He grinned from ear to ear. “I was … I am … a mixed martial arts fighter.”
Griff and I spent the rest of the afternoon shooting the breeze, staying away from the taboo
topics. I found out that he grew up in London, fought his way into professional cage fighting.
He made money by getting locked in a cage and pulverizing the guy they put in front of him until
one of them—usually the other guy from what he told me—called uncle or passed out or worse.
The best thing about Griff was that he talked enough for both of us. It was great to listen to
him and block all the other stuff out. I didn’t notice how cold and hungry I was until the sun
lowered and we were approached by another guard who had come to switch spots with Griff and
ignore me.
“Wow!” Griff bellowed as we walked back to the house, “That was the fastest shift I’ve put
in yet. You should keep me company more often.” I hadn’t done much else but sit there while he
talked.
We kicked off our shoes at the door.
“Supper?” I offered, signaling my head toward the kitchen. But Griff hesitated.
“Nah … I’m going to hang with the boys downstairs. They’ll get jealous if I don’t spend
time with them.”
He stood by the basement staircase, his eyes hopeful. “See you tomorrow?”
I gave him a devious smile. “Maybe.”
More guards started filtering in through the front door, shoes quickly piling up on the tiled
floor and guns amassing against the wall. The incoming guards wouldn’t allow more than a
furtive glimpse in my general direction. Griff had already disappeared downstairs.
I went to the living area. No one was there. Cameron wasn’t there.
I explored the kitchen. What I found were cupboards stacked with easy fixes: canned goods,
frozen dinners, fluorescent orange pasta—it was like being back in student housing. I took out
a can of peas and a can of whole tomatoes. I discovered a fully stocked spice rack hidden behind
a George Foreman Grill in the bottom cupboard and placed it on the counter. Though the fridges
were mostly filled with juice and pop, I was able to find some onions and green and red peppers.
I also found a package of frozen chicken thighs, only slightly freezer-burnt.
Within minutes, I had a pot of rice boiling and quick chicken paella steaming in a pan.
Carly appeared, quietly, like a pixie, around the corner. While I stirred, she opened and closed
the cupboards doors, rummaged in the fridges, coming up empty-handed. Keeping my eyes on the hot
stove, I sensed her stop and look over my shoulder.
“It smells great, Emily,” she said in an almost whisper.
I looked up and smiled—a peace flag. She smiled back, raising her own white flag. She was
really pretty when she wasn’t yelling or glaring at me.
“My mom used to make paella all the time,” she told me.
“My mom doesn’t know where the kitchen is.”
She smiled again, and I was relieved.
Carly then started pulling miscellaneous spices out of the spice rack.
“May I?” she asked. I gladly stepped aside. When she was done, the paella was extra spicy and
tasted absolutely amazing.
With a little reluctance, Carly turned on her heels and started going back toward the way she
had come in.
“Um … there’s more than I can eat … do you want to share?” I offered.
A large smile crossed her face and she quickly grabbed two plates.
Before we had even set our filled plates on the table, Rocco came sniffing in.
“Hey, what’s that?” he asked as he followed his nose into the kitchen. Not waiting for a
response, he had helped himself to the rest of the paella and came to the table with a salad-
sized bowlful.
Carly threw him a nasty glare.
“You guys weren’t planning on eating all of that were you?” he asked as he stuffed a huge
mouthful and sat down.
“We’re not used to eating real food around here,” Carly said to me.
Eventually, the rest of the crew I had briefly encountered that morning made their way in, with
the exception of Spider. Cameron didn’t come back either. I noticed Carly nod at Tiny when he
had caught me sitting there and had momentarily halted the incoming guards at the kitchen
threshold.
Satisfied with Carly’s signal, Tiny trudged to the table, and the rest of the guards followed
him in. No one left because of me, and there were no nasty glares thrown my way. I was
comfortable with the being ignored part.
After their self-prepared suppers, the men dissipated outside or downstairs. Carly and I helped
Rocco clean up the mess. And then, with a hushed goodnight, Carly left as quietly as she had
arrived, and Rocco commenced his endless demonstration of channel surfing.
I looked at the clock every two minutes. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger until it
turned blue. I fidgeted in my seat and jumped every time the front door opened, only to
disappointingly hear one of the troops come in or out.
“Cameron’s not going to be back till late,” Rocco groaned, never taking his finger off the
remote trigger. “So stop moving around, it’s annoying.”