The Knight (Endgame #2)(39)

When he finally catches me in his arms, I’m sobbing, incoherent.

“Shh,” he says. “You have to stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”

When he says it, I realize that my hand is throbbing. That’s how strong he is, how impenetrable. Like beating myself against a brick wall. He’ll still be standing in a hundred years.

“No,” I say, voice thick with tears. “You’re lying. You’re lying.”

Except he’s not. I know because he promised to tell me the truth. And he’s kept his word time and time again. It feels like losing a part of me, a limb torn off, to hear what Daddy did. How could he do it? Some truths you’d rather not hear.

His hands move over me, soothing, tender. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“She didn’t love him,” I say, voice still broken by tears.

“I know.”

I don’t ask how he does, but that’s true too. There are secrets in my family. Secrets so dark I’m beginning to wonder if they buried my mother deeper than the drunk driver ever did. There’s only been one constant. Gabriel Miller. That he’s wanted me. He’s taken me. You’ve always been mine.

His hands frame my face. I must look terrible with my eyes red from crying, grief staining my face, but the reverence in his gaze leaves no doubt what he sees. Someone beautiful.

“Listen to me,” he says softly. “Your mother lived in a time when women didn’t have many choices. She did the best she could for her family. She was strong—damn near invincible.”

I never doubted my mother. “Why are you telling me this?”

His thumbs sweep away my tears. “Because that’s what you did. That’s what you are.”

“I don’t live in her time.”

“Don’t you? Your father wanted to keep you his little girl. He would let you out of your room for parties to impress the other grownups with how smart you are. Justin wanted a trophy, something to parade around and lord over the other frat boys.”

“And you?”

“I’m the worst of them,” he says softly. “I want to own every inch of your skin, to be the only man who touches you, who tastes you. You think I wouldn’t bid on a woman? That I shouldn’t bid on you, of all people? I’ll spend every cent I have, break every goddamn law to keep you.”

A shiver runs through me. “You wanted the auction.”

“Wanted it? No. Those were the worst hours of my life, knowing that other men would see you. That they might touch you. I wanted to smash their faces in, every single one of them.”

“Then why did you suggest it?”

“Would you have sold yourself to me if I had suggested it at the Den?”

“No.”

“And what about if your father had come to you, told you to sleep with me in order to pay his debts?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, I think you would have. I think you’d have done anything for your precious daddy, but he got cold feet. After the ink dried, when he went home and looked into your eyes, he didn’t want to go through with it.”

It’s hard to take comfort in that, knowing he agreed to the deal in the first place. “And no one backs out of a deal with you.”

“For that alone I would have ruined him, but I wanted you. He should have known I’d have you no matter what. Whether he agreed or not. Whether you wanted me or not.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

His lips twist in cold amusement. “I didn’t count on how well you could play the game.”

“I lost everything.”

“It wasn’t a fair trade,” he admits softly. “My black heart for everything you hold dear. Your only solace is that I’m ruined even worse. An empty shell.”

“What are you saying?” I whisper.

“Do you remember when I told you to kneel?”

My heart thuds. “I can’t forget.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted the diary.” Except that’s not the whole truth. And doesn’t he deserve that? I wanted him broken, bleeding, and he’s doing that. This proud man admitting defeat. “And because I wanted you.”

His eyes burn like the sun, painful and bright. “Do you know what it did to me? God, I was so ready to take you. I would have taken you and taken you. Never giving anything back. Understand? I never thought for one second that you’d give yourself to me willingly.”

“You never came to me.”

“I never believed I could have you without buying you,” he says, his voice flat.

There’s nothing in his tone to reveal emotion, no hint of weakness. How long did it take him to perfect that facade? How much power does it require to maintain those walls? I know the truth about him—about Gabriel’s father and his moonshine. His whorehouse. What did Gabriel Miller see that made him think he wasn’t worthy of love?

“Kneel,” I say softly.

He stills. “Repeat that.”

It’s a dangerous game, making a lion bow in front of you. One I’m willing to play if it means winning. It’s not only my safety that’s at stake, but my heart. Not as black as Gabriel’s, but more fragile. “Kneel.”