Sacrifice The Knight: Checkmate, #6

by Finn, Emilia

  “Algebra helps develop our critical problem-solving skills.” Eric turns in his booth and rests his arm on the top of the seat so his eyes bore into mine. Mac’s gaze comes up, but DeWhit stares at me until my heart races.

  It annoys me that he holds me captive with only a pair of light eyes. It kills me inside that I’m all about the I don’t need a man life, but I stop in my tracks every time he looks at me. It pisses me off that I allow him to look at my chest, that I hope he looks, and that I don’t snap his neck when he stares too long.

  “It helps us assess a situation faster,” he continues in a deep voice, “so instead of counting to thirty by individual numbers, we know it could be three tens, or two fifteens. Algebra helps us calculate faster, so we can make decisions quicker in situations that might require a speedy response. It’s especially handy for people in high-pressure jobs like mine; sometimes I need to make a decision fast, perhaps run in front of a swinging baseball bat before it splatters someone’s brains. So I find the value of x on the fly. Perhaps x is how far I have to run and how much time I have to get there, then I follow through and do the thing I have to do before the cheating bimbo ends up with splattered gray matter all over the concrete.” Pausing, he flashes that smug grin and finally looks to my son. “Algebra could also help calculate how many rolls of duct tape a woman needs to repair a broken glass door because her unruly customer wanted service faster than she was willing to give it.”

  Mac coughs and adds another layer of awkwardness. “Well, that was specific and in extremely gory, but totally necessary detail.”

  I was walking away. I was willing to take my in-debt-and-need-this-job-to-pay-the-rent ass to the kitchen to collect Ray and Gloria’s dinner before I get caught up in Eric’s web of sexy chest and ink ogling, but now the jokey jerk wants to take jabs at me while I’m standing right in front of him.

  Not in my house.

  Stopping by the red and white booth with narrowed eyes, I ignore the crackle that runs beneath my skin when our eyes meet. It happens every time. Every single friggin’ time this man walks in here, the air changes until it feels as though it’s powered by electricity rather than oxygen. It makes my heart race so much faster when he flashes that handsome grin and his light eyes twinkle.

  I don’t remember the last time my heart raced just by a man’s proximity.

  Fuck him for ruining the carefully laid out routine I busted my ass to create for me and Mac.

  This man, this stranger comes into Franky’s several times a week, always sits in my section, always makes me list the specials but orders a burger anyway, barely speaks more than three words other than that, and never leaves a mess when he’s done.

  Fuck him for not being an obnoxious messy prick that I could love to hate.

  Eric bringing my pride up isn’t such a big deal. Everybody knows I’m as stubborn as they come, and I know he watched me tape that door with my nose in the air last night. His wit isn’t a concern for me, but his quick smile says DANGER! DANGER! This man is dark and mysterious because of his usual lack of words, but at the same time, I see jokes in his eyes; I see the goofy grin that twitches every time I have to read the specials when we both know he’s going to order the burger.

  Every good girl wants to bag herself a bad boy, but I learned my lesson more than a decade ago; just because they’re handsome and fast to smile, doesn’t mean they’re good for my health or happiness. And this man, Eric with sandy blond hair and sexy scruff on his chin… he screams trouble.

  “Thank you for that wonderful math lesson, Mr. DeWhit.” But if you try to throw jabs at me in my own workplace again, deserved or not, I’m going to stab you in the eye with a rusty spoon and feed it right back to you until you choke. Spying his almost empty coffee, I move back to his table and fill it with a sugary sweet smile plastered over my face and all of that pride I’m so fond of. “I’ll be sure to use your example next time he asks.”

  I refuse to meet his eyes as I pour, and when the mug is full and I’ve yet to toss the hot jug in his face, I turn away and make a beeline for the kitchen before the stranger has a chance to tempt me back with a sexy wink and a crook of his finger.

  No, Katrina! Hell no.

  Rushing past Stefan and into the hall, I make my way to the end and push Franky’s office door open. Closing and locking it at my back, I lean against the solid timber and breathe through the crazy hummingbird sensations that flutter in my stomach.

  Hell no to the stomach flutters. Absolutely not.

  “Ah… Katrina?” Franky’s deep voice draws my eyes up before I break out the paper bags and allow myself a full meltdown. “Something up?”

  Breathe. Relax. Stay strong! “Mm?”

  “You okay, honey? Need to go to the hospital or something?”

  “No hospital.” This isn’t Franky’s first rodeo. This poor man who never had children of his own still ended up with his hands full and a teenage pregnancy on his doorstep. “Mac’s in his booth eating minestrone right now. We’re good.”

  “Okay. You need some privacy? I could step out…” He frowns. “Of my own office…”

  “No!” I wave him off, ignoring the way my voice cracks. Standing taller, I fix the red and white spotted band that holds my hair off my face. “I just had a little indigestion. I needed a moment to burp in privacy, that’s all. But you’re welcome to stay for that.”

  My bulky boss with saggy cheeks and comfortably dull eyes tilts his head and sees through my lies. He knows me as well as my own father does, and he definitely knows when I’m lying. “Honey… you got something you wanna talk about?” He sets his pen down and sits back in his chair. “Spill.”

  “Nope.” Plopping my hands on my hips, I breathe in, in, in until my lungs want to explode, then I let it out again on a huff and swing the door open. “All better now.” I breeze through the door and back into the hall, only to take a fast left and swing into the locker room, which is more of a storage closet with fancy lockers lining the back wall. Walking toward my locker and entering Mac’s birthday into the keypad, I swing the metal door open and take out my phone with hopes to find the very thing I usually dread.

  There he is, right at the top. Zeke Douglas. Four texts. Three requests for money. Two missed calls. One big fat nope from me. No apologies for his bullshit behavior last night. And zero inquiries into our son’s day.

  Letting out another explosive breath, I turn and lean against the lockers with a smile. I hate Zeke’s smarmy, thieving, dumb guts, and his requests for cash – which arrive at least once a week – he reminds me why it’s cheaper and easier not to let handsome men smile at me.

  I’m okay with being single for the rest of my life because I have my son, I have contentment in my family and work, and I have freedom from that idiot sperm donor so long as I stay on my toes and dodge him as skillfully as I have for the last few years.

  What I want to reply is for Zeke to go fuck himself with a sandpaper-wrapped cactus bush. But what I actually reply is that I can’t afford to loan him any cash this week because the electric bill came in higher than expected, and maybe he’d like to pitch in for a little of Mac’s share.

  It’s a lie; our electric bill is perfectly under control, and Zeke has never given me a cent that in any way resembles support of the child he helped me make. But my request will have him running again, and I’ll have bought myself another stretch of silence until he’s brave enough to try again.

  Tossing my phone back into my bag and swinging the locker shut, I stop at the mirror on the back of the door for a brief pause and study the red lipstick that makes my eyes pop. I don’t wear a whole lot of makeup, but a swipe of mascara and bright red lipstick can make even the dreariest of days feel a little brighter.

  Look out, world. My name is Katrina Blair, and I have my shit under control! No man can sweet-talk his way into my panties again because I’m older, wiser, my panties are made of steel, and I purposely lost the key so I could avoid temptation.

  7
>
  Eric

  Her words scream no, but her hip sway fucking slays me.

  Please, universe, give us a minute alone in the storage closet. One single time, one chance to touch her, then I swear, I can walk away and leave her be. If I say it enough, I’m certain I can will it to be true. Just one time. Just one time. Just one time, then I swear I’ll leave her alone.

  “I have no fuckin’ clue how to do this shit.” A minute after Katrina disappears into the long hall, Mac slams his foot against the chair across from him and makes me smile. He tugs his hat off and slaps it against the vinyl, then he rubs a hand over his face as though to wake himself up.

  Not so long ago, I’d have said this kid’s haircut is the craziest bullshit I ever saw in my life. In the next breath, I’d encourage him to get a refund and never go back to that barber again. But then one of my good friends did something similar recently, so I’m starting to think the shaved on one side and long on the other must be the new “in” thing.

  It’s straight up weird to want to be lopsided like that, but it ain’t my hair, and I learned long ago to keep my head down and mind my own business unless people are doing illegal shit. And if they are, is it for a good reason?

  My life used to be black and white, right or wrong, good or bad, legal or illegal. But now I enjoy straddling a line of what does my conscience think? The law doesn’t govern me like it used to, and the freedom is addictive.

  “What… the… fuck…?” Mac growls under his breath and takes a noisy bite of the homemade bread Katrina set down in front of him. “Two-three-two-five. What the shit do I do with the five?” Leaning across his table, he smacks old man Ray on the shoulder and scares the life out of the old coot. Holding up his workbook, Mac thrusts the equation into the old guy’s face. “You know what to do with that five?”

  Chuckling, Ray arches his neck and brings the too-close writing into focus. “Lord help you, son. I have no clue what that says.”

  “Me neither! It’s a load of shit, right? We don’t need this for real life.”

  “Well, I can’t say I ever counted anything to the power of five like that, no.” Ray’s jowls move as he shakes his head and narrows his eyes at the paper. “No, can’t say I ever used this in my life.”

  “I knew it!” Sitting back with a huff, Mac slams his book down and makes Ray’s poor wife jump in her seat. “It’s not even practical. It’s dumb shit the teachers give us to keep the herd busy. Two-three-two-five. Goddammit.” Turning in his seat, just like I knew he would, Mac smacks my uninjured shoulder with the spine of his book and thrusts it in my face. “The fuck do I do with that five?”

  Chuckling, I cast a glance around the diner to make sure Katrina is nowhere in sight, then I half-turn in my seat and eye the book just inches in front of my face. “Your mother know you got a gutter mouth like that?”

  “Technically, yes. But the real question is do I use it in front of her?”

  “Also yes,” Ray chuckles. “Gets his hide handed to him on a daily basis because he can’t keep his bad manners to himself.”

  “I’m working on it.” Smacking me again, Mac draws my attention back to the book. “You know algebra, right? You just gave the spiel about work and splattered brains. I got troubles, Cap, and I have no freakin’ clue how to fix them.”

  Bravely, since Katrina will probably kill me twenty seconds from now, I leave my things in my booth and silently slide out until Mac slips back into his seat and turns the way he’s supposed to. I slide into the opposite side and accept the book when he tosses it away with far too much enthusiasm. “I’m gonna help you, but only because you said freakin’ instead of that other F word. You’re working on it, so I’ll help you with the math.”

  “Oh, so you’re training me with positive reinforcement like I’m a puppy? Woof woof, motherfucker.”

  “Kid.” I shoot my gaze to the hall and back. “You’re thirteen!”

  “Fourteen,” he shoots back without fear. “Do you know algebra or no? I don’t have time or brain space for useless information, so only give me the good stuff.”

  “I did alright with math. I can probably help you.”

  Mac’s eyes flip to the hall his mother disappeared down, then back to me. Down the hall, then he glances over my shoulder as though to ask Ray. When the old man shrugs, Mac shrugs and straightens the book in front of me. “Okay, go. You got two minutes before she comes out and does the gray matter braining thing. She didn’t lose her temper since Zeke left, so you’re gambling with your life right now and risking whatever she’s got bottled up.”

  “He come back to find you guys last night?” Our eyes meet as I wonder if he ever refers to his dad as Dad. “Did he come by your home or anything?”

  “Nope. He’s a pussy, and I’m not five anymore. I think he’s legit scared I’m gonna flip on him soon.”

  “He should be scared.” I study the paper in front of me, but my mind circles around the brave boy sitting across from me. “Pussy is another word for coward, and cowards don’t like to be stood up to. I’m proud of both of you, because neither of you sit down and let him dictate your shit. That must burn him up.”

  “It definitely burns him,” he snorts. “But I have zero fucks to give about his feelings. He’s never hurt my mom. Not even twisted her arm like you said he did last night, so I tolerate his bullshit, but I dare him to come by our place and touch her wrong. There’s no jail time if you’re defending your family and home, right?”

  “Umm…”

  “There’s not. I asked my lawyer friend.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You have lawyer friends? Dude, you’re thirteen!”

  “Fourteen. And yes, I have a couple lawyer friends. I have friends in every branch of every tree, including you. You’re a badass ex-fed, and you got Army Ranger friends, which means now I got Army Ranger friends.”

  “You just collect soldiers, huh?” I glance down at the paper and quiet my laugh. “You think life is a game, and because you introduce yourself to a guy, we’re best friends, and I’d lay my life down for you?”

  He gives an arrogant nod. “That’s exactly how it is. Now please help me with my math shit before Mom gets back.”

  “Alright.” Blowing out an explosive breath, I run a hand over my face and prepare for the war this kid seems so willing to drag me into. And if I were to take him at his word, he’s claiming Spence, too. I should tell him to armor up, because Mac is a live grenade just waiting to deploy his troops and hit a guy whose name might be Zeke. “Okay, fine, so we’re multiplying by indices, see?” I push his book back. “You got two to the power of two, multiplied by two again to the power of five.”

  Pulling back with an exaggerated scowl, he scoffs. “That did not help one freakin’ bit. You have three seconds to speak English, Cap. Then you gotta bounce outta my booth before my momma scalps you.”

  Chuckling, I take an up-close study of the kid who was once Katrina Blair’s baby. Quick-witted, broad-chested, and with a potty mouth he’s not afraid to spit at anyone who walks by. He’s bigger than you’d expect for his age – he’s not super wide, but wider than most of his peers, and tall to go with it – but rumor has it he’s been training at the local fight gym, which explains the mean right hook I know he wanted to throw last night.

  “Alright, let’s break it down a little more. We’re gonna carry that bottom two across.” I continue pointing as he starts writing. “And that three and five up top can be added together. So now we got two to the power of eight.”

  “Alright.” With uncertain movements, he scratches out a two and adds a small eight above that. “Next?”

  “So that means we gotta work out what two times two times two times two…” When he lifts a skeptical brow and fists his pencil the way his mom does, I stop and clear my throat. “Write it out like two times two, but eight times.”

  “So, sixteen?”

  “No. We’re multiplying it eight times, not by eight, ya know what I mean?” When he stares clueless
ly, I huff. “Plug it into your calculator.”

  “Mr. Banner said no calculators.”

  Mr. Banner can suck my dick and choke. But instead of saying so out loud and getting myself into a whole bunch of trouble when the kid snitches to his mom, I take out my cell and do the math for him. “Two times two times two times two times two times two times two times two.” Hitting enter, I turn my cell and flash a triumphant smile. “Two fifty-six.”

  “You sure that’s correct?” He lifts a dubious brow. “I can’t afford more fails. Mom’ll kill me.”

  “Check it if you want, but I’m sure.”

  “I believe ya.” He writes the answer at the bottom and moves on to the next. “Same question, but new numbers. Five to the power of five, multiplied by three to the power of four. Super lame fuckin’ questions, by the way.”

  And yet, he starts writing it out the way we did on the last one.

  “Goddammit, Mac!”

  At his mother’s screeched curse, Mac’s back snaps straight, and his gaze shoots across the checker-floored diner. “Mom?” For a second, his face pales, and fear takes over his eyes, but then he flips his attitude and plays her the way he did last night. He drops his fear and picks up an air of not giving a fuck instead. It’s like he can see her buttons, and he plays each and every one. “Can I please have some of the pie? I’m still kinda hungry.”

  Katrina walks forward with narrowed eyes and a pen wielded like a sword, the woman I’ve always considered a 1950s pin up model because of her luxurious hair, the lipstick she almost always wears, and the hourglass shape of her body, stops by our table and drops her hands to her hips. “Ah…” Her screaming eyes study mine. “You lose your way back to your seat? You wanna scoot away from my kid?”

  “He’s helping me, Mom.” I smile when Mac’s eyes remain on his paper, but his hand pushes the almost empty minestrone bowl forward. His easiness kills the mom who wants to control the world. “Pretty please for some pie? I finished my dinner, and I’ll do the silverware tonight, I promise.”