The Knight (Endgame #2)(26)
“Why?” The word comes out as a whisper.
Then his lips are inches from my ear, breath a warm caress against my cheek. “Your father did more than fail you, little virgin. He sold you. Before you ever set foot in the Den, you were already mine.”
Confusion and sensation collide, spinning wildly like a carousel, blinding, dizzy, my body out of my control, my hands, his words, before I crash in a rainbow of blissful oblivion.
Chapter Sixteen
I wake up to midafternoon light and the soft hint of music. Harper sits at the table with a textbook and a latte, earphones plugged in. And beside the textbook, a chess set. A familiar one.
I sit up, wondering how much of what I remember is a dream. The auction yesterday, the barrel of sweet-smelling fire. Strange colors lighting up the sky.
Harper pulls out her headphones. “Hello, sleepyhead.”
“What’s going on?”
She laughs. “I got you a chai tea.”
There’s a white paper cup beside me on the nightstand, and I take a fortifying sip. “God, what exactly happened last night?”
“I can’t remember,” she says cheerfully. “Which is really the best kind of night.”
I groan. “Speak for yourself.”
“Don’t worry. You had a good time.”
“How do you know?”
“You aren’t wearing pants, for one thing.”
With horror I realize that I only have panties on. When did my jeans come off? Did I take them off to sleep? Gabriel’s eyes flash across my memories, and I shiver. “Oh my God.”
Harper scrunches her nose. “You remember?”
“Gabriel Miller was here.”
“Yeah,” she says, clearly trying not to look amused. “He left a calling card.”
The chess set. Not just any chess set. The chess set that he had custom carved for my arrival, the one we played with in the library. The one he used during sex.
Dread sinks in my stomach. I climb out of bed and walk closer, a heavy certainty slowing me down. I know what I’ll find. Or rather, what I won’t find. The pawn he used to circle my clit, faster and faster, until I came in harsh spasms.
The last I saw, that pawn lay discarded on his bedroom floor. Where was it now? On his nightstand, some kind of perverted trophy? Or thrown away, something he no longer wanted to use?
“I feel sick,” I whisper.
“I did notice there’s a piece missing,” she says, studying the set. The pieces have been lined up on their places, as if someone is ready to play. “It’s not very useful like this.”
There’s no way I’m going to tell her what the missing pawn means.
“Did he leave anything else?”
“Not that I know of.” She shrugs. “I guess the cleansing ritual didn’t work.”
“The what?”
“Nothing.”
I close my eyes, wishing I could remember. A little relieved that I can’t. “I need to find out who bought the house. A diary won’t be worth anything to them. Maybe they’ll give it to me. Or I can use the trust to buy it.”
“Okay,” she says. “How will you find out?”
Unfortunately there’s only one person who might tell me. “The same person who left this chess set.”
“Can I watch?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t enjoy this so much. One little phone call and your big bad stepbrother would know where you’re hiding.”
A gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
I really wouldn’t, but I just give her a serene smile. If that makes her a little less gleeful about my predicament, then it’s worth it. I already have to face down a lion. And I can’t count on Charlotte to sneak me into his office again.
There’s one place I know I can find him. The Den.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s only been three weeks since I walked down these low steps, since I stood on this rain-slicked stoop. Behind me is a dark city, the air electric with the promise of danger. Crime and sex. Mainstays of downtown Tanglewood. But I know the true risk lies in front of me. The brass ring in the lion’s mouth may as well be a loaded gun. I grasp the cold metal and knock it against the base.
The heavy door nudges open an inch. My heart thuds against my chest, echoing the single knock.
The men who frequent the Den are the most powerful in the city. A thief from the street wouldn’t steal from them unless they wanted swift retribution, even if the door is unlocked. But powerful men make powerful enemies, and leaving the door open feels reckless.
Unless they’re expecting someone.
I hold my breath, listening intently for voices inside. All I hear is the low buzz of traffic from behind me, the distant whine of a siren.
“Hello,” I call through the slim opening.
No response.
It could be suicide to enter their space uninvited, an aggressive move to a wild animal.
What if one of those powerful enemies already forced their way inside? Someone could be hurt, bleeding, dying. I know it’s an overactive imagination. No one would catch Gabriel Miller unaware. No one can touch him.
And still I don’t walk away. Something draws me inside. The force of Gabriel himself, maybe, the magnetic attraction of him. My opposite. My downfall.