Black Equation - The Forgotten Ones

Black Equation - Chapter 17*

Chapter Seventeen

“Make sure to keep him away.”

Roger.

“Follow the plan. Don’t try to do something that would make him suspicious. Wait... you remember the plan, don’t you?”

Sure, honey.

A growl echoed from the other line. “What?”

I said I do. I know it ‘more than I know myself, he replied sardonically, trying to suppress a chuckle. The sounds of dribbling, hoots and panting on the background seemed to emphasize his words.

She made a face at his sarcasm. “Your lives depend on this. Don’t mess up.”

Yes, ma’am!

“Cut the crap, Cathy,” Faye laughed as her friend dropped the call, “they could at least do their job properly.”

Cathy slipped her slim phone into her denim pocket as she shook her head, her gaze fixed on the black-haired girl in blue apron. “As if, “– she rolled her eyes – “you don’t understand, Selena. Those guys need to be monitored, especially Daniel. He’s a blabbermouth.”

“Like every ten seconds?” Faye smiled. “Give them more credit.”

“Yeah. Leave them alone,” Jess grinned as she prepared the sauce for the carbonara. “Playing around is their forte.”

“I know,” Cathy frowned, “but –“

“Don’t be such a kid, Cathy,” Pat interrupted. “Instead of making a nuisance out of yourself, give me a hand here.”

Patricia was busy hovering in between the baking oven and stove, throwing some more spices in the boiling pot. A strong, rich aroma escaped the container, filling the entire room with its flavor. Cathy wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Garlic? Yuck.”

“Geez, Cathy –“

Cathy turned around with a grunt, her hands arranging her strawberry blonde hair into a messy knot. What the heck? She was a young lady of high status, treated as a princess her entire life. She never dared to enter her kitchen before, and now she needed to help cook – to actually use her pretty little hands – for their food. Why couldn’t they just order from a restaurant? Or better yet, just hit a club somewhere in the city? Why was Selena so damn persistent to prepare the dishes herself? Good grief.

She tried to lend Faye a hand in slicing the beef but ended up cutting her little finger. After washing the blood off, she wrapped it with the bandage from her apron pocket. What a hopeless case she was. She couldn’t even tell apart a bread knife from a kitchen knife, and now she cut herself for the third time.

With a sullen face, she went beside the soft-spoken girl of the group. Gherylle deftly peeled potatoes on the table. Cathy watched her dexterous hands with envy. She looked around, and noticed that everyone was busy with their own chores. Pat was so engrossed with hers that she didn’t even bother to fix the loose bun of dark hair curving down her nape. Jess, although new to this stuff like her, was quick to learn. Her red curls were practically bouncing as she dithered inside Faye’s kitchen, waiting for the pasta and white sauce to be ready.

“Sorry,” Cathy sighed, “I’m so useless.”

“Of course not!” All four said in unison after a beat of silence.

Faye shrugged wearily and approached Cathy, a whole plate of seasoned beef on her putty hands. “I’m going to make the pizza. You could grill this on the veranda. Everything’s prepared there.”