by Skye Warren
“About the pregnancy? I can take her blood pressure again—”
“Not that. The mother thing. Being a good mother. Not turning out like hers.”
Avery was an heiress at a blue-blood family in Tanglewood. Her mother was a socialite who died when she was young. Her father was a respected businessman—respected until he crossed Gabriel Miller. Then he was ruined, and the resulting desperation pushed Avery into his arms. “Abusive?” I ask, because I’ve seen too many terrible things to believe that all parents are good. Children with sunken eyes and repeated arm fractures. I was lucky. My parents were poor, but they loved me. They took care of me. Which makes it all the more important that I avenge them.
“Yes,” he says. “Neglect anyway. She had a nanny to make sure she was fed and clothed and sent to school. The mom was too busy going to parties and having affairs to notice.”
Ah. “So she thinks if she can cook…”
“Then she won’t be the same. But she won’t be the same no matter what. She isn’t her mother, not in any shape or form. She’d throw herself in front of a bullet for this child. And she’d never step out on me.”
“How do you know?”
A sharp look. “That a challenge, Anders?”
“Not really. I don’t have a death wish.” This man would tear the throat out of anyone who insulted his woman. “I don’t think she’d step out either… but how do you know?”
“You’re asking about trust.”
Trust. A scary word when dealing with a woman who’s already stolen from you. “I suppose so.”
“There’s no knowing, really. Otherwise it wouldn’t be trust. There’s only hoping.”
“Hoping?”
This is a man whose business moves millions of dollars every day. He doesn’t show his hand, but when he looks at Avery, there’s no hiding the possessiveness in his golden gaze. “There’s wanting it bad enough that it’s harder to walk away than it is to take the risk.”
Wanting it bad enough. It implies that trust is a choice. That love is a choice. The body and the heart can clamor all they want, but it’s the mind that makes the decision to hope.
I help Gabriel and Avery carry large bowls of soup to the table. There’s also rosemary pull-apart bread, mashed potatoes with gravy, and mac and cheese. It’s like she looked up the words comfort food in a cookbook. And then made all of it. The bread’s burnt on the bottom, the mashed potatoes are lumpy. The mac and cheese has solidified, but who the hell cares? A child raised in this home would know he was loved. Unlike Avery. And unlike, I’m beginning to suspect, the woman upstairs.
The soup has already begun to form a questionable oily surface across the top. “Looks great,” I offer, because what the hell do I know? It looks fine. She doesn’t need to worry.
She beams at me. “I hope you like it.”
I take a bite of the chicken. It’s… like rubber. Chew. And then swallow. “It’s very… comforting.”
That earns me a snort. “Listen, I’m glad you didn’t get called out early. I wanted to talk to you about the woman upstairs. What did you say her name was?”
I didn’t say what her name was, which I think she knows. “Natalie.”
“Natalie.” Her eyes narrow, and I have a glimpse of the heir to capitalist royalty. She may not know how to cook worth a damn but she could probably negotiate anything she wanted from hardened businessmen. I glance at Gabriel Miller, who’s watching her with lazy approval. In a way, that’s what she did. “How are her wounds? I saw her when you came in that first night.”
“She’s getting better.” That’s all I want to say, but her eyebrow raises and I know I won’t be able to leave it at that. “Should be out of your hair in a couple days. Maybe sooner.”
She frowns. “Does Natalie have somewhere safe to go?”
And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Even if I find the chess piece, even if I get my revenge, what am I going to do with a woman? What am I going to do with a thief? With every day that passes, every hour, every second, it becomes more inconceivable that I would let her go.
“I’m working on it,” I say, and then my phone vibrates on the table. I pick it up, seeing an address in the west side of Tanglewood, along with the letters GSW. Gun shot wound. “I’ve got to go. She’s sleeping right now, but I’ll leave a tray of dinner for her upstairs.” I glance at the filmy soup. “If you can spare some. The door’s locked. Don’t interact with her.”
“Christ,” Gabriel says, and that’s the only warning I have before Avery glares at me.
“She’s not a prisoner, right?”
I stand, taking my plates that I’ve barely touched. These will work great for the tray I bring upstairs. “Of course she’s not a prisoner.” That’s a lie. “But she’s dangerous.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “You have a lot to learn about women, my friend. You’ve just issued a challenge. Now I’m going to have the devil of a time keeping her from going in.”
* * * *
Avery
The front door closes, and Gabriel’s already out of his seat. He stalks across the dining room like a lion on the open plains. I’m his prey. “Wait,” I say, backing up even as the dining chair stops me. “We have to finish dinner. Or at least clean up.”
“Later.” The word is a growl. He reaches me in a long, final stride. Strong hands lift me from the cushion as if I weigh nothing. He presses me against the wall. From far away it must look like he’s manhandling me. Only I can feel how gentle his hands are as he caresses my shoulders, my arms, my hips. He’s checking me over. It’s something new that’s started since I got pregnant, this ritual of confirming I’m still intact whenever we’ve been apart for more than two seconds.
I put my hands around his neck. “We can order delivery.”
“Screw delivery. You’re my dinner.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re silly when you’re worked up.”
He rewards that with a nip to my neck, and I gasp. “Christ, Avery. Christ.”
I wouldn’t have thought that pregnancy would be a sexy look on me. An aching back and swollen ankles aren’t doing me any favors. I mean, sure, my nails have never been stronger—but that’s not something they really feature in porn. Look how strong her nails are! Naturally shiny! But everything’s been ramped up times a thousand since I started showing. Gabriel palms my breasts, and I know the larger size makes him crazy. He can’t stop touching me there, can’t stop holding them.
He bends down now, placing hot kisses across the plump curves and along the undersides. “Take that off if you want to keep it. I need you naked in the next three seconds.”
An alarm rings in my head, because I know he isn’t messing around. I pull the straps down my shoulders and push the stretchy material down. Cute maternity clothes are hard to come by, and I don’t need him ripping another dress. He has the bra off before I can blink, and then he’s choking out a groan, staring at me. Not my breasts, though. He’s looking at my stomach, at the stretched skin and the belly button which decided to pop outward last week. “Look at you,” he says, his voice low and almost menacing. Almost, if you didn’t know him. Gabriel is hard and commanding and intensely physical. There’s no holding him back from sex once he starts down that path. He’s also caring and generous.
There is nothing he wouldn’t do for our family.
My gaze flicks to the ceiling above us, where a young woman is locked in a room. “I think I should talk to her. What if she needs something that Anders doesn’t know about?”
Gabriel’s expression darkens. “No.”
“I won’t stay long. Or do anything to upset the baby.”
“You heard him. She could be dangerous.”
“Then why is she here? Why hasn’t he called the cops if she’s dangerous?” I’m not letting this go. His lips press together, because he knows I have a good point. “I think Anders is planning something else, and he’s using her, maybe endangering her to do it.”
“I should
have told him no.”
“To keeping a thief imprisoned in our second guest room? I mean, probably.”
“He’s done a lot for us.” His gaze moves down, and I know he’s thinking of the scare with my pregnancy early on. The bleeding and the way Anders had rushed to help me. It had been no big deal, but it felt terrifying. I have a regular doctor with the silhouette of a baby on the office door. We go there for regular checkups, but I know that Gabriel feels better with Anders watching over me.
He doesn’t trust a lot of people in this world.
“He’s done a lot for you,” I say, knowing that Anders has patched up Gabriel more than once. I’ve seen it on a few horrifying occasions, and it probably happened even more. My husband wears a suit to work every day, but he doesn’t always do his work over a shining boardroom table. His past is darker than that. Messier. And I love him, which means accepting every part of that.
A kiss at the corner of my lips. On my nose. On my chin. “Do you trust me?”
Ugh. “Don’t play that card.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me that Anders is trying to protect that woman upstairs. And so am I. You saw the condition she came here in. Someone left her to die. They’d be back for round two if they know she’s alive.”
My hands tighten on him. “Then why doesn’t he call the cops?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I don’t have all the details. I don’t think he does either, but if I had to guess, I’d say that the person who did this is a cop. Or at least connected with law enforcement.”
My eyes close. “All this for a chess piece.”
It’s not that I don’t understand the value of chess. Its importance to intellectual and cultural history is unparalleled. This house is filled with rare boards and pieces that Gabriel has gifted me. It’s the irony that gets me. A game about war. As if there’s anything playful about violence. I remember the blood and bruises on that young woman as Anders carried her upstairs. As if her life is a piece to be sacrificed.
Gabriel puts his forehead to mine. “Don’t worry about her.”
I’m worried about her because no one else seems to be. I believe that Gabriel and Anders don’t want her hurt. That doesn’t mean they’ll manage to keep her safe. Pawns have a way of getting caught in the crossfire. That’s something I learned firsthand. I pull him down for a kiss. “Distract me,” I say, but I’m not really telling the truth. It’s not me who needs a distraction. It’s him, the man I love.
Chapter Ten
Natalie
A tray of barely edible food waits for me when I wake up.
After swallowing a few bites using the bedsheet as a cape, I explore the room. There’s a little basket of temporary toiletries in the bathroom—disposable toothbrushes and tiny tubes of toothpaste. This is clearly someone’s carefully stocked guest room, but the lock on that door is not an ordinary one. Whoever owns this house is both a great host and also kind of scary. One of the dresser drawers contains a small stack of women’s clothes. I pull on jeans and a T-shirt. No bra or panties, and I wonder whether that’s a deliberate omission on Anders’ part or just male cluelessness. A soft knock at the door makes me whirl.
“Anders.” His name forms on my lips, but the person who opens the door isn’t a six-foot Nordic god with uncompromising blue eyes and an uncanny ability to see through me. It’s a woman.
“Hi,” she says with an uncertain smile. “I know this is strange, but I wanted to check on you. Do you need anything? Something else to eat? I know the soup is terrible. We can UberEats something.”
I stare at her, wondering if this is another dream. I’ve been having strange ones. I don’t know whether it’s the lingering effects of the attack or the foreign feeling of this super-luxury bed, but I’ve been having nightmares about chess boards that go on forever. “No, I’m… I’m fine. I had some of the soup. It was good.”
She rolls her eyes, but I think she looks pleased. “I know it’s bad, but I’m trying. I figure as long as I keep trying… that’s the important part, right? Listen, I don’t want to insult you, but you aren’t dangerous, are you? You aren’t going to hurt me?”
I glance down at her stomach, which is large and round. This is who I’ve become. A thief. A criminal. Someone a pregnant woman has to worry about. My stomach falls a thousand feet and lands with a thud. “No. Honestly. God, I… I swear on everything I care about that I’d never hurt you. Or anyone. I know you have no reason to believe me but—”
She waves off my words as she sails into the room. “I didn’t think so.”
The door hangs open an inch, and I have a brief thought about running. I’m not sure what kind of security this place has, but there’ll never be a clearer exit route than this. Which makes me face the fact that I’m less of a prisoner here and more of a guest. I don’t want to leave.
Especially without seeing Anders again.
The woman’s already on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, a look of relief on her pretty face. “I hope you don’t mind me being on the bed, but I need to sit.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I mean, it’s your bed.”
“Look, we’re not in the habit of keeping people locked up here.”
Cautiously I sit down cross legged on the bed with her. “I didn’t think you were.”
“But I figured you couldn’t be too dangerous, because I don’t think Gabriel would have let you stay. He has a soft spot for people in trouble, even though he’d hate for me to say that. Are you in trouble?”
She’s very straightforward, which is comforting. I’d rather know where I stand with someone. She also reminds me of the girl in class with gorgeous curls in her hair and expensive clothes. The kind of person I was never cool enough to be friends with. But she isn’t looking at me with judgment. Instead she looks curious.
“So much trouble,” I whisper. The truth slides out of me, as slippery as that pink soap in the bath earlier, provocative and smooth and alluring when it has no right to be.
“Anders will help you.” Her voice has complete confidence. Somehow, I find myself believing her. Maybe that’s only because I want to. It occurs to me that she’s the best source of information about Anders that I’ll find. After all, he brought me here, not where he lives.
“Have you known him long?”
“Does anyone really know him?” She makes a face. “He’s so stoic all the time. But I suppose we know him best. Me and Gabriel. And Damon Scott, at the Den.”
The Den, where I stole the chess piece. Acid rises in my throat. The rubbery chicken threatens to come back up. I force myself to breathe steadily. “I know he wants the bishop back.”
“It’s not the piece he wants. It’s the person who stole it.”
Surely she knows… “That’s me.”
One eyebrow raises. “Do you know why this chess piece is so valuable? What’s the provenance? What’s the significance? Do you know anything about it that wasn’t written on that tiny placard?”
I shift on the bed uneasily. “Not really.”
“Exactly.” She looks satisfied. “Someone had you steal it. Someone who knows about chess. Someone who cares about its history. That’s the person who Anders is looking for. And if I had to guess, that’s the person who gave you those bruises.”
My stomach tightens. “What I don’t understand is why. It’s almost like Anders is more interested in the person who wants the chess piece than the money it would have gotten. Why?”
Hazel eyes turn solemn. “You’ll have to ask him that.”
Chapter Eleven
Anders
I smell like disinfectant and sweat. My body knows that, but my mind keeps reliving the metallic scent of blood. Such a small piece of metal can do untold damage to human flesh. The man survived, but it will be touch and go for a few days. I patched him up so that he can live another day, fight another day—and maybe in a few months put a bullet in another person that I’l
l have to sew up.
It’s hard not to feel jaded sometimes. A spiral staircase leads to the conservatory which has a hundred windows. It makes me feel like I’m part of the stars. That helps a little bit. Not as much as seeing Natalie would help. I’d like to give her a bath and fuck her with the bar of soap again, but it’s late. She’s probably asleep. She needs her rest. I have a thousand other arguments that I should leave her alone.
“Anders?”
I turn and see her at the top of the staircase, only her head and shoulders visible from the room. It’s almost like my thoughts conjured her. “How did you get out?”
If I showed emotion at all, I would wince at the harsh tone of voice. I’m actually happy to see her. So naturally, the first thing I do is make her feel unwelcome.
Even in the pale light I can see her cheeks darken. “Avery came to visit me. Don’t be mad at her. She was just worried about me. I promised her you were treating me okay.”
“Hell.” I run a hand over my face. “Gabriel’s going to lose his shit.”
She makes a face. “Because I could have hurt her.”
Her tone of voice is cavalier, but I see the pain in her eyes. God, she’s vulnerable. So tough on the outside. Soft on the inside. It would be so easy to push her away, so easy to damage her that it makes me angry at the world. “You wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly.”
That small chin lifts in defiance. “How would you know? I’m already a thief. Maybe I’m a murderer, too.”
“Do you know that bullets actually sear the skin? Cook it hard and fast until it’s as black as the bottom of that bread Avery made tonight. The first thing I have to do, before I can even pull out the metal, is cut away the burnt skin. Slice it off like it’s the part of a steak you don’t want to eat.”
She flinches. “Oh, Anders. I’m sorry.”
Does she see how jaded I am? “It doesn’t bother me anymore. But it clearly bothers you. You aren’t a murderer. I took care of you for days while you were drugged and in and out of sleep. You get to know a person that way.”