Page 6 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
Gabriel’s expression darkens. “Selling secrets?”
“He did it for me,” I say softly. “So that he could buy us a new life. I should warn him.”
Danger sharpens the air around us. “No, little virgin. Whatever he got into, that’s on his head. He either understood what they were doing or he’s too stupid to help.”
I turn away, looking out over the darkness. There’s no point in arguing. Anything I say will only convince him that I still love Justin…and I do, in an innocent way. I may not want to marry him anymore, but I still care what happens to him.
Gabriel captures my chin, lifting my face. “You miss Justin?”
“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” He already took my mother. My mother’s house. And it feels like the fire still rages, burning everything in its path.
Only a matter of time until it reaches me.
“A lot of people will get hurt,” Gabriel says gently. “That’s the nature of war.”
Fear must show on my face, because he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “The important thing is that we win. Then you’ll be able to leave here.”
Will that ever happen? Wars like this never really end.
A fist clenches my heart.
I know there’s something a little dark about the way Gabriel locks me away, a little foreboding, but I’m too glad to have someone who cares enough to do it. Too afraid that I need the protection my mother didn’t get. She left that night to confront Jonathan Scott, even though she must have known what he was capable of. Wasn’t she scared?
Did she think he wouldn’t hurt her?
It’s a blind trust that can only come from love. It makes me wonder if I have the same fatal flaw. Except it isn’t Jonathan Scott who could hurt me. It’s the man keeping me here.
“Tell me, Gabriel. What would happen if I walked out the front door?”
“Try it,” he says softly, but it doesn’t sound like an invitation. It sounds like a warning.
“Am I your prisoner?”
“If you want something, only ask. If you dream of something, I’ll find it for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t bring you.”
That means yes, which is disturbing.
And strangely comforting. To have every wish granted as long as I don’t leave. What woman would leave that paradise? What woman would stay?
Maybe that’s the curse my mother and I share—to bat our wings against the cage, relentless in the pursuit of freedom. Only, the true danger lies when we find a way out.Chapter ThreeEvery night the sex lasts from the moment we touch the smooth sheets to the first fingers of morning light streaming between the curtains. Before that, we play chess.
It’s a little strange to have the same nightly tradition with Gabriel that I had with my father. Looking back I know that Daddy felt pride for my wins, but he also used the game as a shield, keeping me from delving too deeply into his past. Gabriel uses the game the opposite way, as a key to his secrets.
And Gabriel is a fierce competitor, brutal in his attacks, swift in retribution. He wins more than I do, pulling secrets from my body as his prize.
Tonight I’m determined to win.
“The stakes,” I tell him, turning away.
“Stakes?”
“Of the game. You said they were getting higher.”
He sounds wary now. “Yes.”
“And I’d like to double down. If I win you have to take me out. For dinner. A date. You can take whatever security precautions you want, but I get to leave.”
His eyes narrow. “And what do I get if I win?”
Apprehension circles in my stomach. I don’t want to promise this, but I know I can’t demand that kind of prize if I don’t offer something equally desirable. “I promise to stay here until Jonathan Scott is found.”
“Done.” Golden eyes glitter, determined that I should lose.
Unlike the hand-carved wooden set in the library, the set on the wide balcony is made of marble. The white pieces are perfectly pale, with even lighter striations running through them. The black pieces gleam on the other side, a perfect counterpoint.
It rests upon a stone table, flanked by two iron chairs.
Gabriel takes a seat behind the black set. It’s a silent gift but also a statement of confidence. With a solemn nod I sit opposite him, accepting the first turn. It’s a small advantage but sometimes a crucial one. It’s pride that makes him so sure he’ll win—and I want to see the look of surprise when he doesn’t.
I start by moving my queenside pawn, the most basic of openings. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment as he mirrors my move, putting our pawns face-to-face.
“Your father passed a letter to you.”
My hand pauses over my bishop. I try to control the rapid thumps of my heart. “I don’t want it.”
“The third one this week.”
