Raw by Jo Davis Page A

fucking funny? Do you find celery to be humorous?”
    Everyone in the kitchen gave the chef, and Gray, a wide berth and a wary eye as they continued to scurry about their tasks like mice.
    Do not stick the blade in his neck and thrust. You won’t look good in prison orange.
His grip tightened on the handle. “No, Chef.”
    â€œThen why are you standing there smiling instead of chopping, dickweed?” he bellowed. “Are you thinking about what else you can fuck up? New and creative ways to piss me off? Maybe you’d like to throw something else all over the floor so I can fire your stupid ass?”
    Yes, actually, I would. Please, as God is my witness, fire me, asshole.
“No, Chef.” He paused. “I was just thinking how you remind me of that guy on cable. The chef who yells a lot but is brilliant. You know, the best at what he does. You’re awesome, like him, and you should have your own show.”
    Ethan blinked at him, not having a clue what to do with the compliment. Probably he’d never received one in his life. A couple of quiet snickers came from somewhere in the kitchen, and the chef whipped his head around, futilely searching for the sources. Unable to spot the offenders, he turned his scowl back to Gray. A lot of his steam had vanished, however.
    â€œYeah? Well, just do your job, shithead. And wipe the smile off your face.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
Shove it up your airtight asshole, sir.
    An hour before closing, things had died down considerably. Ethan went home, thank God, leaving cleanup and prep for the next day to the lowlifes. Peace and quiet reigned, and Gray took care of his station dutifully, cursing every dreaded minute. At least when he found a special woman to marry him, he’d be damned good at assisting in the kitchen.
See, there’s a bright side.
    He was so caught up in his musings that he didn’t notice that two of the kitchen staff he’d had under watch had left the area several minutes ago, as had become their habit. Their stations weren’t clean, which meant they’d probably be back and were still around here somewhere. He had to find them and see what they were up to now.
    Slipping his hand into his dress whites, he reassured himself that his mini camera was still in place and ready for action. Quickly, he sent a text message to Simon that he was going to look for them.
    He was almost out of the kitchen when another worker called out, “You leave without putting your shit in order and Ethan’s going to shove you in the oven like the witch in Hansel and Gretel and bake you, man.” A laugh followed that prediction.
    Gray gave the kid an icy glare. “I’m heading to the john. I’ll be back.”
    Christ, he hoped the guy didn’t say anything to the two missing subjects if they returned before Gray did. That’s all he needed, to end up floating in New York Harbor.
    Keeping an eye out for Anna and other staff members, he eased down the hallway that led to the dining room. A quick look around revealed only Brandon, changing the tablecloths and doing setups for the next day. The kid didn’t see him, so he turned and went back down the hallway in the opposite direction.
    Quickly, he checked the men’s room, which was empty, as was the large walk-in freezer. Then the stairwell, listening carefully for voices. Nothing. Once he’d searched every inch of the floor, he stopped to think.
    Unless Hernandez and Keene had left the building entirely, the most logical place to go was down. Floor Fifty-Five occupied the entire top floor of the building. The other floors were various offices for businesses. None of those floors were vacant and would be a good place for two criminals to meet.
    That left one area—the basement. He didn’t really expect to find anything there, either, but in the interest of being thorough, he’d check it out.
    Pausing, Gray considered his options. He had three,