Chapter 7 Kaye
KAYE
Sunlight blares through my eyelids, white-hot and blinding. I blink against the onslaught, turning to stretch my muscles, stiff as concrete. Probably a side effect of my adventure scaling the house last night.
Adrenaline burns any remaining traces of sleep away as I bolt upright.
Charade saving me. Meeting George.
Rain check.
Sleep.
My heartbeat races under my palm as it all comes rushing back. The room feels too hot, and yet I can’t stop my body from trembling. Pulling the covers over my head, I wait for them to pass.
I need to get out of bed, but I can’t seem to make my legs move. Charade was a fearsome enemy when I was outside his reach. I knew he was powerful, had seen the effects of those powers many times, but I had never fallen prey to them. Then yesterday… His voice still echoes inside my head.
I can’t stay here forever. I refuse to cower or hide.
I force myself to focus on one step—one moment—at a time. The metallic click of the catch unlocking on the door. The thick tread of carpet under my toes as I retrace my steps. And suddenly I find myself standing outside a cracked door, listening to voices carrying from within.
“Why do you get to bring a total stranger into our home, but I can’t bring my girlfriend home? And don’t tell me ‘it’s too dangerous.’” George lowers her pitch to mimic his tone.
“Checkmate isn’t a stranger.”
“She’s your greatest adversary—even better.”
“People love her.” He sighs. “Even with the smear campaign they’ve been pushing. And even if she tries to murder me in my sleep, C wants her. That’s enough reason to—”
I flinch as the door opens and I’m suddenly face-to-face with Charade.
He looks so normal without his suit. A light gray button-down, sleeves rolled a few times, shows off his muscled forearms, a pair of dark wash jeans complementing his narrow hips.
Thick strands of dark brown hair curl around the edges of a pair of Ray-Bans with nearly solid black lenses.
Fuck. He smells good, cologne mild with notes of sandalwood and nutmeg.
Charade is attractive in the way that men with cheekbones as high as their confidence always are. As if I need more proof that life isn’t fair.
“I didn’t realize you were awake.” He grins.
“And eavesdropping.” George’s eyes flash. “Reina wouldn’t do that.”
“You forget that I know Reina too, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that she would.”
“For the record”—my gaze slides toward the girl while still keeping Charade in my periphery—“I’m on your side.”
George’s eyes widen, then settle on Charade with satisfaction.
“Thank you for undermining everything I do, Checkmate, even when it benefits you.” His expression remains pleasant, his tone amused. “At least you’re consistent.”
“I aim to please,” I say with a small bow.
George laughs before she can make her lips press into a line. She’s one of those people who smiles with her eyes, and when our eyes meet, some of the distrust from the night before is replaced. Maybe all isn’t lost on the ally front.
“Would you mind taking our package upstairs, George? We’ll be up after Kaye gets some food.”
She nods, expression lit with traces of that smile, and disappears behind the door. Then I’m on my own with Charade once again.
Clearing my throat, I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I think I’m starting to grow on her.”
He steps to the side, and pins prick along the nerves of my spine as I pass him by.
Beyond him is a modern kitchen. Tall, dark cabinets line the walls with a clean-looking white quartz countertop.
An island with bar seating fills the central portion of the room.
Natural light filters through a pair of picture windows, highlighting the shine on the stainless-steel appliances.
The villain business pays well.
“What’ll it be?” Charade takes a place in front of the stove, sliding an apron from a drawer somewhere on his left and tying it around his waist. “Eggs? Oatmeal? The sky’s the limit here.”
“I’m not hungry.” As if on cue, an audible gurgle rips through my stomach.
A grin spreads across his lips. Smug bastard. “I’m not going to poison it. Not with you watching at least.”
“That’s very reassuring.” Pulling out one of the stools, I perch on the cushioned top. “Eggs. Scrambled, very dry. Runny yolks freak me out.”
“Sunny side up is delicious.” He tsks.
This is the most surreal day of my life. Charade cooking me breakfast is right at the top of my Hell Clearly Froze Over list. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I don’t know how much of that you heard, but George brought up an interesting point.” His voice is light, but I know him well enough to detect the edge underneath. “It would be irresponsible for me not to make sure that we’re on the same page.”
A plate piled high with steaming eggs clatters onto the counter in front of me, all melted butter and cheese.
Despite my trepidation, it’s all I can do to keep from drooling as I reach for a fork.
And gods! I never knew eggs could taste so heavenly.
I stifle a moan with a cloth napkin pressed to my lips.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smirks, pressing a mug full of coffee into my palm.
My eyes narrow. “Let’s go back to the part where you were threatening me. Again.”
“Joke all you want, but don’t drag George, her parents, or anyone else you may meet into this when you leave. I don’t care what you do to me, but I need to know you’ll keep them out of it.”
I scowl. “I’m not the one who involved them, Charade.”
His mug bangs on the counter, coffee splashing over the rim. My fork drops with the force of it. My hands raise to draw on power that is still out of reach.
His voice becomes colder. “You don’t want to find out what happens if you make yourself a liability.”
“I thought you needed my help.”
“Want,” he corrects. His hand shoots forward, and my insides curdle as strong fingers curl around my wrist. “I could make you forget.”
The words echo across my thoughts, adding weight to them.
Making them heavy. Intoxicating. The tendrils of his power wrap around my mind like a boa constrictor.
I forget the danger. Forget why this isn’t allowed.
Pushing the plate aside, I lean into his touch, heat licking up my core.
His lips brush my earlobe, the velvet timber of his voice a caress across my synapses.
“Who is George Pancost?”
A trace of her flickers and is gone.
“Who is Charade?”
The scent is stronger now, and I—I can feel the answer on the tip of my tongue.
“Who is Checkmate?”
I kick off the island, the stool slipping out from under me. The grip on my wrist releases, my mind blessedly my own again as I hit the floor. My arms bear the brunt of the fall, bruises blossoming along my forearms.
“Shit. Are you okay?” The threat drains out of his stance faster than water through a sieve, but the effects linger.
“Stay away from me,” I choke out.
Did he actually take anything? Would I even know?
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” I flinch as he crosses the barrier the island provided. He stops a few feet away, righting the stool but keeping his distance. “Last night, I came to a conclusion: if I can’t trust you, I’ll have to make you harmless instead.”
The worst part is that I get it. Wouldn’t I do the same to protect my brother? Would I do worse?
“Do we have an understanding?” he asks, and I nod. I hate the fear that sticks in the back of my throat, but I have to respect the ruthlessness that put it there. “Good girl.”
I study his fingers. Like musician’s hands, they are finely boned and flexible. Faint white scars spread like lightning along his skin. A few are red, broad, and raised as if they had been branded there. How many of them belong to me? A shiver races up my spine.
“I’ll protect you too, Kaye.” His voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“You can’t protect me from yourself.”
The tips of his middle and ring fingers twitch once in the stillness between us. His palm is warm and dry against mine. My fingers tremble, and I almost pull away. Then his strong grasp tightens and he pulls me to my feet.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
A thick, dark eyebrow raises over the contours of the glasses rim. “In that case, I have some gifts for you. I probably should have asked earlier—what’s your position on bribery?”
I sigh. “Charade.”
“I meant to say that I would never dream of bribing you, Checkmate.”
I follow him back upstairs and have just pulled open the door to my room when a lightning-fast shape darts past, arms full of bags and trailing scents of gardenia and sage.
“What—” My mind stalls mid-thought as a striking older woman turns to face us. Salt-and-pepper curls frame a warm, sculptured face down to the tops of her shoulders. A rosy hue just brushes the tops of her cheeks, and her eyes are dark and kind. The resemblance to her daughter is uncanny.
“Hello.” Her voice is deep and melodic.
“Hi.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m Kaye.”
I don’t have time to react before her arms wrap me in a hug. It’s odd, but nice. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me. Then she squeezes tighter, taking the breath from my lungs.
“I’m not really much of a hugger,” I choke out.
“I’m sorry, dear. You look like you could use it.” The pressure withdraws and she shifts instead to clutching my hands. “I’m Angela Pancost.”
Laugh lines grace the skin around her dimpled cheeks and crinkling eyes. Her frame fills out more in her jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt, but I can tell by just the strength in her arms how fit she is.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, but—” I gesture to the mountain of paper parcels on the bed. “What is all this?”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll help you put everything away. I actually miss doing these kinds of things with my kids.” Her eyes land on Charade where he leans against the doorframe.
He leans in. “You can rearrange everything once she’s gone.”
“This is for me?” I run my fingers over a sizable white and black striped bag with an elegant gold script. Hidden within layers of black tissue paper, I can just make out the hint of delicate lace detailing.
“It’s just some essentials for now.” He smirks. “I wasn’t sure what else you would need.”
“You call this essential?” I reach into another bag, only to pull out something with the fullest lavender tulle skirt I have ever seen.
T-shirts, sweaters, pajamas, and jeans in a variety of colors emerge from the bag. Two pairs of sneakers, some flats, and one inexplicable pair of heels lurk in boxes within a larger sack. Then come the soaps and toiletries, all in light, luxurious scents, like lilac and neroli.
“I don’t understand.” My fingers trace a seam on the pocket of the thickest, fluffiest bathrobe I have felt in my life. “How did you know what sizes to get?”
His mouth sets in a firm line. “Your address was on the papers the CCP had me sign. We went by your apartment.”
“My apartment’s gone. They burned everything the night they took me.”
He pulls another bag from the hallway. Something glimmers out of its black packaging. Something purple and shining bright.
“My suit.” The oxygen falters in my lungs.
One corner of his mouth rises. “I’d like to hold on to it for a bit, if that’s okay.”
The idea leadens my heart, but what good would it do me now? The sight of it used to be enough to strike fear into the hearts of New Malcolm’s criminals. Now, it’s a beacon calling out to the CCP, a spotlight blazing for them to take me again.
“I have one final surprise for you.”
Swallowing past the emotion thickening my throat, I nod. George enters with a brand-new pet carrier, blue bottom, khaki top, in her hands. A pink nose pokes out from within the metal bars that make up the carrier’s door. A nose tipped with white fur and the barest speck of a gray dot.
“Apollo!” I rush to the carrier, taking it from George’s hands with a relief that makes my head spin. My handsome gray and white tabby is nestled within. His vibrant jade eyes glow in the shadowed space, contentedly purring like he has no idea that he’s just been spending the day with the enemy.
And gods, I don’t even care! Whatever he’s done in the past, this moment is more than I could dream.
My sweet boy had been missing for about three months.
He’d disappeared before, but he always came back, fat and full of energy.
Sometimes I wonder if half the homes in New Malcolm didn’t feed him on his little vacations.
When the CCP came, I was glad he wasn’t there.
The little sleep I got in that cell was spent in tortured nightmares filled with what they might have done just to hurt me.
I’d wake crying and sick to my stomach, but full of gratitude that those visions hadn’t come to pass.
I clear my throat. “I never thought I’d see him again.”
Charade turns away just as the first tear rolls past the apex of my lips. “One of your neighbors said she spotted him roaming the building a few days ago. She stopped me on my way out of your apartment and asked if I knew how to reunite you. I couldn’t say no.”
“He’s a real sweetie.” George pokes the pad of his paw and he swipes lazily at the offending appendage. “He makes me want to get my own little pal.”
Apollo’s beautifully splotched body curves in my arms, his warm, comforting weight warming my heart. His purr thrums in my ears, strong and comforting. It kills me to put him down, but my heart is too raw, too full for anything else.
I feel him watching as I cross the room, stopping just in front of him.
His expression is unreadable behind those dark frames, even as I close the space between us.
And though I’m not normally a hugger, it feels right when I wrap him in a tight embrace.
My cheek presses into his chest, and I inhale his spicy scent.
I don’t know why, but his warm, solid presence soothes some of the ache in my chest.
“Thank you, Charade.” My eyes close as a fresh wave of tears crest my eyelashes. “Thank you.”