His Mafia Prince
Chapter 102: One Less Thug

Chapter 102: One Less Thug

(MILES)

"I’m an arrogant little shit, remember?"

"Yes, you are. And like you’d say, if the shoe fits." I mutter as I head to the kitchen. I turn on the faucet and let it run for a while. I then bend and slurp the cold water greedily in my mouth. My thirst subsides, and then I head over to the cupboards and get one can of beef soup. I get a dented can of peaches and a loaf of bread hard as a log. The soup is three years out of date and the peaches are more like four.

I’m staving. It’s been days since I last ate. I wouldn’t have tried the food Yellow Eyes brought me. It might have been poisoned for all I know. I decide to try the can of soup. I don’t trust the dented can of peaches though. I don’t want to add poisoning on top of all my other problems. I search the drawers for a can opener and find none. There is however a rusted steak knife. After a clumsy, swear filled struggle, I finally manage to open the lid of the soup can. I sniff the soup. Even though it is outdated, it kind of smells okay. The colour however is off and the vegetables are disintegrated.

From what I know, it is okay to eat out-of-code canned food. If the cans aren’t dented, it is alright. What you can’t expect though is the highly flavoured foods. Right now, I don’t care about the taste. I just need my stomach to stop trying to eat itself.

I search below the cabinets and find another small dented sauté pan. I tip the lid of the can and pour the contents onto the pan. They plop in a congealed blob. I grimace and my stomach turns. Since Arlo grabbed me, I haven’t eaten. I have to get some calories in my body now, disgusting or not.

I observe my surroundings and notice the dusty orange curtains hanging half off the rods. I notice the peeling paint too. As far as appliances go, they aren’t at all promising. There isn’t a stove or a fridge, but at the far corner, there is an ancient two-burner propane camp stove. The odds that the canister still holds some propane is a long shot. Even then, I set the shallow pan on the burner and hope for the best.

Still eating the cereal out of the box, Arlo wanders around. He leans over my shoulder and I give him a grumpy look. "How will you light that?" he asks. "It doesn’t have that lighter thing."

I scowl. My mouth waters at the scent of the cereal thing that he is eating. "It doesn’t," I say as I bend down to examine the burner.

"You need matches for this kind of stove." He snorts. "You didn’t go camping as a kid?" he asks, looking amused, which kind of pisses me off.

"No."

"Oh, that makes sense. You told me that your father liked to stick cigarettes at the back of your neck." He smiles mockingly. "I bet you’d kill for one of those cigarettes now."

"I didn’t tell you that so you can mock me." I grit my teeth. "You think sticking burning cigarettes in a child’s neck is something to laugh about? You think it’s funny?"

"Only because the kid was you." He snorts a laugh and avoids my gaze when I snatch the box of cereal from his hand.

"I want some of that."

"Give me that. It’s mine. I’m the one who took the risk to come in here first."

"I’m fucking starving, Arlo," I grumble as I advance on him. "Clearly I can’t cook anything. You need to share that cereal."

He shrugs. "Eat the peaches."

"Those things will kill me."

"Oh, well." He laughs and then begins to circle me. "One less thug in the world won’t be much of a loss in the world."

I growl and reach to grab the cereal box but I miss it again. I get that he too is hungry, but why is he being selfish? Is he always selfish?

"Such a Neanderthal. What are you going to do, Miles? Will you beat me up and take my box of cereal?"

"If you make me, yes." I hunch my shoulders and move closer to him.

"There is a matchbox, asshole." He says pointing towards the can of peaches.

I stop moving close to him. "Is there?"

"Yes." He says. "I was just too lazy to heat the soup. Keep your hands off my cereal." He says, rolling his eyes as he moves away from me.

I spin around and go back to the cabinet that had the canned food. Sure enough, I find a crumpled box of matches at the corner of the shelf. There are only three matches left inside, but I can work with that. I head over to the outdated camping stove, hoping that there’s some propane left inside the little tank beside it. I turn the knob to the front of the stove then strike one match stick. It lets out a soft hissing sound and the burner lights up.

I force myself to stifle a groan of relief as a little blue flame appears on the burner. I riffle through the drawers for a spoon. It looks like it’s the only utensil left in the kitchen. Figures. Every kitchen in the world has an extra set of spoons. But then I remember that I’m desperate. I’m even lucky to have found this much. I wouldn’t have expected much considering that we found this cabin in the middle of nowhere. We weren’t even sure if we’d find food or water to begin with. I will use anything at my disposal.

For a few minutes, I stir the soup then the flame sputters out. Frustration gnaws at me. I don’t know how I can help the situation now. Arlo had already been clear enough about not wanting to share his cereal, and I don’t want to fight him to eat. I would like to think I’m not a complete Neanderthal. Fighting for his food would only confirm that I am. But I am hungry. I’m not left with a choice.

"Shit." I cuss under my breath. The tank must’ve been almost empty. Wasting the last match to try and relight the stove would be foolish. The match stick might come in handy someplace else, who knows? I’m going to do the wise thing and keep it for later. I grit my teeth and keep stirring the soup with whatever little heat that’s left on the pan. I’m not even sure if it will work. I’m only trying to not die from hunger. I will try and make this food as edible as possible.

I’m not able to melt all the soup completely, even so, I manage to get it up to a thick stew-like state. The soup is old, but it still smells like heaven to me. I grab the pan and begin to eat directly from the pot as I stand over the stove. I don’t care to look for a plate or something. I’m too hungry to think about that now.

Arlo must have been watching me. I hear him grumble from the other room. "Fucking Neanderthal."

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