would be quicker, or taking it back to the kitchen where he has tools to make it easier. I try to help him by making the decision for him. I take hold of my plate and pass it towards him.

“Thank you so much for this. If it’s easier for you to take it to the kitchen to prepare it properly, Chef, then that is good with me. It looks so delicious and I want to be able to taste the meal properly without any bits of shell that might end up on my plate if you had to rush doing it here with the wrong tools.” I smile at him sweetly, trying to make his life a lot easier and given the barrage of thank you’s that leaves his mouth in a rush, I can tell he’s grateful. His eyes remain downcast as he walks towards me and then he finally looks up to take the plate. His wrinkled eyes sparkle as he takes in my appearance for the first time. Why he looks so shocked I don't understand because I’m sure Grant is surrounded by girls much prettier than me on a regular basis. I put it down to the gorgeous dress and the way the chef’s eyes peruse my body seems to confirm that. Before I have a chance to feel uncomfortable at the staring, we are all startled by Grant’s bellow.

“GO NOW!” Chef snatches the plate off me and literally runs out of the room. I am in total shock that he would treat a member of his staff in that way. Before I can ask him, he starts to chuckle. A look of disbelief crosses my face. Why is he laughing at scaring the shit out of a middle aged man just trying to do his job?

“I’m sorry about Chef just then, Ava. It would appear your beauty is so bewitching, it makes my staff forget themselves. Don’t worry, he will be suitably punished,” Grant states. I can’t help the way that I’m now glaring at Grant like he is a fucking alien. Why the hell would he think I want him punished for looking at me? The chef didn’t look at me any differently than Grant has done all night. In fact, Grant’s leer feels worse.

“What?” I ask with disbelief. “Are you serious? He didn’t do anything wrong or act in any way that was inappropriate.”

Grant huffs and raises his glass for another ridiculously small sip. “Chef knows that you are my guest. That means the social order should be respected and he should not have looked at you or behaved in that way.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. He really does believe in the whole upper class, lower class divide. So why is he behaving so nicely to me? I sure as hell fall right at the bottom of the pile. It just reminds me how much I fucking hate people who behave this way.

“As far as I am concerned, Grant, the only person behaving inappropriately is you,” I state with venom in my voice that comes from years of having people look down their noses and me and Papa because of the area we live in or the fact we live from one pay cheque to the next. It’s not the greatest, but I know my papa did the best he could for me after Mum died. So having anyone look down their noses at us for that is a big hate of mine. Grant looks shocked that I would have the nerve to talk to him like that.

“How was I inappropriate?” he asks. He really has no idea that the way he behaved is totally unacceptable. It’s almost like dealing with a child who doesn’t know any better. But instead, he’s a grown man who should know better. If this is behaviour that he has learnt from his parents, I don’t ever want to meet them.

“Grant, you cannot talk to people in that way. Yes, he works for you but that does not mean you are better than him,” I explain. He looks baffled and I cannot believe what I’m seeing.

“Ava, he is the hired help. He makes a decent wage and I pay him more than most other places would. In exchange for that, his job is to do as I tell him to. It’s obvious that the people he cooks for are out of his league and once he took one look at you, he should have known that. But instead, despite knowing you are here with me, he forgot his place and leered over you. So, yes, he will be punished.” Now I really am pissed. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

“Actually, Grant, he is nearer to my league than you are. Just because I agreed to this meal with you does not mean that I'm here with you. You make it sound as though I’m on a fucking date with you,” I shout at him, losing my cool at this whole situation. I look up to see how he has taken my words, as I wasn’t quite brave enough to look at him during my rant, and the look of disdain mars his normally pretty face. He looks genuinely disgusted at me right now and I can't help but lower my eyes, not wanting to see the look in his eyes any more.

Unfortunately, Chef chooses that very inappropriate moment to return with my lobster. He walks in with his head down, moving so quickly, he manages to reach my side and place the plate down before Grant even realises he is in the room, but when he does, he explodes.

“OUT. Get the fuck out now!” As he shouts, his pale white skin begins to turn a ruby red colour as he heats with rage. Chef makes a quick exit towards the door and just before he can reach for the door handle, Grant releases the crystal champagne glass that he had in his hand. He launches it straight at Chef’s head. Luckily, it misses by the narrowest of margins and instead, smashes into the wall next to the door. The crystal shatters on impact and the sound can be heard all around the room as the remaining liquid splashes up the wall and the tiny glass pieces spread across the floor. Chef’s scream is so high pitched, he sounds like a girl, but he doesn’t slow down. He is straight out of the door, ignoring the mess around him like he is used to this sort of behaviour, but I’m not. As the glass hits the wall, a small shriek leaves my lips and I quickly push back my chair and move to the far corner of the room, as far away from Grant as is possible in this space. In my neighbourhood, you learn fast to get as far away from the drama as you physically can. I risk a look over at Grant and his eyes are shining with rage and what looks like lust. He looks like he is getting turned on by either his display of angry violence, or my fear. Neither of those are things a guy should be getting turned on by. I’m starting to worry about being in the room alone with Grant in this state, but before I know it, Ryder comes bursting through the door the chef just closed as he left.

Ryder storms the room looking like a sexy fallen angel, his hair is flopping from side to side as his head moves to assess the room for any danger. He looks just like pure sex on legs and with his body so ridgid from the tension and apprehension of an unknown situation, his muscles are all coiled tight, which just enhances them. He’s not the usual body type you would expect to see in a bodyguard, instead he’s more lean, like a runner. But his stance right now exudes power.

Ryder sees me cowering in the corner and before he has even looked over to see if his boss is ok, he runs into the room and puts his hard body between mine and any possible danger. Little does he know the danger is actually his boss.

All I can see is Ryder’s muscular back rippling under the tight black t-shirt he is wearing as he breathes heavy with the adrenaline of the situation. Even though I can’t see where he is looking, I can feel his eyes assessing the room. I’m sure by now, he has seen the crystal glass on the floor, as I heard his feet crunch it when he ran over it to get into the room. He also must be able to see the psycho standing at the other side of the room, looking like he is coming down after going full blown Hulk on a fucking chef. I need to get the hell out of here, but Ryder is blocking anyone from getting to me so well, it also means I cannot get past.

Chapter Ten

Ryder

As soon as I heard the crash of what sounded like glass shattering, I was running towards that dining room like split shit. I’m not ashamed to admit I have patrolled the corridors around that room repeatedly since the moment Ava stepped foot into it. Not because I have to protect my boss, fuck no. I don't think Ava is capable of hurting anyone. Grant, on the other hand, has the potential to destroy the poor girl before she even realises it’s happening.

I knew something was going down when I heard Trixie come running out of the room shouting for Bobbie, the Chef, to come into the room. The shrill tone she was using could be heard through these heavy reinforced walls, which was not a good sign. Bobbie looks terrified, which is not surprising given that he was there to witness when Grant last used his own initiative and made an example of the previous Chef, Fernando, who was Bobbie’s mentor. He was there that day, in fact, it was his knife that Grant used to plunge into Fernando’s neck. All because Fernando tried to tell Grant that if he requests food at a certain time, that should be the time it is served because his food will spoil and not taste as good, and he doesn’t want to put out inferior products. He also mentioned the dangers of bacteria and reheating or warming food, but I could tell Grant wasn’t listening. All he cared about was that Fernando had challenged him in front of his father and other members of staff. Whenever his father visits, Grant becomes so much worse than normal, and I often wonder if he’s acting more evil and violent because that is what his father expects of him. He was certainly at his most brutal when both Trixie and Bobbie stood there alongside myself, Vic, and Alan, as he sprayed us all with Fernando’s blood. To say that the staff have been on edge since that incident would be an understatement.

Before I started stalking the corridors around the dining room like a crazed man, I did first go on patrol around the house. I wanted to look at the design through fresh eyes now that I know some of what Grant has planned for this girl. I wanted to look and see what I missed before, because I never miss anything when performing tactical risk assessments. As I walk and look at things in the new way he described them, I see he has very cleverly designed it with security in mind. There are locks in the right places, lights and cameras in hidden areas, and more guards patrolling than I knew we had on shift. There’s no way that dumb fuck did this without help. I bet Eli found him someone, which means I need to know who it is. If there are hidden rooms or traps in this building that I don’t know about, well, that makes me real fucking nervous. The fact I am supposed to be the security manager and yet he hired security staff that I don’t even know about pisses me off. Obviously, my role is ensuring his protection and I have team leaders that manage other areas. We meet occasionally and they voice any concerns to me. The leader of perimeter security, Marco, never said a fucking word. But the one thing I will say is that they are fucking well trained because without really looking for them and studying their movements, I wouldn’t have been able to work out how many there were or where they are based.

That small piece of good in a surrounding pile of shit is not enough to keep my frustrations at bay. Grant might feel happy being the only one who knows the set up of the house and security, but that is not how it works. I get paid to keep his dumb arse alive, sadly, so I need to know. I cannot do my job accurately without it. At least, this is what I tell myself for a good half an hour before my feet lead me to outside the dining room. Why can’t I get the beauty out of my head? It’s not healthy to think of her. Grant has set his sights on her, he has a plan, and the spoilt little fucker always gets what he wants.

As Chef Bobbie wobbles into the room, holding his rather large belly and breathing incredibly quickly. He has run all the way from the kitchen and given his size, I don’t think Bobbie has ever run before. As he enters, he closes the door behind him and I try to hear what is going on. Trixie chooses that moment to slide along the wall, placing herself in between me and the door I was trying to listen through.

“Hey, sexy, don't you have the night off? Usually you do when the boss has one of his whores over.” Trixie has one of those incredibly nasal voices that seems to whistle through your ear drum and starts to grate on you after about one sentence. So, she just reached her quota with me. Sadly, Trixie doesn’t take no for an answer. I know she’s only trying it on with me because she wants sex, everyone knows the reason she is here is because she wants Grant. She has this stupid fairy tale dream in her head that she will be able to seduce Grant and become his trophy wife. But she made one very big mistake, she opened her legs for him on the first day she got here. He’s never looked at her again, but she has never stopped trying. Personally, I think they are made for each other because I saw how turned on the crazy bitch got when she was covered in Fernando’s blood.

“Hey, Trixie. You know me, I’m always working,” I say as I back away from her advances. She’s stalking towards me like a lion tracking its prey. But what she doesn’t realise is that I’m leading her exactly where I want her. I need to move her out of the way and once she has advanced fully into the corridor, placing both hands gently on her shoulders, I see her breath hitch like she genuinely expects me to make a move. Instead, I turn her and gently push her in the direction of the kitchen.

“So, go back to the kitchen and let me do my job.” She huffs as I go back towards the door, trying to hear what is going on. But before I get a chance to listen, it opens. I step back defensively, making sure Trixie is covered in the event of any danger. I may not like her, but I don't want her dying. The next thing I know, Chef Bobbie comes wobbling out of the room holding a plate with what looks like lobster on it. He is mumbling something about needing to de-shell a lobster for the pretty girl as he runs towards the kitchen. I stay back to make sure there is no chance of danger and Trixie moves to the door to see if her assistance is needed. When she sees it isn’t, she closes the door and releases a little laugh. I look at her with my eyebrow raised, silently asking what she finds funny.

“Stupid bitch doesn’t even know how to de-shell a lobster. What the hell is he doing with someone like her? Seriously, Ryder, he always says that he needs to be with a woman of standing because his father will not allow anything else. Well, he can dress her up in as much designer clothes and expensive make-up as he wants, but the minute she opens her mouth, it's obvious she's a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks,” Trixie spits out with disgust. I had no idea that Grant had even spoken to her about his father's requirements for any future wife. As much as I hate to hear those vile insults spill from Trixie’s lips, I also know that what she says is very true. If Grant thinks he can fool the old man in some way or even change his mind, he's an idiot. Everyone knows that when Alan Blakeman issues an instruction, that is what he expects to happen. Alan is very traditional and he believes in the social hierarchy and where he stands within the community. He stands on top of anyone else and so does Grant. That means, whoever he brings with him to the top, will have to be just as worth it.

After a rare night of drinking a couple of months ago, Grant divulged all about how the old man informed him that he only has a few more years and then he is expected to settle down and marry before he turns thirty. He is to choose a woman from a respectable family, the higher up in society the better. At twenty-seven, the years are closing in on him and Alan is excited about the prospect of being able to pick for his son if he leaves things until it’s too late. If he is not married by the time he turns thirty, then he will be disinherited. It’s a Blakeman family rule that has been passed down for generations. The same will happen if he marries someone that the leader of the family doesn’t approve of. This is a rule that everyone who works for the family must abide by. Alan has final say over who is let into the fold and if he says you can’t marry someone, then you don’t. Unless, of course, you both want to spend your honeymoon swimming with the fishes. So, if Grant really does want to marry Ava, he will need to do a lot of convincing and there's a part of me that is very excited when I allow myself to imagine Alan’s reaction. There’s no way he will agree to this and a smile crosses my lips at the idea that Ava could be free. A small, yet annoying, cough pulls me out of my trip down memory lane and I remember I was talking.

“Trixie, they are just having dinner together. There’s nothing romantic going on. So put your bitchy claws away and don't get them out around me again. Now, get back to work.” I use my authoritative voice that I don’t often use around here. I may be the most senior employee around here, but that isn’t something I like to remind them off. I find it is easier to speak to them on the same level if they don’t see me as being different.

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