Page 21 of Thunder's Reckoning
But before him… back at the compound… it had been different. Cooking was a skill the women were expected to learn early. Bread kneaded in wide wooden bowls, stew stirred in huge pots, vegetables chopped with the same rhythm day after day. There was no choice inwhatwe made, but my hands had learned the motions.
The pantry door creaked when I opened it, the smell of dry goods and coffee spilling out. Cans of vegetables, pasta, a bag of rice, some flour, cooking oil. The refrigerator hummed when I checked it, eggs, butter, in the freezer a pack of chicken breasts still sealed in plastic.
Rice and chicken, maybe. Something simple.
I pulled the meat out and set it on the counter to, found the bag of rice in the pantry. My hands moved on instinct, the way they had back then, but my mind kept circling the same thought, this time, the choice was mine.
It felt small, almost laughable, but it was mine.
I glanced toward the front window. The yard was empty, but my eyes caught on the curve of the gravel drive, the way it disappeared toward the trees. I told myself I wasn’t looking for Zeke’s bike, but the knot in my stomach said otherwise.
Turning back to the counter, I measured out the rice. My movements were steady, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that sooner or later, someone was going to come through that door and take this choice away from me.
And I wasn’t sure what I’d do when they did.
***
THE RICE WASsimmering when I heard the low thrum of an engine.
I froze, wooden spoon still in my hand. It was distant at first, then grew clearer, rolling up the gravel drive.
Zara stirred on the couch, blinking sleep from her eyes, but Malik was already off the cushions, moving to the window like he’d been waiting for this. “It’s him,” he said, tone somewhere between a statement and a warning.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel, more to keep them busy than because they needed it.
The door opened with a soft knock. Heavy boots crossed the floor, then Zeke filled the doorway, silver hair catching the last of the afternoon light, pale eyes skimming the room before settling on me.
“Somethin’ smells good,” he said, his voice warm but easy, like this was normal. Like he walked into kitchens all the time and found women making dinner.
“Chicken and rice,” I said, turning back to stir the pot.
“Smells like home in here,”,” he said, stepping further in. He didn’t crowd me, but I could feel him behind me, a steady presence that was equal parts solid and dangerous.
I slid the spoon into the rice, keeping my focus there. “I learned when I was younger. Haven’t cooked much since.”
“That so?”
I nodded. “I didn’t have to.”
“Or didn’t get to?”
That made me glance at him. His eyes didn’t press, but they didn’t look away either.
Malik broke the moment, leaning on the counter with that guarded way of his. “Is it ready yet?”
“Almost,” I said, smiling faintly at him before turning back to the stove.
Zeke leaned a shoulder against the doorway, watching but not in a way that felt… predatory. More like he was taking in the scene, filing it away. “Got a little time before I have to head down. You and the kids need anythin’?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll head out then,” he said, straightening. “Let y’all eat in peace.”
Something in my chest tightened at the thought of him leaving, and I hated that it did.
He pushed the door open, but paused. “You need anythin’—anythin’ at all—you come get me, or send Malik to the guard out back. I’ll hear about it.” He laid a piece of paper on the counter. “This is the code to the door in the basement in case the guard isn’t close enough.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more.
