Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
Luna
A key jiggles the door, and I look up from my laptop, expecting it to be Vince, but it’s the housekeeper. “Hello, my dear,” the old woman tells me, placing her cleaning supply bucket down and locking the door behind her.
“Hi, Mrs. Poloski,” I tell her politely.
“Do you have laundry?” she asks, getting right to the point. I like that about her; no nonsense, no pretense.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”
She waves her hand. “But it’s my job to fuss.”
“Vince has laundry. His lady friend was, ahem, over last night.”
“Poor Sophie. Vince will never…” She trails off.
“Never what?” I pounce.
“Oh, settle down, dear.”
“Is he a big ladies man?” Sophie acted like that’s the case, but Vince doesn’t really give me player vibes. Then again, the man’s a mystery to me .
She makes the sign of the cross. “I’ve already said too much. Go bag up your laundry for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I do as I’m told, leaving my bag of dirty clothes by the door.
Returning to my spot on the couch, I resume study of my mortal enemy—second only to Vince—Wesley Morrell.
I grab my headphones and place them over my ears, hitting play on my laptop to study Wesley’s best performance of all time.
Watching the game unfold, I hold my breath when I realize the GM has made a queen sacrifice. In my opinion, it’s the ballsiest move in all of chess—deliberately giving up the most powerful piece on the board, and that’s not without major risk. But in this case, it works out beautifully, leading the GM to victory in an impressive nine moves.
“Damn,” I mutter to myself.
I lean back and close my eyes, carrying a chess board through my mental “house.” Stepping outside on the veranda, I place my board on the wrought iron table and move the pieces—just as Wesley did in his game. The lovely scent of roses dance on the breeze as I take a bite of delicious cake. Looking down, I realize I’m eating cake with yellow roses, and yellow roses are growing on vines all around me.
“No!” Snapping my eyes open, I rip off my headphones and toss them on the couch.
“Luna, are you alright?” The housekeeper asks from the doorway.
“I’m fine.” Only that Vince fucked up my world, and now he’s fucking up my mnemonic world. “Let me help you carry those out.” I hop up and grab the bag of dirty sheets—sheets probably covered in jizz from Vince fucking Sophie.
His girlfriend.
I unclench my jaw.
After the housekeeper leaves, I return to my chess studies. The hours tick by, but Vince still isn’t home. Maybe I did push him too far…
Well, if I did, a few more inches won’t hurt.
I hustle to Vince’s room, starting in the bathroom and working my way out. Opening the medicine cabinet, I grab an old bottle of antibiotics. Giving it a shake, it feels too light, and I open it to find a rolled up hundred dollar bill.
Ah, so Vince squirrels money away in odd places. I used to do the same thing to keep my cash hidden from my dad; otherwise, he’d piss it away on booze. Pocketing the money, I continue going through the vanity drawers.
Grabbing Vince’s aftershave, I open the bottle and bring it to my nose, inhaling. It’s nice; spicy and masculine without being overpowering.
What if this was a gift from Sophie?
That intrusive thought has me slamming the cap back on and shoving the bottle in the drawer.
Continuing my search, I don’t find any women’s items. Odds are Vince never let his girlfriend keep anything at his house.
Finishing my search of the bathroom, I move to his closet. I run my fingertips over the smooth Italian silk ties before admiring a designer watch collection on the shelf. I think about pocketing the most expensive-looking one to pawn later, but decide against it. If Vince notices his watch missing, he’ll know I was in his room.
Making sure everything’s exactly how I found it, I close the closet door and move my search to Vince’s dresser. Neatly folded clothes, underwear, and socks. Finding more hidden cash, I pocket the bills.
Opening Vince’s nightstand, I find a box of condoms and lube. The unbidden memory of the bed squeaking has me slamming the drawer shut.
I exit the bedroom and try Vince’s office door, but it’s locked .
Ding. Ding. Ding. This is the room I need to search.
Hurrying to my bathroom, I return with a hair pin, trying to pick the lock, but I can’t get it open. I search the house for the key, but no luck.
Giving up for now, I return to my room and count my loot. I’ve got over a thousand bucks in cash plus one hundred in Euros. I squirrel away the money in a tampon box, returning it to my bathroom linen closet.
I plop down on my bed and close my eyes. Mentally surveying the chess board, a huge light bulb goes off, and I snap my eyes open. Vince hasn’t fallen for my trap because a more aggressive move on my part is needed: a queen sacrifice . It’s deliberately giving up the most powerful piece on the board in order to gain a positional or tactical advantage.
And the most powerful piece on my board? My body.
In this game between me and Vince, a queen sacrifice is giving up my V-card for checkmate. It’s a risky move, but one I’m willing to make to get out of this life sentence. Who says Vince will let me go, even after I repay my dad’s debt? No one, that’s who.
I hear footsteps down the hall, and I snap my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. My door creaks open, and I don’t need to look to know it’s Vince. I can feel it’s him, which is extremely annoying. He quietly closes the door, and I give it a few minutes before I move.
Reaching under my mattress, I grab the kitchen knife I swiped from school before I left. I haven’t cut myself, but only for fear of Vince “showing me what true pain feels like,” whatever that means. My God, a psych major would have a field day with me; they could write a fucking dissertation on my dysfunctional life.
Turning the knife back and forth in my hand, I’m questioning if I can really do this. Yes, I shanked Aspen, but that was with a fork and barely broke skin. Slitting a man’s throat is a whole other ballgame .
Speaking of ballgames, Vince turns on the game, and I wait quietly for over an hour before the television goes silent, the heavy sounds of footsteps filling the hall. A door opens and closes, and I give it thirty more minutes to make sure he’s in bed.
I grab the teddy bear, refusing to look at it as I stuff it in my getaway bag.
Before I chicken out, I tuck the chef’s knife in the back of my boy shorts and adjust my sleep shirt; it’s baggy enough to conceal the weapon. Taking a deep breath, I walk to Vince’s bedroom and open the door.
I tiptoe to his bed, and as I anticipated, he moves at lightening speed, grabbing my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?” he menaces.
“I had a bad dream,” I say softly.
“So go back to bed.” Vince releases me, and I walk around and crawl into the other side of his bed. “Your own bed.” He growls.
Rolling over, I grab the knife from my waistband and stick it under the pillow. “What if I don’t want to sleep in my bed?”
“Too bad. You’re not sleeping in mine.”
“I’m not interested in sleeping,” I say in what I hope is a sexy tone. “I heard you call that woman my name when you were fucking her. You want me. You’ve been fighting it. But what if you don’t have to fight it?” I whisper. “What if I want the same thing? Please, Daddy. I want you to fuck me.”