The men had finally finished their meal, and I couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction when I saw how much food they had left. A few of them tossed knowing glances my way, nodding and winking as they departed, murmuring about how they couldn’t wait for dinner tonight. I could already hear the subtle undertone: Alpha had made it clear that I was back on cooking punishment.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, the door bolted securely, a chair wedged beneath the handle for extra security. I wasn’t going to take any risk of another Jeremy-type-interruption. My iPod was playing some soft tunes. Though I could hardly hear the music clearly, it was enough to keep me grounded and keep me going.
The menu for the evening was simple yet cunning: roast chicken and lamb,
