The moment I stepped into the kitchen, my steps stalled.
Freshly used plates sat in the sink, smeared with sauce, half-eaten chicken bones left behind. Napkins and glasses were pushed to the side like they’d been dropped there without a second thought.
They had already eaten. Not long ago, either. So dinner had never been the point.
I stood there, staring at the mess in the sink, my hands going still at my sides. Heat rose fast, climbing up my chest. Lior was in the hospital, fighting for his life, and Ruben had me in here to cook a dinner they had no intention of eating.
They were probably out there laughing, like this was some kind of joke. My fingers curled slowly, nails pressing into my palm.
Just how far was he willing to go?
Then my hand moved. I grabbed a plate and let it slip
