Page 20 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
The key to unlock my family’s past.
His stillness echoes louder than any command, settling around me like vines.
There’s something dark about being with Gabriel here—in the house where I grew up. In the legacy he took from me. In the place he might help me get back.
My voice is low. “What do you want?”
“Everything.”
“I’ve already given you that.”
“Not even close.” He stalks around me, circling like a predator. “I want you bent over and broken. I want you bleeding at my feet, little virgin.”
I shiver despite my determination. “You’re depraved.”
“That’s right.” He stands behind me, large hands clasped gently on my waist. It would be a tender embrace if I didn’t know his intentions. “And you’re the object of my depravity, the target of every dark wish, the canvas I want to paint. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve marked every inch of you, inside and out.”
A hard swallow. “Then why did you let me go?”
“Ah, little virgin,” he says gently. “So that I could chase you.”Chapter TwelveI knew where my mother was going based on the jewels she wore. Pearls for charity luncheons. Diamonds for society balls. That night she wore a large ruby pendant, a necklace I’d never seen before.
Where are you going, Mama?
A party, she said absently.
Can I come?
Her laugh was a strange sound. You’re too young, Avery. And thank God for that.
When will I be old enough?
She looked at me, her eyes softening. I don’t know, but it’s nothing to rush. Stay here, sweetheart. Stay small. That’s when you’re safe. Stay safe.
She left that night and never came home.
A drunk driver hit her. She died on the way to the hospital.
Daddy told me what happened in a rough voice, eyes red from crying. My eight-year-old brain didn’t want to believe it. I searched the house for her, convinced she was playing hide-and-seek, hoping that it was all a bad dream.
When I finally accepted she was gone, I crawled into bed and stayed there for two weeks. Both Daddy and Rosita begged me to eat, but I could only curl up beneath the covers, huddled in the dark as if the cramped, airless space wasn’t in the world without my mother.
As if it would keep me safe.
Gabriel reaches for me, and I react on instinct.
I whirl, dashing for the metal stairs. A low ottoman catches my foot, and I land hard on my knees. I can feel Gabriel behind me—his breath, his excitement. And then his hand on my wrist.
Something wild rattles inside me, and I let it free.
Without looking I kick backward, pulling a grunt from him. His grip loosens enough for me to twist away, and then I’m flying down the metal steps, dashing through the hallway.
I know this house better than him, but without furniture there’s nowhere to hide. Instinct alone propels me down the hall, hair flying behind me, breath shallow.
On some level I know it’s useless to run. He’ll only enjoy it. But the deeper animal side of me recognized the danger in his eyes. The sharpness of his teeth.
I’m acting on pure survival. Fight-or-flight.
My room is an empty shell, an architectural dig into the time before.
The time when I was still innocent.
Footsteps follow me—closer, closer.
I duck into the closet and hold my breath. This is how I played hide-and-seek with my mother, shaking with nervousness as I heard her voice. Where is my little Avery? She’s quiet as a mouse!
And then he’s in my room. He stills.
“Where could you be?” comes his liquid voice. “So small. So sweet. I can almost smell you.”
Because he’s a wild animal made to look human. A predator living among prey.
Anxiety clenches my throat. It’s a struggle not to move, but even flat against the wall my heart beats wildly. He must hear it. He must feel it vibrating through the house.
He crosses the room with a leisurely stride, hitting that board that creaks ever since I spilled a glass of water. I can envision him looking out the window at the unkempt lawn.
“The chase makes it better, don’t you think? If I touched you, would you be wet?”
No. It’s impossible.
Except there’s heat coursing through me. Anticipation. And my body can’t seem to tell the difference between fear and arousal. Or maybe they’re the same thing, mixed together by the sexual awakening of the auction. Maybe I only get turned on by a man owning me.
The doorknob turns. The closet door opens, letting in a sliver of light.
He steps inside, blocking the light with his body. “Found you,” he murmurs.
“You never really let me go.”
A low laugh is the only response.
Because it’s the truth. He toys with me, letting me run only to pick me up by my tail. It’s a twisted game, meant to amuse him, meant to scare me.
Mr. Miller thought you might like to spend time in the house before the auction.
