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C h a p t e r N i n e »»————> R e v e n g e <————«« Sofia Warren
Ryder is cooking eggs, and I don't think I have ever seen someone so masculine look so...not. I almost cried from laughter when I walked into the kitchen to see him shirtless with a pink apron on. He was very confused at my fit of laughter but when I told him he just told me to fuck off, fairly so.
He slides a plate and fork to me, "You want bacon?" He heads for the fridge and grabs orange juice, setting it on the counter next to him.
"No thanks," I say in between bites. He pours a glass for me and then himself. He sits down across from me at the table and almost inhales his food.
"Whats with the housewife activities?" I set my fork down and drink some of the juice.
He pauses for a moment, contemplating his answer, "I used to cook back at home, I wanted to be a chef when I was younger, and gained a lot pf cooking skills, to say the least,"
"Back at home? Is this not home, for you?" I tilt my head to the side and eye him, taking in his thoughtful expression. He shakes his head.
"No," Is all he says for a moment, "Home is not where I have taken the lives of so many, especially not where I have laid a single hand on you," He frowns hard, mostly to himself.
I push the eggs around on my plate with my fork, and I clear my throat before asking, "So, where is home?" I drop the fork and take a long drink of the juice.
"New York," He sets his fork down, untying the apron and discarding it by his chair. His tanned chest and abs now exposed, as long as many tattoos I never even thought would paint his skin. Words in a foreign language and random intricacies decorate his form ranging from large animals to lightning spanning across his front, breaking up smaller tattoos. He is breathtaking to say the least.
"New York?" I repeat.
"Yes, I own an apartment building, I live at the top," He looks out the window behind me.
"The dark web must pay well for organs, huh?" I joke. His eyes fall to mine and linger there for a while. His jaw tenses and his hand balls up into a fist.
"It does, Sofia," His response is curt but it still makes my jaw fall slack and my eyes widen.
He clears his throat and gets up, grabbing our dishes, "I wish I could show you, but my father would not be pleased to find that I took you all the way from Montana to New York,"
I cough on my drink, almost choking before I can manage to speak again, "Montana?" I gasp.
He turns to me and cringes under my gaze. He begins cleaning the dishes, "Yes, Montana,"
