Page 56 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
That’s my bedroom.Chapter Thirty-ThreeSomeone moves past me. My father hobbles closer, an expression of deep fury on his face. “What the hell is that?”
I can’t doubt the sincerity of his outrage, but it doesn’t help to know my father wasn’t involved. Someone had a front-row seat to my room—when I believed I was alone, when I changed my clothes. When I touched myself in bed at night.
This is what my mother sensed, the darkness closing in around her.
And now it’s around me, strangling me where I stand. My stomach flips over, the champagne roiling like lava inside. Daddy leans against the wall, staring into the gaping hole.
“She was telling the truth,” he whispers, regret ripping through his voice.
Then it’s too much to hold back. I turn to the marble fireplace, wretching. I haven’t eaten enough to fully vomit, but that only makes it worse, my stomach heaving against nothing.
“Who did this?” The question is quiet, but the entire room turns toward the authority in Gabriel’s tone. There’s no doubt that the guilty party will suffer under his hand. His glittering gaze scans the room, falling from my father to Nina Thomas to Uncle Landon.
They stare back at him, a mix of guilt and condemnation.
“All of them loved my mother,” I say, falling against the cool stone, pressing my cheek to it.
Gabriel shakes his head slowly. “All of them failed her.”
Instead I hear in his voice, all of them failed you. And the way he looks at me, his jaw tight, his body thrumming with barely leashed violence, he thinks he failed me, too.
“It might not be someone in this room,” Damon says, dark with meaning.
My father trembling with the effort to remain upright, even with the cane to lean on. Nina, eyes filled with tears. Uncle Landon, inexpressible sorrow.
I shake my head. “Who else could it be?”
Damon says nothing, his expression as hostile as I’ve ever seen him. Gone is the good humor that accompanies his every sly request, the cheerfulness that infused even his most serious demand. This is the dark side of him, the one that makes him feared in the city.
“These people might have loved her,” Gabriel says. “But she loved someone else.”
“Jonathan Scott,” I say, gasping.
And that’s the fatal flaw in my deductions, the missing piece of logic from my strategy, an overlooked piece in my chess set. So many people loved my mother. And when she finally fell in love, I thought it would be reciprocated. Except what if it wasn’t? What if she fell in love with someone who had dangerous intent?
Someone willing to play games with her mind—with her life?
Nina coughs, shaking her large frame. The sound tears at my insides. It’s hard to believe she can make that and not rip apart her lungs.
Uncle Landon tilts his head, expression bemused. “Do you smell that?”
I close my eyes with chagrin. “I kind of threw up.”
He shakes his head. “Not that, dear girl. It smells almost like—”
“Smoke,” I say, voice high with panic.
The sound of shouts drifts upstairs, along with panicked shrieks and feminine screams.
“Get everyone out of the house,” Gabriel says to Damon, who nods.
Damon looks around before narrowing his gaze on Uncle Landon. “You. You’re going to help me clear this place. If even one person burns, you’re going to pay, understand?”
Uncle Landon looks affronted. “I didn’t start the fire.”
“I don’t care,” Damon says, leaving the room with a determined stride. After a brief, panicked look at my father, Uncle Landon follows him quickly, apparently taking the threat seriously.
Between the two of them I hope that they can get the downstairs empty. Uncle Landon knows the layout of the place as well as anyone, and Damon Scott has an authority that won’t be questioned.
My father stumbles, a hoarse cry of grief coming from him. I run to his side. Even with the weight he’s been losing, it’s more than I can support on my own.
“Help me,” I beg Gabriel.
He glances at Charlotte. “Can you take care of your mother?”
Nina coughs, struggling to speak. My legs shake under the weight of my father, ready to crumple.
Charlotte waves us away, looking calm and composed except for the glint of worry in her dark eyes. “Take care of him. I can help her downstairs.”
Gabriel pauses, clearly torn. In the end he gives me a terse nod. “Let’s go.”
We make our way downstairs, navigating the stairs with stark efficiency as the heavy smoke increases around us. My father begins coughing, and I realize Nina’s cough will only get worse. Charlotte said she could get her downstairs, but she isn’t used to dealing with smoke.
I glance back, but the landing is still empty. Where are they?
“I’ll go back for them,” Gabriel says, following my line of worry.
Fear nips at my ankles as we hobble outside, struggling to carry my father through the heavy flow of panicked people in tuxes and gowns. Discordant strains of music rise over the sounds of hysteria. The harsh whir and crank of strings in distress. The musicians running for their lives? The instruments trampled in the rush? It matches the frantic melody of our escape.
