Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Let me help you—”

  “I assure you, I’m fine.” She searched for her shoe and wedged it on her foot.

  “You’re trembling. Please, let me help you.” The man held out a hand and she stilled, her vision finally clearing enough to make out his features.

  Arresting eyes of an indiscernible color gazed upon her with unfeigned concern. There was something about those eyes, something… She’d seen eyes like that before, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall where.

  “Please,” he insisted softly and a strange calm came over her.

  Her hand slid into his as he gently, without much effort, pulled her to her feet. He reached down and collected her clutch. “You dropped this.”

  His voice was deep, thick, the sort that filled a woman’s ears and did strange things to her body.

  “Th—thank you.”

  “There’s a bench over here. Why don’t you have a seat for a moment and find your bearings.”

  She glanced at the bench, her thoughts disjointed. She was tempted to rest, when only a second ago she’d wanted nothing more than to run.

  Her attention pulled between those eyes and the sound of nearing company. “I… I can’t.”

  “Please. You really busted your ass and— shit .”

  She drew back as he reached for her face. “What are you doing?”

  “You…”

  He swiped a finger across her mouth. He hadn’t bothered with the white gloves required that evening, nor did he bother to ask before invading her personal space.

  “Your lip’s cut.”

  Her fingers rushed to her mouth, which was sore and puffy. As she pulled her fingers away a dark blotch mixed with the smeared makeup marring her silk gloves. “Is that blood?”

  “I’m sorry. Are you going to pass out? Shit, please don’t faint. I’m really sorry. I know I keep repeating myself, but I feel terrible.”

  “Oh, God.” Wooziness softened her knees. She probably looked a wreck.

  “Let me find you some ice. Are you here with someone? Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  She shook her head, amplifying the ache radiating through her neck and skull.

  He led her to the bench, those familiar eyes studying her so closely she felt uncovered in some strange way. Naked.

  He lowered his tall body to the bench, his knee brushing hers through the silk of her gown. His brow creased as he examined her face.

  “Your pupils are even. We crashed pretty hard. It looks like the start of a bruise along your chin. If you wanna take a swing at me to make it even I’d totally understand.”

  A numb, disjointed laugh slipped past her swollen lip. He wanted her to hit him?

  “It’s not your fault. I was moving too fast.” She frowned, wondering why everything suddenly seemed eerily calm when she’d been a frantic mess seconds ago. Maybe she had a concussion.

  He appeared unharmed. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nah. You got my jaw pretty good, but I think you took the brunt of it. You should really get some ice on that lip.”

  She frowned at the lapel of his white tux where a smudge of what might be makeup tarnished the ivory fabric. Her attention pulled from his jacket as voices flowed into the hallway.

  She was shivering and couldn’t stop shaking. “I think I’m okay now. I should go.”

  He caught her wrist. “Just give it a few minutes. I’ll get you some ice and—”

  “I can’t stay.” She stood, but her legs were so unstable she inelegantly dropped back to the bench in a swish of silk and tulle.

  “Easy,” he said softly, supporting her arm. “Who’s here with you? I’ll call them.”

  “No.” She didn’t want to explain herself to anyone. “I just need to leave.”

  “The party’s just starting.”

  “I…”

  She frowned, unsure why this man was so determined to help her. She must look horrifying for him to be this concerned.

  “I can’t stay. Thank you for waiting to see if I’m all right, but I’m fine now. Just a little shaken.”

  “Then let me take you somewhere to get some ice on that lip. I’d hate to say it, but it’s getting worse. The longer you let it go the blacker the bruise will get. Then I’ll be left in social ruin, branded the man who knocks over beautiful women at white-tie events. Do you really want to do that to me?”

  She laughed again and winced as her lip pulled. It wasn’t that funny, but the way he said it, with such self-deprecation, struck her as comical.

  Something in his expression told her he really didn’t care what other people thought about him. He gave a sheepish grin and his whole face came alive. She must have really whacked her head.

  “You have a great laugh,” he said, those eyes steadily staring into hers. What color were they? Too light to be brown. Certainly not blue.

  “Thank you.” She was suddenly warm, but still shivering.

  “If you can’t stay here, let me take you to across the street. There’s a small bar. A drink might calm your nerves and you can put some ice on that lip. Please.” He stood and held out his hand.

  “You shouldn’t have to leave on my account. I can ice it when I get home. I’m steadier now. You stay.”

  He shrugged. “These sorts of events really aren’t my style anyway.”

  There was something strange about him, different, yet so convincing, she immediately believed he was telling the truth. Her hand slid into his as he pulled her up with little effort, steadying her before allowing her to take a step. Once she found her footing he released his hold and her skin prickled.

  “Don’t forget this,” he said, tucking her clutch into the crook of her elbow. “M’lady?” He held his arm out to her, the gesture of a true gentleman.

  Conscious of her surroundings and not fully trusting her wobbly legs, she accepted his aid and allowed him to lead her down the grand staircase at a slow pace.

  Her heart jerked as familiar faces filled the common areas. She lowered her face hoping not to be noticed.

  “Are you hiding?” he murmured, keeping his gaze forward.

  “I don’t want them to see me,” she confessed, her focus on the entrance several yards away.

  “Keep your head down and stay by my side.” He guided her hand to his other one as his arm slid around her back, placing her in the protective shelter of his body. “Laugh like I just said something funny.”

  A fake chortle slipped past her throat as more guests closed in.

  “Good. No one’s paying attention. We’re just slipping out to get some air. Watch your step.”

  The fresh evening breeze was a blessing. It filled her lungs, but each breath was laced with something else, something rich and comforting. Once they crossed the street, she realized the scent was coming from him.

  “We made it.” His hold fell away leaving a cool chill in its place.

  He held the door to the small establishment and she stepped inside, not recognizing the dimly lit bar. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “No? They have comfortable seating in the back, couches and books for anyone interested.”

  “Books at a bar?”

  “Some stories require something stronger than coffee.”

  He led her to the back and it was like something out of a sitcom. Vintage furniture was arranged at various angles, providing intimate nooks and crannies for people to converse or read.

  He directed her to a small table by the rear wall. Shelves stacked from floor to ceiling, full of battered old books. A bow window overlooked a small patio with an illuminated pond.

  “This is so charming.” It was as if she’d stepped into a dream.

  “It’s one of my favorite places.”

  Since arriving at the bar time seemed to stand still. She’d gone from her worst nightmare to this hidden, peaceful corner of the city she didn’t know existed. It felt safe here. “Do you read?”

  “As often as I can.” He glanced to the front of the bar.
It seemed they were the only customers at the moment. “Let me go see about getting you some ice. What do you drink?”

  Should she have a drink? Maybe a cab would be the better thing to order. Although, the thought of going back out there, leaving this hidden nook…

  “I suppose a glass of chardonnay is merited.”

  He nodded and disappeared to the front.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “And on her lips there played a smile as holy, meek, and faint as lights in some cathedral aisle.”

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  The Quadroon Girl

  While Isadora waited for her rescuer to return, she admired the titles filling the wall. Her memory travelled from the other side of the street like a sketchy etching she couldn’t quite envision.

  She probably hit her head harder than she realized.

  He returned a moment later, carrying three glasses, one containing ice, the other her chardonnay, and something dark for himself. Sitting beside her, he opened a linen napkin and filled it with ice, folding it carefully.

  She watched his hands, noting the various scars and how efficiently he went about concocting a knotted pouch of ice. Maybe he was a doctor.

  “Here we go.” He gently turned her chin, pressing the cool napkin to her lips. She winced and he grimaced. “Sorry.”

  She didn’t know why she let him touch her, but nothing inside of her wanted him to stop. Blinking, she watched as he carefully inspected the damage.

  His face was close enough to see the shadow of hair darkening his jaw, tiny little follicles of soft brown. There was a knick on the bridge of his nose, and a healed over slice close to his right eye. Her gaze drifted away when his assessing stare collided with hers.

  Her lip only stung slightly, but her chin was starting to throb along her jaw. She really smacked into him, yet he didn’t appear wounded at all.

  “Rough night?” His voice was so temperate, coaxing like an old friend, yet was almost positive she’d never met him before in her life.

  He had the calming effect of an empath. “It wasn’t the best.”

  “Money, love, or respect?”

  Such an odd question made her chuckle, but she supposed those were the three things most issues stemmed from. “Love.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Who is he?”

  In all her years, she’d never uttered a word about him to anyone. So many moments of happiness and heartache bottled up inside. Perhaps she was in shock.

  “He was the love of my life.”

  The words fell out of her mouth quietly, a great unburdening that held more weight than any other admission she’d ever pronounced. God, it felt good to say it out loud.

  “Were you his?”

  Her gaze lowered. “I thought I was, but... He’s with someone else now.”

  “Sometimes,” he said slowly, still pressing the ice to her lip as his gaze studied the damage. “We think everything we feel is all that can be felt. But people can love more than one person. It might feel like your heart’s breaking, but maybe it’s just making room for other things. Growing pains, if you will.”

  She blinked at him. “Did you just make that up?”

  “Yeah. But I believe it.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  It was a comforting theory. Perhaps Sawyer’s relationship with this new woman didn’t have anything to do with his feelings for her. Maybe they were two separate emotions, two parallel lines running a similar course, never meant to cross. But she still hurt.

  He smiled. “I think this is good for a while. It stopped bleeding.” He lowered the napkin and reached for his glass. “Did you ever read Dr. Seuss?”

  What a strange question. “Of course.”

  “Well, remember the Grinch, how his heart grew? I think that’s more accurate than people realize. Our hearts can love so many things, so many people. It’s naïve to think the first time we fall in love will be the most epic love of our life. It seems a waste of life to only love one person that deeply and never give your heart to anyone else. Stingy.”

  She agreed with him, but still found herself the one exception to the rule.

  She’d never love anyone but Sawyer and he’d done irreparable damage to her heart. “Unless people are so careless by the time they’re through, the heart’s spoiled for anyone else.”

  His smile twisted with understanding. “Growing pains. Don’t underestimate the heart’s resilience. Time heals.”

  “Do you honestly believe that? I’ve loved him for most of my life. I don’t think my heart knows how to stop loving him.”

  He hesitated, but then said, “I lost my mom when I was just a kid. I know that’s different, but she was the only person I ever loved at that point. Losing her felt like taking off a warm coat I’d worn all my life. I’d reach for it and it wouldn’t be there. I assumed the pain would never ebb. It was a hollowness I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried.”

  “I know that feeling.” She’d first experienced it after losing her own mother. Losing Sawyer was somehow worse, because he was gone, but still there.

  “A lot of people know some form of heartache,” he said. “But over time, the pain eases and you realize your heart still beats. So long as it’s beating, it can love again. I promise. It might be a person or a story or a work of art that steals your affection, but eventually something other than sadness will take your breath away.”

  It was as if he knew exactly what to say, exactly what she needed to hear. She wanted to give him some personal detail back so he’d keep talking to her.

  “I lost my mother when I was a teenager.”

  “It’s a tough thing, but we’ve managed this far, haven’t we?” He gave her a grin like a soldier might share with a veteran who fought the same war, but never shared a word, their similar experiences enough of a bond to overshadow uncrossed paths.

  She smiled. “You have an interesting way of putting things.”

  He sat back and studied her. She couldn’t imagine how disheveled she must look.

  “Do you want to talk about him? Maybe it’ll help. I’m a good listener.”

  Her mouth opened, about to spill her most intimate secrets, but she caught herself and snapped her lips shut. What was she doing?

  “I don’t know you.”

  “And I don’t know you. Maybe not knowing each other will make it easier to talk. I was planning to spend my night in an opera house with five hundred strangers. What’s the difference between that and chatting with just one?”

  A lot. “Intimacy.”

  “Does intimacy bother you?”

  Her face heated. “I don’t discuss my personal life with anyone. I never have.”

  “That’s a good quality, but it can get exhausting bottling so much inside.” He laughed to himself. “I think you and I might have a few things in common.”

  He didn’t seem like a cautious person by the way he was speaking to her. She wasn’t exactly sure how to read him.

  “You don’t act shy.”

  “ Private is a better word. People see what’s on the surface and assume they have a person figured out.” He glanced at the shelves behind him. “Books are always judged by their covers, so I’ve mastered showing people only what I want them to see, letting them assume they know what’s on the inside. When their egos are satisfied they lose interest.”

  “So you spend your life performing for others?”

  “No, I don’t concern myself with others on most accounts, but I know how to keep them away. Give them what they expect and they think they have you all figured out. Most people have incredibly short attention spans.”

  Her stare narrowed on him, wondering if he was performing now. “I don’t judge books by their covers.”

  He tilted his head, giving her a skeptical smirk. “No?”

  She shook her head. “Book covers bore me. I’m colorblind, so I have no choice but to go by what’s inside.”

  “No kidding? You can’t see any color?�
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  “Blue. Everything else is sort of flat and dull. Shades blend together.”

  He twisted and searched the shelves, pulling a book down and placing it on the table. “What do you see?”

  It was The Wonderful Wizard of Oz— one of her favorites . “A lion. I can make out the pictures and words, but it’s all sort of … yellow, I guess.”

  His mouth twitched as if he were hiding a pained grin.

  “It’s not yellow, is it?”

  Offering a regretful smile, he said, “No. It’s green. His mane’s red. I guess you’re not a fan of the movie.”

  She laughed, perfectly aware of the moment The Wizard of Oz switched from black and white to color, but not used to people so candidly questioning her about what qualified as a disability. “Actually, it was one of my favorites growing up.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded and sipped her wine, careful not to bump her lip. “I used to watch it over and over again, thinking one of those times my eyes would see what Dorothy saw. Eventually I gave up.”

  His brow pinched. “I wish I could show it to you.”

  She smiled, thinking about how many times she wished she could see what everyone else saw. It was worse when she was young. Now, she just accepted it. Holding out hope only led to disappointment.

  She’d read an article about some special glasses being designed for people like her, but she doubted they worked as well as the creators intended. It was better to accept what was rather than hold out for some unrealistic fantasy that would never compare to the real thing.

  “Emerald used to be my favorite color,” she told him. “I have no idea what it looks like, but I knew if there was an Emerald City it had to be beautiful.”

  “It is.”

  Something shifted, leaving her feeling too exposed. Her gaze drifted to the table. “So, you were saying you’re an introvert.”

  “I like my privacy and try not to concern myself with other people’s opinions whenever possible.”

  “You must love dressing in something as generic as a tux.”

  He chuckled and flashed a grin. “It does keep things on an even playing field. It’s amazing how differently people treat a person when they swap out a designer suit for tattered blue jeans.”