It was mid-morning when she awoke and crawled out of bed—safe and untouched.
Caterina and the others had told her if she woke up in the night and was hungry, she could get something from the kitchen. They immediately made her feel that this was her home as well as theirs, that she was more than just a guest.
She wasn’t quite there yet, in her own mind, and didn’t know how long it would take to get there. Carmen crept cautiously down the stairs, her robe tied tightly around her body. She’d awakened to a grumbling stomach. She was used to that—rarely did she have enough to eat. But there was food in the kitchen, food she was allowed to eat. After so long of going hungry, she couldn’t resist the temptation to satisfy her appetite.
Tiptoeing along the hall toward the kitchen, Carmen’s pulse quickened as if she were sneaking in to steal food. She wasn’t… but she had in the past—sneaked into strangers’ homes to scavenge what she could so her brother and sister—and herself—didn’t starve to death.
Carmen paused outside the kitchen and listened. Silence. She peeked into the room. Empty.
Resisting the urge to race in, grab whatever she saw first, and run back to her room, Carmen forced her feet to move with normal-paced steps. She had been invited into this house. She wasn’t an unwelcome thief. If someone walked in on her, they wouldn’t scream at her or attack her for being in their home.
Still, her heart thumped too hard, too fast, as she entered the kitchen and looked around. Her hands flexed against her thighs and she finally walked to the refrigerator, hesitated, and opened the door. After some contemplation, she reached for a small pitcher of orange juice.
“I can fix you something if you’re hungry.”
Carmen yelped and spun around, her back striking the fridge door. To her horror, the pitcher slipped from her hand and hit the floor—shattering and splashing glass and juice across the tiles. She gasped and tears sprang to her eyes. She dropped to her knees, hands shaking as she hurriedly reached for the shards of the glass. “I-I’m sorry,” she choked. “I-I-I…”
“Whoa. Whoa. Let me do that.” A man’s voice. Hands tentatively lifted her from the floor. The hem of her robe hung heavy around her calves, saturated with orange juice. In her wet hands, she clutched a piece of the broken pitcher. “Let me have that.”
Carmen choked on sobs swelling in her throat as she ducked her head. “I-I’m s-s-sorry… I-I didn’t mean to…”
“Hey.” His voice was soft, tender. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” A smile crept into his voice. “An accident I caused. I shouldn’t have startled you like that.” Fingertips touched her chin and lifted her face. “You’re not in trouble. No one’s going to be mad at you.”
Carmen kept her eyes turned down until she couldn’t anymore… and looked up. At first, the eyes staring back at her looked dark, but as she gazed into them, she realized they were actually a deep, deep blue. Midnight blue… like the ocean at night. She trembled—and the man quickly released her and stepped back.
“I’m Matteo,” he said quietly as he continued to stare at her. “We didn’t get a chance to meet last night. I… I work for Cruz and his father.”
Men had stared at her before and she’d never liked it. The look in their eyes always terrified her. They never tried to hide what it was they wanted from her.
This man—Matteo—didn’t look at her with the ferocious lust she was used to… but there was still want in his eyes and it still frightened her.
He seemed to pick up on her fear and averted his stare to the mess on the floor. “I’ll clean this up. You should go change… your robe is wet.” His voice had dropped to a mumble and, now, he wasn’t looking at her at all. He seemed nervous and on edge.
Carmen didn’t reply and left the kitchen. Her legs felt rubbery as she climbed the stairs and her heart continued to beat wildly. In fear? She was no longer certain. At the top of the staircase, she paused and looked back. Quiet sounds came from the kitchen as Matteo tended to her mess. A man had never cleaned up after her before. She recalled one instance in which a man had thrown her to the floor, insisting she clean up his mess as he cursed her and kicked her and pulled her hair.
Why had this man been nice to her instead?
“Carmen?”
Carmen flinched and blinked. Caterina stood at the bottom of the stairs, a concerned frown on her pretty face. “Huh?”
“Are you okay?” Caterina climbed the stairs.
“I… uh…” Carmen gestured toward the ground floor. “I-I dropped a pitcher of juice… in the kitchen… I-I didn’t mean to…”
Caterina smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us. I’ll clean it up.”
“Um…” Carmen swallowed. “M-Matteo is cleaning it up.”
“Matteo?” Caterina laughed softly. “Of course. He’s such a sweetheart. A gentleman through and through.”
A gentleman. Carmen wasn’t familiar with the type.
Until recently, she hadn’t known they existed.
“Come on, let’s get you dressed.” Caterina directed her back toward the bedroom. “We’re going to a party.”
●●●
“You have got to be Axel.” The muscular man held out his hand and Axel accepted. “I’m Jax. This here is Manny.” He touched the back of the young Hispanic beside him. “And Jesus.”
Axel glanced at the bearded man behind them, smiled, and nodded. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Your cowboy saved our asses,” Jax stated, extending a nod to Clint. “Him and his Egyptian friend. I thought for sure my fate was sealed and I would die in that hellhole.” He looked at Clint. “I am forever in your debt, my friend.”
“Nah.” Clint shook his head. “You did your part. We’re good.”
“No,” Jax said. “You and Cochise, you’re the heroes of this story.”
Though he wasn’t there to witness the heroism, Axel was inclined to side with Jax. Clint and Cochise both had a habit of downplaying their heroic roles in these rescue missions. Axel couldn’t speak for Cochise, but he was inside Clint’s head and was fully aware that the cowboy seemed to acknowledge only his “failures”—or what he deemed his failures—and often overlooked the victories. Though he wasn’t fond of this feature of Clint’s, he nonetheless understood. Clint wanted to save everyone—especially when it concerned children—how could Axel or anyone blame him for that? Cochise surely felt the same.
Problem being—that wasn’t humanly possible. And that was a hard fact to process for a man like Clint. Too often, he’d been forced to stand back—powerless—and watch the ones he loved suffer and die at the hands of evil men. And with the children, he didn’t have to know them to love them.
When Clint excused himself to go check on Hope, the other three men gathered around Axel.
“Has he…” Jax cleared his throat and looked down at the bottle of beer in his hands. “Has he talked about what happened at the prison?”
Axel shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “But Cochise told me about the little girl.”