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“Hiding the knives in your bedroom to use later is about as smart as bringing bats.”
His eyes never left hers as he reached to pull the chef’s knife out of the cabinet. There was a ripple in the tip. His raised eyebrow questioned her as he inspected the rest of the blade.
“You’re lucky, you know,” Rose said. “If it hadn’t been for that handle, I would have hit you.”
“Got an arm on you.”
“More than you know,” Rose grinned. “I spent a lot of time at the batting cages working off my frustration. Guess what is right beside the batting cage? This awesome place that lets you throw axes at the wall. After a couple trips, the owner let me bring my knives to throw. Whenever a good old bat-to-ball rhythm wasn’t working, I got pretty good with a knife.”
“That is a lot of frustration, Thorn. What happened? Husband didn’t come home every night? He start banging the secretary?”
“What are you doing standing in the kitchen in the dark?” Pain flashed across her face before she could hide her reaction. Vulture hit a little too close to the truth. Not the secretary part, but the rest wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“Waiting for you to make your move.”
“I made a deal with Bunny. I’m not going anywhere as long as Lucas is alive. He offs him, I’m gone.”
Vulture didn’t answer. He just stood studying her while his thumb caressed the blade of the knife.
“I have enough going through my head, so whatever you want to say, say it and go. I have shit to do.”
Rose ignored him as she went back to the fridge. She got out the butter and milk and closed the door. Rooting through the cupboards, she found everything else she needed. Spreading ingredients out on the island, she got to work. The dough was proofing before he opened his mouth.
“Why are you making cinnamon rolls?”
“Baking quiets my mind,” she answered truthfully.
“Who taught you to throw a knife?”
“You know, Birdy, if you want to play twenty questions, I get to ask some too.”
“No one said you had to answer.”
“Why were you in the kitchen waiting on me?”
They fell into silence as she spread the cinnamon, sugar, and butter on the dough. It wasn’t until she set them aside to proof a second time that he spoke.
“I was making my rounds when I heard you.”
“See, Birdy, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
Rose ignored his grunt. Her mind was working overtime. She needed more flour. As long as Vulture stayed on his side of the kitchen, she was content to pretend he wasn’t there. Rose washed the bowls and started on the bread.
“You bake, but you can’t cook?”
“Yep.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?”
“Char on a steak is one thing. Bloody briquette is a completely different thing. Baking doesn’t work that way. Why Vulture?”
“Bird of prey no one fucks with,” he shrugged.
“And?”
“When people see me coming, it usually means someone is already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”
“Huh,” Rose swallowed. “I suppose it is fitting.”
