The Pawn (Endgame #1)(12)

Instead I put on a white sundress. At least it hugs my curves.

I find sandals and a clutch to match, pretending I’m getting ready for brunch with friends.

There will be no more brunches. Maybe no more friends. And I won’t see Justin ever again. A pang in my chest reminds me that I love him—that I love a man who saw me as a stepping stone.

The Den looks different today, more like one of the historic buildings dotting Tanglewood’s downtown. There are offices and stores bustling with people at two in the afternoon.

Maybe I should have waited until tonight.

A knock on the brass ring in a lion’s mouth goes unanswered.

I need to do this before I lose my nerve. I knock harder this time, almost hurting my knuckles against the thick wood. Why aren’t they answering? Maybe they aren’t here, but I can’t turn back now. I’m too deep into this.

Some impulse puts my hand on the doorknob. It turns.

Why isn’t the door locked? Unease moves through my stomach. I expected to find Gabriel opening the door like he did last night. He scared me then, but for some reason I miss him now.

I wander down the hallway, into the large room filled with plush leather armchairs and tables that have been cleared of ashtrays and half-filled glasses. Only smooth surfaces remain, gleaming in the faint light. I take a step back, another—backing out of a room I shouldn’t be in.

A sound comes to me faintly, and I whirl. The wide hallway is empty.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, and it draws me closer with strange magnetism. My feet move on their own, bringing me to the forbidden. I shouldn’t even be in the Den, much less wandering the hallways alone. My curiosity has always gotten me into trouble, but before I had the security of my family name. Now I’m falling without a net.

The door opens to a set of dark wooden stairs. Servants’ quarters, I realize. These old houses were divided by class. The steps lead up to another door, no place to wait except two steps down. My knock echoes through the dim hallway, overloud and startling even though I made the sound.

I chance a look down the stairs, at the shadowed landing below, darkness impenetrable. Dizzy waves rush over me. I’m in one of those twisting sketches with stairs that turn into themselves, a never-ending maze. I’ll never find my way back.

The door swings open, and then a large body slams into mine—as hard and solid as the stairs beneath my feet. I lose my grip on the rail and fall backward, world upside down. Oh God, I’m falling.

I twist in the air, all sense of balance lost, no ground to fall back on. Firm hands grasp my arms, almost bruising. They haul me upright, toes brushing the steps, gaze snapping to fierce eyes and a snarl.

Wild. That’s all I can think of the man holding me up. Heavy eyebrows slant over copper eyes, the pupils large enough to make him almost feral. This close I can see his features better, lit by the overhead light instead of the dim room downstairs. His nose and mouth are crude, etched from stone instead of flesh. The whole effect is made more sinister by the faint slash through his cheek and upper lip, a scar so deep and so old it’s a part of his features now, a thin sliver of water through a canyon wall.

“Whoa,” comes his low voice, like I’m the animal. Like I need settling.

Too late I hear the soft keening sound I’m making. I fall silent. “I’m sorry.”

He drags me inside, setting me down on the wooden floor with a hollow clack of my sandals. My ankles turn, topsy turvy. He frowns down at the white leather straps of my sandals as if they don’t belong—and God, he’s right. They’re from another life. Another girl, one who’d never step foot in a place like this.

Gabriel’s voice cuts through the thick air. “Did I hurt you?”

I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my arms, the solid muscles of his chest as he rammed into me. Hurt, yes. Pain like rays of sunlight through the cloudy numbness I’ve been living in.

“I’m fine.” A lie.

Bronze eyes narrow, taking in the slim line of my dress, the designer clutch. I’m too broke to even afford a knock-off—how’s that for irony? “I’m ready for you.”

I’m still falling. Catch me. But he isn’t my white knight. No one’s going to save me. “Ready?”

He makes a rough sound, maybe amusement. Maybe pleasure. “To take pictures.”

My breath stutters. “You’re going to take them?”

“There’s a photographer. He’s excellent. Damon would have been here as well to make sure he gets the right shots, to make sure you’re…cooperative. But he has another engagement.” His grin is almost feral. “I volunteered to stand in for him.”

Pride feels heavy in my throat. “You enjoy seeing me fall.”

Maybe I should have expected that, considering my father cheated him. But he already turned Daddy in to the authorities, his evidence the impetus for the indictment. I suppose for a man like him that wouldn’t be enough. Had he been the one to send men to attack my father?

Had he sent men to my house last night?

Gabriel’s voice is bland. “Maybe I just enjoy watching a beautiful woman.”

With his wealth and his devastating looks, he could have any woman he wants. But after what he did to my father, he would never have me.

Unless he buys your virginity at the auction, a small voice taunts me.