PIPER
He turns to Timofey. "I like her."
"I couldn't care less," Timofey bites back.
The man doesn't seem bothered at all by Timofey's big grumpy act. He just ignores him and talks to me instead. "The other guys who come through this house wouldn't recognize quality food if it walked up to them and gargled their ball sacks. I'm an unappreciated artist."
His vulgarity shocks me, but the man doesn't even slow pace.
"I mean, food is what we need to survive, sure. It's a necessity. But there's no reason it can't also be a treat, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. I guess."
"You guess?" he asks, eyes narrowed.
"Well, the fanciest thing I've eaten recently is a stuffed crust frozen pizza."
He drags a hand down his face. "God help you."
"Somebody needs to," Timofey mutters. I snap my attention to him, but he is already backing away. "I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat," the cook insists. "It'll help keep your energy up. You know, in case you have some kind of high-energy plans later. Tonight, for example."
Timofey glares at him, and I can't help but feel like I'm missing something.
"Bring it to my office then," he says. "I have work to finish."
He doesn't look at me, but I feel the spotlight of attention all the same. Then he turns around and leaves.
The moment he is gone, the man in the kitchen shakes his head. "He gets grouchy when he's hungry."
"He must be hungry 24/7 then."
The man tips his head back and cackles. "It's not for lack of trying on my part. I always make sure there's something around here to eat, but he doesn't often take me up on the offer."
"A man that big can't be skipping meals."
"No. It's even worse than that." He shivers. "Protein shakes. He keeps whey powder and blender bottles in the closet in his room. I swear he snorts the stuff when I'm not around."
I wrinkle my nose. "Those taste like sawdust and chalk."
"Thank you!" He looks over his shoulder. "It's Piper, right? I like you."
"You said that earlier."
"I'm saying it twice so you know I mean it. I'm Akim, by the way.
"
I take a seat in the white plastic bar stool and watch Akim move confidently around the kitchen. "You're his personal chef?"
"When he lets me be, yes. I end up grilling cod and making bulk batches of rice more than my creative heart would like."
"I'm not surprised. Timofey strikes me as the controlling type."
Akim snorts. "You've got that right. Which of us went to culinary school? Not the one changing all of my meal plans, I'll tell you that."
"If your food tastes as good as it smells, then I'll never tell you what to cook for me."
He spins around and holds out a hand for a surprisingly solemn shake. "No take-backsies."
I shake his hand and laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I'm not sure I'll be here long enough to really keep that promise, but it seems like an easy one to keep. Lunch really does smell amazing.
He spoons a bed of fluffy rice onto a dark green plate and tops it with pieces of caramelized chicken. Then he layers in roasted chickpeas and broccoli, red onion slices, and drizzles some kind of mysterious red sauce over top.
When he finally slides a bowl to me, I grab the fork and dive in.
"Oh my God." I close my eyes and chew, bopping back and forth on the seat in an unintentional happy dance. "This is amazing."
You really don't know much about food, then. I mean, it's good. But this is the healthy shit. Wait until I cook you something artery-clogging. You'll love it."
I take another bite and then clap a hand over my mouth. "I donut chay tank yew."
Akim raises his brows. "Pardon?"
I swallow and try again. "I didn't say thank you! I was too busy eating, and I—"
"That is thank you enough," he interrupts. "As a chef, watching people enjoy your food is as much gratitude as you need. Fuck knows I don't get any from the Big Bad Wolf upstairs."
Now that my hunger is more under control, I can see this opportunity for what it is: a chance to make an ally.
I push my bowl away slightly, putting some distance between myself and the delectable smells. I need to focus.
"How did you come to work for Timofey, anyway?" I say casually.
"Oh, you know. In the usual way," he says. "I disappointed my parents by going to culinary school, answered an ad, and all these years later, here I am."
"I don't know what kind of parent would be disappointed in having a child who was a chef."
"The shitty kind."
I nod in agreement. "Your work should be respected."
He gives me a genuine smile, and I'm struck by how handsome Akim is. Not in an otherworldly, godly way like Timofey. But he has a kind face and symmetrically balanced features. Plus, he can cook. That's another point or two right there, easy. Ashley would eat him alive if she could ditch her dealer for long enough to have eyes for another man.
"Do you like working here?" I ask. "I mean, Timofey doesn't seem like the…respectful type."
He snorts. "You can say that again. I am criminally underappreciated around here."
"I think a lot of criminal things are going on under this roof."
Akim turns to me, his brown eyes searching. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and serious. "What are you really asking me, Piper?"
I'm not completely sure I can trust this man, but who else am I going to trust? I highly doubt Rodion is going to become an ally anytime soon, if the cloud of death marks on his forearm is anything to go by.
Akim might be my one and only shot.
I lean in, voice low. "I'm asking how you feel about Timofey. My guess is he has plenty of enemies, and I wouldn't mind getting in touch with them."
His eyes darted over my shoulder towards the door. Seeing it empty, he leans over the island. "What are you planning?"
My heart pattern nervously in my chest. "I don't have a plan. There hasn't been time for one. Timofey showed up at my house and is forcing me to work here. Then I got put in jail."
"Quite the first day of orientation."
"Is that normal?"
He shrugs. "For Timofey, anything goes."
"That's why I'm worried," I whisper. "A baby shouldn't grow up in a place like this. The lifestyle he leads… It isn't good for a kid. Benjamin will grow up to be a psychopath."