Pawn (The Pawn Duet, Book Two): A King Series Spinoff

by T. M. Frazier

  Pawn

  The Pawn Duet, Book Two

  TM Frazier

  Frazier Publishing

  Pawn, The Pawn Duet, Book Two

  By T.M. Frazier

  Copyright @ 2020 by T.M. Frazier

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, except brief quotes used for reviews and certain other non-commercial uses, as per copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by: Karla Nellenbach, Last Word Editing

  Ellie, My Brothers Editor

  Cover design & formatting: T.M. Frazier

  Contents

  Opening Quote

  1. Mickey

  2. Pike

  3. Mickey

  4. Pike

  5. Pike

  6. Mickey

  7. Mickey

  8. Pike

  9. Mickey

  10. Mickey

  11. Mickey

  12. Mickey

  13. Mickey

  14. Pike

  15. Mickey

  16. Pike

  17. Pike

  18. Pike

  19. Mickey

  Epilogue

  A note to my readers

  ALSO BY T.M. FRAZIER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For my readers

  “The belief that there is only one truth,

  and that oneself is in possession of it,

  is the root of all evil in the world.”

  Max Born

  1

  Mickey

  Time travel is possible.

  Not the Back to the Future, flux-capacitor, kind of time travel. And not the Outlander through-the-stones kind either. Although even in my scientifically fact- oriented mind, I’m still holding out hope for that last one.

  But yet, it exists, not out there in the world, but within ourselves.

  Time is an intangible unit of measurement that knits together the fabric of the past into a proverbial quilt of memories that make up the timeline of our lives.

  Though time itself is a constant, during certain moments it can slow to a crawl or it can blur by like a speeding train.

  Emotional reactions can often trigger memories that will transport us in time, to a specific moment on the quilt.

  One that is either defined or destroyed.

  The research has already been written, but no publication on the subject could’ve ever prepared me for my own experience with time travel.

  Because in one moment, I’m in the warehouse of The Fourth Reich, unable to believe what I’m seeing before my eyes, and the next, I’m back in the van with my family, careening through the barricade into the cold dark water. Only, there’s no splash, and the cold I feel is not coming from around me, but within me, expanding through my body, chilling me to my very core.

  Suddenly, I’m jolted from the van, and I’m back in Pike’s bed. My body warms as he wraps his heat around me, pulling me close to his chest. I want to stay here, in this place and in this moment. The stubble on his jaw lightly scrapes against my cheek and I’m filled with regret for ever having left him.

  Pike’s arms leave me all too soon, and I’m tossed back into the cold, but this time, it’s courtesy of the water that was just poured over my head from behind. I watch as my three younger sisters take off down the beach, carrying with them a now empty bucket, and the sweet sounds of their childish laughter. Even under the warm sun, the breeze chills the water on my skin.

  I shiver.

  I continue to bounce around to different junctures of my own timeline. Some sweet and warm. Others heartbreaking and chilling.

  Several times, I find myself in moments with Pike. Moments that took place over the last few weeks. It seems like such a small period of time, but three weeks is all it took for me to fall in love with Pike. Three weeks for my heart to shatter. Three weeks to glimpse the kind of life I’ll never have.

  Because I did what I thought was right, choosing my plans for revenge and his safety over staying and choosing him.

  At least, it had felt like I was choosing him at the time, but now, reliving moments of the recent past, I’m no longer sure that’s what I did.

  Revenge has been what’s propelled me forward going on five years now. Who am I without revenge?

  Alone.

  That’s what I am without it.

  But in an instant, a pull of a single thread on my timeline, the plan has changed.

  Famous physicist Leonard Susskind once said, “Unforeseen surprises are the rule in science, not the exception. Remember: stuff happens.”

  I’ve come to expect surprises in my research, and even in my life, but nothing––and I do mean nothing––could have prepared me for this moment. For this surprise.

  For my sister to be alive.

  That thought brings me back into the present, back to the truth that’s staring up at me through the rusty bars of a small cage.

  A sudden rush of dizziness and confusion, mixed with a feeling of overwhelming euphoria, take hold of me. Closing my eyes tightly, I will the excitement growing in my chest to subside because this can’t be real.

  She can’t be real.

  It’s just another delusion, Mickey.

  I open my eyes and rapidly blink away the blur. She’s still here.

  My sister is alive.

  M…Mi…Mickey? Mindy mouths the words, pressing her hand against her throat to indicate that she can’t speak. She tries again, but still, sound or not, my name on her lips knocks the wind from my lungs.

  Mindy touches her cracked, trembling lips with her fingers. Her arm is caked in dirt and varying colors of bruises, ranging from dark purple to yellow.

  Kneeling, I lean in closer. I wrap my hands around the cold bars of the cage. Tears fall from my eyes. If this is just another figment of my imagination, it’s both a great and terrible one.

  Shaky hands reach out toward me, Mindy brushes a dirty, thin finger across my knuckle, sucking in a breath at the contact. The feeling of her touch lights up my senses and makes me temporarily dizzy. She quickly withdraws her touch as if pulling her hand from a flame.

  “It really is you,” I whisper, looking over this new older, yet broken version of my sister. I try and pull the door open, but it’s locked. I look around for a key or something to pry it open, but I don’t see anything in my immediate view. “We’ve got to get you out of here,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head and cowers back to the other side of the cage as if she expected me to be as imaginary as she’s been in my life for years. But the reason I know she’s real isn’t just because of her touch but because all of the millions of times I’ve imagined my family, conjured them like imaginary spirits to stand before me and keep me company in the lonely world I’ve created for myself, they’ve always appeared to me the same. Healthy. Whole.

  Nothing at all like the shattered human being caged before me.

  My throat feels thick and dry with unshed sobs. I’m balancing the weight of the world on my chest, and I feel it pushing against my rib cage and threatening to crush my already fragile heart. If this is some sort of game––some sort of new mental breakdown I’ve not experienced before–– don’t know how I can get over it.

  “What happened to you?” I ask, trying to steady my voice the same way one would when coaxing a frightened anim
al from hiding. “How is it possible that you’re here?”

  Tears well up in her red-rimmed eyes. She pushes a stiff strand of hair from her face that falls right back into place. She crawls forward slowly until we’re eye to eye. She smells like feces and something putrid, but I don’t care because she’s real and she’s here. She tentatively wraps her hands around mine, which are white-knuckling the bars. We both take in deep, shaky breaths. She’s silent for a moment, but after she looks me over again, her eyes meet mine.

  She opens her mouth to speak.

  The words don’t get a chance to leave her mouth because the loud crash of the door opening startles us both. She leaps back into the corner of her cage as several heavy footsteps cross over the concrete. She’s shaking violently. I place my finger to my lips, and she nods. I crawl slowly and quietly behind the cage, fitting myself behind a pair of empty beer kegs.

  A crack of separation between the barrels gives me a small view of Percy and Darius as they approach. “What the fuck is this, old man?” Percy asks, waving his hand at the cage where my sister is pretending to be asleep.

  “This is a gift. For your wife,” Darius announces proudly. “From you.”

  Percy scratches his bald head. “Okay, but why?” He lights a cigarette.

  Darius wags his finger at Percy, then crouches down to admire his captive. “Because she will love it. Because it will make you a hero to her to give her the gift of a life. You know how she’s always rescuing things. Injured birds, stray fucking cats. Now, she’s not the only one. You’re now a rescuer and, therefore, more relatable. Loveable, even. A perfect gift.”

  “And why is that?” Percy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Darius places his hand on Percy’s shoulders. “You are going to be a married man, and more importantly, the future leader of The Reich. You need to exercise control in every situation. You and Michaela have known one another since you were children in The Reich, but you don’t know each other as man and wife. Not yet. I see how you two interact with one another. You act like complete strangers.”

  Percy scoffs. “Yeah, but you ever think that’s because we haven’t seen each other since I got locked up? She was just a kid then. I was just a fucking teenager. We don’t know each other as adults. And I don’t know, but maybe, because having an arranged marriage doesn’t exactly make shit any less awkward?”

  “Exactly, this is a fresh start between you. If not a fresh start, then consider this a lesson in control. Use this gift to influence your new wife. Threaten her with it when you have to. Kill it in front of Mickey if and when the time calls for it.”

  Referring to my sister as it has me balling my fists and clenching my jaw with rage. How can they speak so casually about the life of my sister as if she was nothing more than a rodent?

  Percy widens his stance and takes a deep drag of his cigarette, flicking the ashes too close to the cage. “I’ve been locked up for a while, so forgive me ‘cause I’m not really seeing the value in this.”

  Darius pats his shoulders, then removes his hands, taking a step back. “You can thank me later when you understand. Trust me, there will come a time when you’ll need to utilize her. There always is.”

  Percy looks down at the cage, then back up to Darius. “So, you want me to keep her in a cage until such a time arises?” He sniffs the air. “The smell of piss and shit is burning my fucking eyes.”

  Darius slaps him on the back of the head. “No, moron. I would assume that your wife would not want to keep her in the fucking cage. Clean her up before you give her to Mickey. I don’t think she’d be too happy to see her in this pathetic state.”

  “What if she’s not healthy? Mickey’s not gonna be happy if she dies seconds after I let her out of the cage,” Percy muses. “And she ain’t looking so good.”

  “Do I have to do all of your thinking for you, too?” Darius sighs. “Have her looked at. If she’s not up to making your wife happy, take her to an open field and put a bullet in her fucking head. Mickey will never know you even had her to begin with.” His heavy footsteps echo as does the slam of the door to the warehouse as it closes behind him.

  “Thanks for fucking nothing, Pops,” Percy mutters, leaning on the cage and peering inside. My sister’s leg twitches against the bars.

  Percy jumps back and wipes his palms together. He inspects her again and finds that she’s sleeping. He sighs and takes another drag off his cigarette.

  He removes his phone from his pocket and presses a few buttons, walking to the far corner of the warehouse where I can’t make out who he’s talking to, nevermind what he’s saying.

  It doesn’t matter. There’s no time to decipher his call. What I need right now is a weapon.

  Cold concrete chills my skin as I crawl to the other side of the warehouse. Mindy opens her eyes as I pass the cage. I press my finger over my lips. I know she understands what I’m telling her because she closes her eyes again, continuing to fake sleep. Above me is a tower of shelving reaching all the way to the ceiling. Without standing up and drawing attention to myself, I carefully feel around the first dusty shelf until I finally wrap my hand around something I know I can use.

  Gingerly, I lift the crowbar from the shelf and tuck it against my chest, crawling back across the warehouse as fast as I can, but it’s hard without using the hand clutching my newfound weapon. My thigh pulses and stings as my self-inflicted bullet wound tears open. I grit my teeth against the pain. Warm, fresh blood drenches the bandage wrapped around my leg.

  I manage to tuck myself back behind the kegs just as Percy reappears, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

  My breathing is shallow and quiet as I wait for the perfect moment. He squats down to again peer at my sister.

  It’s now or never.

  Rising to my feet, I lift the crowbar in the air just as the door flies open and I’m forced to drop back down.

  “What the fuck you need, P?” asks a masculine voice I recognize as Hoppy, Percy’s friend and one of the higher-ranking members of the Reich.

  “You know anything about this?” Percy asks, waving his hand to the cage.

  Hoppy smiles. “Sure did,” he answers proudly. “What do you want me to do with her?”

  “Well, since she’s a gift, I guess I gotta fix the fucking packaging,” Percy replies. “Move her out of this hot-ass warehouse and call Knox. Tell him to bring his medical kit and ask him to look her over and see what needs fixin’. I’ll have Mary bring her some food and water.”

  Hoppy eyes him suspiciously. “P?” he asks, as if he somehow misunderstood his orders. I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed by not getting to kill Percy today, but I also can’t deny the relief I feel that Mindy will be treated properly, at least until I can get her the fuck out of here. Besides, it will be easier to break her out of a locked room than a locked cage.

  Percy raises his voice, clearly irritated. “I can’t give my wife damaged goods, can I?” he asks. “Tell me, Hop, would you give your old lady a dress with a fucking hole in it or a ring missing a stone?”

  Hoppy shakes his head. “Nah, man. I’d get the couch for sure. That is, if I had an old lady.”

  Percy crosses his arms over his bare, tattooed chest. “Well then, tell me if you think it’s a good idea to give Mickey a gift that’s all banged up and half-starved to death?” He looks at my sister. “In a fucking cage?”

  “Yeah, that won’t be no good.” Hoppy shakes his head and rubs his protruding belly, satisfied with Percy’s explanation. “No good at all. Good call, man. See, this is why you’re the smart one. You’ll make a good leader, P.”

  “Just tell me what Knox says,” Percy orders.

  Hoppy wheels over a large cart. Locking the brakes, he parks it next to the cage. He lifts it without much effort and sets it on the cart.

  “Nobody is to know about this. Not even members. Are we clear?” Percy points his finger sternly at Hoppy.

  “Clear as…well...some shit that�
�s clear.” Hoppy shakes off his hands and follows Percy out of the room with my sister in tow. “What then? What are you gonna do if Knox doesn’t give her all the all-clear? She don’t look too fucking good.”

  Percy opens the door, allowing Hoppy to wheel through.

  “Then, I’ll load my fucking shotgun.”

  The door slams shut, and I’m left alone in the dark.

  My entire body is shaking.

  The plan has changed. Revenge be damned. There is only one plan now.

  I have to get to my sister.

  Before they do.

  2

  Pike

  Over the past twenty-four hours, I’ve switched back and forth between the need to drive to the compound and put a bullet in the head of everything and everyone with a heartbeat and a deep burning desire to just forget everything that’s happened over the past few weeks. I could sell my fucking pawn shop, and drive to the furthest corner of the country, leaving it all in the fucking rearview mirror of my truck.

  The problem with that plan is that Mickey’s memory can’t be left behind with everything else. Because I know that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never get her off my brain. My chest tightens. Or off my fucking chest. The weight of Mickey leaving without so much as a, See you the fuck later, Pike. It’s been real but I’m going back to the fucking racists, crushes me over and over again like a car falling off its jack, trapping me underneath.

  A soft meowing penetrates my thoughts. The longer I ignore the sound, the louder it gets, but ignoring the creature is what I want to do because it only reminds me of Mickey, down on the ground in the alley tending to the strays like they were well-respected members of her family.