Page 81 of Cruel Debts
Translation: I don't need you.
Fine. I could take a hint. "You don't want my help? Cool. I won't force it on you. But when you're ready to admit you don't stand a chance on your own against a trained professional, you know where to find me." And with that, I turned on my heel and marched right back into my room, slamming the door behind myself. If she wanted to turn my peace offering down, then she could just go ahead and do that. I wouldn't be caving when she finally realized what a mistake this was, and came around begging for me to help her.
I wouldn't give a damn. I made the offer. I made the attempt. My guilt was assuaged. I'd paid my dues.
She came knocking laterthat night. Just like I knew she would.
I wished I could say I shut the door in her face and went back to bed. I wished I could say I turned her down and told her to get lost. I wished I could deny being soft for her.
But I couldn't. Because at my core, just like Asher, I was weak for this girl, and no amount of my own personal rage and anger could change that, or dissuade my heart from getting involved when my head should be taking the lead.
All it took was one look, one bat of her eyelashes, one simpering, sad girl gaze, and I was crumbling like a three-day-old stale ass cookie on the counter.
"I'll teach you, okay? Stop looking at me like that," I snapped at her when she didn't bother turning off the puppy dog eyes when I agreed. "I can't stand that look."
"Somethingcertainly can stand it," she said with a grin. I watched as her gaze snapped down below my waist. She let out a low whistle, her lips curling pleasantly at the sight she found there.
I winced at my evident eagerness and shut the door in her face, before realizing I hadn't told her when or where. I cracked the damn thing and sighed.
"Tomorrow morning. Six in the morning. Dress in loose clothing, but not too loose. And bring your A-game. You're going to need it, because I'm not going soft on you, Trin."
The smile on her face was absolutely devastating. "I hope you never do."
THIRTY-FOUR
HAWKE
I hadno idea what the fuck possessed me to get up at the crack of dawn and cook a dish I'd never made in my fucking life. There was no reason I should be in the kitchen with an apron on, dusting cocoa powder into a panko breading as I eyed air-dried eggplant slices sitting on a sheet pan next to me.
I certainly shouldn't be preparing to fry up the fucking sliced vegetable into an Italian dessert to please the little vixen who'd ruined one of my best fucking skillets yesterday by burning chicken so bad it was permanently stuck to the bottom for the rest of eternity.
But here I was, hands coated in cocoa powder and bread crumbs, my eyebrows smudged with flour, as I struggled to maintain the perfect temperature of oil in the nearby pan to flash fry these and make them nice and crisp on the outside but not soggy inside.
And then, I had to roll them in crushed almonds, or they wouldn't be finished.
This dish was so fucking frustrating, mostly because Iabhorredeggplant. It was like the bane of my existence. But Trinity liked them. And she'd gone out with Liam at six in the morning to the gym, of all places, so I figured the least I could dowas make something for her to look forward to after she let him put her through her paces.
Anyone who came back from a morning in the gym with that animal needed a pick-me-up to give them hope for life again. I would know.
About ten minutes later, I had a solid portion of these things prepped and finished, coated with a tiny dusting of powdered sugar that I thought really made them a little over the top sweet, in a good way. It wasn't in the recipe, but I wasn't the intended cook they wrote it for, either, so fuck it. She'd either like the adjustment or hate it.
And if she hated it, oh well, I guess.
The front door opened, and Liam was of course the first one through it, looking none the worse for wear. His eyes were filled with emotions he clearly wasn't dealing with, but his body looked no different from when he left.
Except for the scratches down the side of his neck and arm. Those were new.
Trinity trudged through the door after him, her face a mask of disgust and exhaustion. "You know, next time, you should just leave me to die on the floor where I lay once you've shown me just how shitty I am at this whole self-defense thing, Liam." Her frown is bone-deep and weary, and she looks like someone dragged her through one of those old school washing boards and wringers, and then hung her on the line to air dry.
"You're being dramatic," Liam grumbled, sitting on the couch in his sweats with a huff. "Get a bottle of water and hydrate. You're the one who didn't think to hydrate before you worked out."
"You made me run amilebefore the sun was properly up, Liam. What kind of humandoes that?"She yanked open the fridge and did as he instructed, though, and I watched as herthroat worked, gulping water down like a fish who hadn't seen the ocean in years.
Liam turned around, watched her, and shook his head, muttering aboutidiotsandmaking themselves sick.Once he'd huffed his piece, he shoved off the couch and headed for his room with a flippant'I'm going to take a shower, don't bother me,'and a frown.
I turned to Trinity, who looked at the empty bottle like she regretted her choices. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up."
Her brows rose, and suddenly, she didn't look like someone who'd been run over with a steamroller. She looked intrigued and slightly mistrustful. "What kind of pick-me-up?"
