Lightning Born: An MM Frankenstein Retelling (Monsters & Mayhem Book 1) by Sam Burns

Author:Sam Burns [Burns, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Fourteen

Gio was quiet at breakfast, picking at his food and not meeting anyone’s eye. At first, I worried he hadn’t understood what I’d done, and as a result, I’d hurt his feelings. Then I worried maybe that ass Grant had done something to hurt him after I’d left, even though I’d tried to stop that from happening.

Grant kept giving him odd, slightly annoyed looks.

Finally, halfway through the meal, Grant gave a great, gusty sigh. “For goodness sake, Giordano, are you going to pout all day? If anything, it’s all the more reason to work. Stop obsessing over something that’s long since done.”

Gio flinched, and Grant rolled his eyes, grumbling about Gio being too damned soft for a grown man. I was glad Rocky wasn’t in the middle of pouring juice, because I suspected it would have ended up on Grant’s head.

Not that I’d have minded the man given a proper, if sticky, comeuppance, but I didn’t want to deal with the shouting match that was sure to follow. Or possibly . . . I hadn’t seen Grant raise his hand to anyone—not that I remembered—but I didn’t have a single doubt in my mind that if someone angered him enough, he would do it.

I couldn’t imagine Gio hitting anyone at all, not even Grant at his most obnoxious. But the opposite was easy to picture.

Given the situation the night before, and the fact that I was supposed to be annoyed with both of them, I couldn’t ask what was wrong in front of Grant. So I sat there and ate my scrambled eggs.

I’d cooked them myself, and I was rather proud of it. Not that I thought myself a master chef, but I was learning. Again, not something I could say in front of Grant.

Frankly, there wasn’t much I could say in front of him.

“So, how long have you been speaking?” he asked, casually. He was pretending to look at his usual newspaper, his shoulders relaxed, like the answer didn’t matter at all. But he didn’t know yet that I was remembering, that I knew him. Maybe I would never be his Davy, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t read him with ease.

The way the muscle in his jaw ticked, like he was clenching it. His narrowed eyes. That tight grip on the paper before him. He was looking to be angry.

I swallowed the egg in my mouth and made a production of clearing my throat, then taking a drink. “A day? Two? It just started coming back. Still . . . still clumsy.”

I made a point of rounding the consonants, slurring them together, and going slowly, as though I were having a hard time of it. Not so much that it would seem fake, but enough that he would hear it, with his sharp attention to detail.

Again, it would have been so very easy to miss the expression that crossed his face in the next second, or to misunderstand it, if I hadn’t known him. But I did know him, and it was disgust.

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