Chapter 6 Kaye
KAYE
My chest aches with the absence of power humming through my veins.
I reach for a power outlet not too far from the bed and wait for that special coil of myself—my power—to pass through my skin and draw on the electricity in the wall.
But after a minute of waiting for a reaction, I have to accept it.
That piece of myself, wherever it lies dormant within, is cut off.
I’ll have to find another weapon for now.
The dresser drawers are bare. Nothing under the bed either. I roll my shoulders, tension tightening my back as I press my ear to the door.
Silence.
For such a beautiful house, I’ve seen tombs more lively.
The lock clicks when I twist the knob.
Woodgrain bites into my palm as I shove the nearest window open. Chilly night air seeps through the opening smelling of summer and dew as I duck out.
At the back corner of the house, orange blooms, petals glowing faintly in the soft light of the moon.
Four windows spread out on the left. That, and a four-foot stucco gap are all that stands between me and a massive oak tree.
The oak, branches thick and extending toward me like arms, is my ticket to the grassy stretch below.
A two- or maybe three-foot gap of wall separates each of the windows. Taking a deep breath, I hook the crook of my foot onto the window’s ledge, the frame creaking under my weight.
Wind whistles in my ears. The whole tree blurs, then sways as a wave of vertigo sends brown spots to dance at the edges of my vision.
Turning on the sill is next to impossible. Grinding my fingertips into the frame, I shuffle like a drunk duck with a death wish until my face is inches from the pale, off-white cement plaster wall covering.
My knees burn, thigh muscles clenching to compensate. I have to stand, but standing means moving. Moving means leaving the safety of the window.
Shit.
Legs shaking, I rise and balance my weight on the balls of my feet.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don’t think. Move.
Gripping the wall between the windows is so much easier than the frame. The stucco gives me enough traction, but when I stretch my right foot out and hit nothing but air, a phantom plummet jolts through me. One wrong step is all it would take. I pull back with a curse.
It’s further than I thought, but not impossible if I stretch. Fingers clutched around the corners of the surface, I search for somewhere flat to perch with my toe.
I have no idea how I manage to actually pull off the crazy stunt, but I find myself across the first window and looking toward the next. The third window is going to be the make or break though. That column of wall extends an additional two inches, all the way down to the grass.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Fuck me.
A head pokes out of my still open window. Skin reddening around his mask, Charade gapes at the sight. I’d laugh if it wouldn’t send me careening to my death on his perfectly manicured landscaping.
“If you wanted to kill yourself, you should have told me before we left the CCP.”
I flip him off with my free hand.
“Please come inside.”
I stretch my leg out, the toe of my shoe barely finding solid ground. “I would, but being part of an evil plan doesn’t sound appealing right now, so—”
Rrrrrrip!
The solid ground goes out from under my weight.
There is nothing but… Nothing. My cheek scrapes off against the wall, stucco slicing into my skin.
Something warm and wet trails down my left palm where the hastily-grabbed, sharp window ledge digs into my finger joint creases.
The plaster facade slicks with my blood.
“Damn it, Kaye!” A vice-like grip clamps around my fingers. My gaze locks on the white canvas of his mask. “Give me your other hand.”
Our palms slam together. Then he pulls, using his weight as my anchor until I’m through the window and crashing onto the floor within.
I land with my hand still clutching his and my chest crushing into his side.
The man is danger incarnate, but I can’t bring myself to care.
With my heart pounding furiously in my ears and the memory of that nothing all around me, I’m just grateful to be alive.
My voice scratches against my throat, though I don’t remember screaming. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” His chest heaves, breaths coming out in shallow, staccato bursts. “Promise me that won’t ever happen again.”
I shake my head. “You know I can’t.”
He pushes to his feet, his arms flaring wide as he paces a frantic circle. “Do you even have anywhere else to go? Anyone to run to that you won’t put in danger? You’re persona non grata in this city now. I’m all you’ve got.”
I scoot back until my shoulder meets the wall, tucking my knees against my chest. “You wouldn’t do all this just because you needed a little help.”
“You have no idea what I would or wouldn’t do, Checkmate.”
“My name is Kaye,” I snap through clenched teeth.
“For now, it’s enough to know you owe me,” he grits out.
“I won’t pay for my life with my soul.”
A knob jingles nearby, and someone enters the room. Brightness pools across the floor, highlighting a shadowy figure silhouetted in gold.
“What are you doing here?”
They flip the switch next to the door. As my eyes adjust to the blinding light, I can make out the details of the person standing before us.
Tall and athletic with long, muscled limbs and a dancer’s build.
Her afro haloes her head like a crown, all tightly wound ringlets and body.
Gold accents decorate her large brown eyes, pearlescent teeth shining against her dark skin.
She is easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
And she’s pissed.
“George.” The menace drops from Charade’s face as he turns to embrace her. “I didn’t know you’d be home so soon.”
“I finished my finals early.” Her gaze flicks to me. “That doesn’t explain why you and some stranger trashed my room. Dressed like that, no less.”
I survey the mess around us. A shelf full of books is toppled and spread across the floor near a neatly made queen size bed covered in a floral comforter.
The curtains were pulled from the window at some point in the rescue.
One lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, the other clinging for dear life to the bent rod hanging off the wall.
Every other surface in the room is organized and precise, from the color-coordinated closet to the alphabetized notebooks on the desk.
“That’s my fault.” Wincing, I start to pull the mess into my arms.
Her arms fold across her chest. “And now the stranger is touching my stuff.”
“Sorry.” I drop everything and back away from it. There’s something about this person that makes me feel like it’s the first day of school again.
“We had an incident.” Charade tips his chin at me. “Kaye, this is Georgette—George. My adopted sister, for lack of a better word.”
Oh good. The beautiful woman is family. Family that I insulted earlier. This keeps getting better and better.
“Kaye has the distinct pleasure of being my arch nemesis.”
Her eyes darts between us, and before I know it, she’s in my face. Fearless, fingers balled into fists at her side, her dark eyes glare at me. “Checkmate. I’ve had some choice things to say to you over the years—”
“Kaye’s our guest,” Charade interjects. “I’d like everyone to make her feel welcome.”
She still looks like she would like nothing more than to slug me, but she nods. “I’ll be watching you, Checkmate.”
Charade takes my arm, steering me into the room across the hall. He slams the door behind us and, gripping my arms hard enough to bruise, presses my shoulders into the woodgrain. The shock reverberates up my spine.
“What—”
“Shut up.” The sight of his bared teeth and the muscle twitching in his jaw is enough to silence me.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he rasps, fingers tightening into my sleeves, so tense they shake. “That was the one thing I asked.”
“Charade—”
He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t have meant anything even if you had made me that promise, would it? Your word always has been garbage.”
“Fuck you.” My arms throb in time with the pulse pounding in my ears, the muscles torn and battered where he holds me.
Tears prick at my eyes for the second time tonight.
I feel a raw bundle clawing its way up my throat, and I beg whatever divine being is listening that I can keep swallowing it down long enough to keep the panic at bay.
He presses his weight against me, hard lines firm against my curves, pinning my hips in place.
His scent consumes my senses, spicy and clean as freshly ground cloves, with an edge of something uniquely him.
He leans in, our lips only a fraction of an inch apart, and I must be out of my mind because I’d swear he’s going to kiss me.
Forbidden warmth unspools at the apex of my thighs.
I close my eyes, praying my face isn’t as flushed as it feels.
His mask is blissfully cool against my heated skin as he nuzzles my cheek. The prick of his stubble scratches my jaw in the most sinful way. I wish I could suppress the shiver licking up my nape; wish I could stop my body’s reaction to his proximity.
“Rain check,” he purrs, the word caressing the shell of my ear.
“I hate you.” The words stick in my throat.
“I know.” He releases my arm, tracing a wet trail winding down my cheek. His palm comes to rest under the curve of my jaw. “I wish I could trust you.”
I shudder, registering that his bare skin is once more on mine. “Please don’t do this, Charade.”
His thumb traces the curve of my lower lip and this time I don’t pull away. It wouldn’t do any good. “Don’t be afraid, Checkmate. It’s time to sleep.”
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
I’m so tired of fighting.
So tired.
When the darkness comes to claim me, his arms curling around my legs and my weight falling out from under me, I just let it.