Wicked Knight

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Cool,” Hannah says before twisting in her seat to see Hope. “You okay back there?”

  I can see her in my rearview mirror, and Hope gives a toothy smile of adoration to her mom. I knew Hannah was beyond happy to have her daughter back, but it’s clear the feeling goes both ways.

  Hannah fills me in on her search for a new house in a safer neighborhood. By the time I make it over to my dad’s neighborhood, I’ve resolved myself to pay Hannah more when I move her over to Knight Investment Group so she can afford even better than what she’s considering right now.

  “Whoa,” Hannah gasps as we’re given admittance at the guard house. The wrought-iron gates swing slowly inward, and I drive through. “I didn’t know houses like this existed.”

  My guess is this community doesn’t have a house that costs less than five million. Most are priced well above it. Every single home has custom landscape lighting, so everything is lit up in a warm, safe glow. The sidewalks are already crawling with other neighborhood rich kids in their costumes.

  When I turn onto my dad’s street and see his house in the distance, I can’t help but hit the brakes to come to a dead stop in the road.

  There’s my dad’s mansion, all white stucco and red-tiled roof—not dark and abandoned looking to ward off trick-or-treaters but blazing with light and decorations.

  Orange lights are wrapped around the portico columns and throughout the bushes along the front. The front porch has an impressive display of hay bales, pumpkins, and a full-sized stuffed scarecrow lounging there.

  “What the f—?” I catch myself before the F-bomb flies, gaze going quickly to Hannah. “Looks like my dad is home and open for Halloween business.”

  “Is that a problem?” Hannah asks uneasily.

  “Not for our plans tonight,” I mutter as I start driving again. “But I might be seriously scarred for life that my dad has started celebrating this holiday.”

  Hannah snickers, and Hope asks, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” Hannah reassures her.

  We pull into my dad’s circular driveway. As we’re getting out of the car, a group of trick-or-treaters bound up his porch and ring the doorbell. My jaw drops wide open when I see the door swing open to my dad standing there with a huge sombrero on his head, a Mexican poncho around his shoulders, and a horrendously large black mustache on his face.

  “Trick or treat,” the kids all yell. My dad laughs, tossing candy in their bags and buckets from a huge bowl. The kids leave, and a woman appears at his side.

  His new fiancée, Mandy. She’s dressed as a witch. And not a sexy bombshell witch or even Glinda the Good Witch of the North. Nope—she’s an old hag-like witch, complete with green skin and a bump on her nose.

  Holy shit.

  My dad sees me. I can’t tell, but I think he smiles underneath that big mustache. I want to jump back in the car and drive away because this is freaking me out so bad. Instead, I walk around the front of the car and offer my hand to Hannah. She’s already got Hope out of the car, her other hand touching Hope’s back.

  As I guide Hannah, she steers Hope forward and up the porch steps to come face to face with a man I no longer recognize.

  Metaphorically, of course.

  My dad bends over, the little tiny row of colorful pom-poms hanging from his sombrero waving back and forth. “Well, look at you. What’s your name?”

  “Hope,” she says.

  Hannah reminds her, “Say trick or treat.”

  Hope does, and my dad laughs. He immediately proceeds to toss most the bowl of candy in her bucket, filling it almost halfway up.

  Straightening, he raises an eyebrow at me expectantly. I jolt into action, remembering my manners. “Dad… this is Hannah Madigan. You’ve met her daughter, Hope.”

  I switch my attention to Mandy, who I grudgingly admit I have a small measure of respect for since she managed to get my dad to dress up in that ridiculous costume. “And this is his fiancée, Mandy.”

  Hannah shakes both their hands graciously, and they exchange pleasantries.

  “I thought we’d use your neighborhood to trick or treat in. I’m just going to leave my car in the driveway if that’s okay?” I ask my dad.

  “Of course, of course,” he booms jovially. “And when you’re done, come inside and we’ll have a drink. Mandy made some Halloween cookies. I bet Hope would love some.”

  “If it’s not too late,” I say, vowing silently to make it so. “We better get going.”

  I usher Hannah and Hope out to the sidewalk and we head down the street to the next property.

  “Your dad seems nice,” Hannah says, and my head snaps her way.

  “That man you just saw… I think he’s been overtaken by aliens.”

  Hannah laughs. “You mean your father isn’t normally nice?”

  “He’s nice enough,” I admit. “But dressing up like that? Actually celebrating a holiday? That was just very, very weird.”

  I get a little smirk from Hannah. “I think it’s sweet. I bet his fiancée got him to do it.”

  That’s probably true. There must be some outside force that made such a change in him.

  As we traverse the neighborhood, Hope talks excitedly about the other kids and their costumes. I wait at the bottom of each porch as Hannah walks with her to the door, wondering how I ended up in this Twilight Zone.

  Taking a woman and her child out trick or treating.

  My dad embracing a holiday and dressing up.

  My questioning whether I could let Hannah go to Knight Investment Group. It seems a little too magnanimous for such a selfish son of a bitch.

  The best thing would be to cut Hannah loose tonight. We’ll part as friends, and I can feel proud about my good deeds. I can move on… probably even hit the Wicked Horse tonight and get laid.

  For the first time in forever, the thought of going to the club has no appeal to me whatsoever.

  I ponder it all as we move from house to house. Hannah eventually lets Hope go up on her own while we wait out on the sidewalk. Her phone stays out, and she has probably taken a million pictures of her daughter already.

  She’s snapping more as we watch Hope walk up to another door.

  “Are you okay?” she unexpectedly asks me, and I jolt.

  “Yeah… why?” I ask in surprise.

  “You’re just really quiet. I don’t know… you seem to be struggling with something.”

  Hannah puts her phone in her pocket before facing me. She moves in closer, her eyebrows pulling in with concern.

  Christ, she’s beautiful. More so than any other woman I’ve ever known. It’s an inside-and-out sort of beauty, and the thought of not seeing her anymore causes my gut to tighten painfully.

  “No,” I say after clearing my throat. I give her a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

  Might as well just fucking go for it.

  “My sister puts on this charity gala, and it’s in a few weeks. My mom used to do it and well, Christina has taken up the helm on the project. Would you like to go as my date?”

  Hannah just stares at me, obvious confusion written on her face. “Date?”

  “You heard me correctly,” I say with a smirk, thinking she’s so cute right now and it’s going to suck not to be able to fuck her tonight.

  Hannah worries at her lip with her teeth a moment before she blinds me with a smile. “Okay. But what do I wear? And I need to know when, since I’ll need to find a sitter for Hope. Or maybe her dad can take her for the night.”

  She goes on and on about it, and I assure her that I’ll help her with a dress and we’ll get everything sorted. We continue to walk from house to house, letting Hope fill her bucket with candy. Out of the blue, Hannah slips her arm through mine as we stroll.

  My reflex isn’t to push her away. Rather, I instinctually pull her in closer to me.

  S
o this evening isn’t ending like I had originally planned, but I think I’m okay with that.

  CHAPTER 22

  Hannah

  I knock on Asher’s office door, then wait for him to invite me in. Even though he met me at the front door of his apartment this morning when I arrived, and promptly dragged me back to his bedroom for some wild monkey sex, I would never think it’s my place to enter one of his rooms with a closed door.

  Particularly his office where I know he’s doing important things as the CEO of Knight Investment Group.

  “You can come in,” he calls out genially, and I open the door to stick my head in.

  His smile is breathtaking when he sees me. More beautiful now because he smiles at me in a different way.

  It’s still just as knowing, but there’s a softness to it that he’s never shown me before.

  “I’m done with everything else except your office,” I say hesitantly. “I don’t want to disturb you, though.”

  “Your presence in my home disturbs me every minute you’re here,” he drawls, and my heart plummets over his harsh words. “I can’t think straight when I know you’re just in the next room over and I could be fucking you.”

  My eyes go wide, and I swallow hard.

  “But,” he says with a slow grin curving upward. “That’s my problem, not yours. So please… have at it.”

  He sweeps his arm to show I can come in and attack the interior. I enter the room fully, leaving the door open. I have a carrying bucket with my cleaning supplies, and I pull out my feather duster to start on his custom-built shelves that line the wall behind his desk.

  He has a rolling library ladder I use to get to the top shelf. I methodically make my way down the units, getting closer to where he sits. His desk is placed in the middle of the room and his chair is between it and the shelves. I’m going to have to work my way around him, or demand he get out of my way, which is probably the better way.

  When I cast a glance at him, I find him lewdly watching me, his eyes pinned on my ass as I bend over to hit a bottom shelf.

  “Perv,” I mutter, and he laughs.

  “I can’t help it if your ass is distracting,” he murmurs in a husky tone. “So many things I want to do it.”

  The back of my neck heats, and my nipples tingle. Just this morning, he was riding me from behind and he stuck his index finger in my backside. I’d shrieked from the unexpected burst of pleasure that hit me. I was so embarrassed I tried to get him to stop, but he held me tightly in place. When he started to move that finger in conjunction with his thrusts into me, I went dizzy from the pleasure. It was not like anything I’d ever felt before. Before long, I was throwing myself backward onto him.

  Onto his finger.

  His cock.

  A strong cramp hits me between my legs. I wouldn’t fight him at all if he wanted to drag me off to his room again.

  I stand, move to the next unit, and start at the top again. When I come down off the ladder, which is now just a foot from Asher’s chair, I tell him, “You’re going to need to move.”

  He scoots his chair—which is on rollers—mere inches toward the desk, which is not enough room to get the rolling ladder by him.

  I glare at him, and he smirks.

  “Fine,” I say under my breath as I turn to face his desk. He keeps it pristine with documents neatly stacked in wooden trays and barely any knickknacks taking up the surface. I hit it with my feather duster, feeling Asher’s stare on me the entire time. I choose to go around the front of the desk rather than maneuvering behind him. When I get to the other side, he says, “Any chance I could get you to sit on my lap while you dust my desk?”

  Biting back a smile, I try to look professionally stern as I swish my duster over the dark cherry surface. “Mr. Knight… that’s sexual harassment.”

  “So sue me,” he taunts before suggesting, “Or… we could get naked.”

  “Not interested,” I tell him—untruthfully—and pivot for the bookshelves again.

  Asher’s hand shoots out, latching around my stomach, and he pulls me right onto his lap as he suggested. Screaming with laughter, I try to wiggle away. I can feel the thick ridge of him under my thighs, and he snatches the duster out of my hand while tightening his hold on me.

  “You know,” he says in a playful voice. “I bet I could make you come with this thing.”

  Oh, man. Really?

  But I’m not ready to roll over and expose my belly so to speak. I try to snatch the duster back from him. He’s too quick and moves it out of the way. I lunge, faster than he gives me credit for, and my hand latches onto a fistful of feathers. I jerk hard. To my surprise, my hand sails back clutching a massive amount of brownish-gray feathers.

  The force causes my arm to fly all the way across his desk, and it hits against something.

  I hear a crash. As I turn to see what I just knocked to the floor, my stomach knots in horror as I see it was the picture of his dead wife and him. It lays face down on the hardwood floor, but I know it’s the one with Michelle. It’s the only picture he has in this office.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I moan as I scramble off Asher’s lap. He makes this easy by releasing his hold on me. I kneel and gingerly pick up the frame. Glass falls loose onto the floor. I turn it over to see Michelle smiling back at me with some larger pieces of cracked glass still hanging onto the inside.

  I turn to look at Asher, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “I am so sorry, Asher.”

  He just sits in his chair, staring a little blankly at the picture frame in my hand. My stomach knots even more.

  “The picture is okay,” I rush to assure him, glancing back down at it one more time to reassure myself that it is. And it is. The picture inside looks unscathed. My gaze goes back to Asher. “I can run out right now and buy another frame. I’m sure I can find one just like it. Christ… first the Chihuly and now this. I’m such a klutz.”

  I’m startled when Asher reaches out. He doesn’t take the picture from my hand, but rather grabs my free hand. He squeezes it, giving me a soft, forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Hannah.”

  “I feel terrible,” I say weakly.

  Asher stands from the chair and takes the frame. I release it gladly. Without even looking at it, he sets it on the desk and then pulls me into him.

  His arms come around my waist, his head dipping so he can brush his lips across mine. My entire body wants to melt in relief. I feel like I could use a good wailing cry.

  “I swear it’s fine,” he says after pulling back to look at me.

  We stare at each other a moment, and I desperately search for some sign within his expression that he’s truly okay with this. His gaze doesn’t waver, and I’m slightly mollified.

  Stepping out of his arms, I say, “Let me go get a broom and dust pan to clean up this glass.”

  Asher smiles and nods. “Sure.”

  I scurry to the door. Just as I’m about to walk through, I look over my shoulder at him. He’s turned to the desk and is picking up the frame. My heart seems to stall in my chest as he rubs a thumb over the edge while he stares at his dead wife.

  Then, he pulls open a side drawer of the desk and puts it in there. I get the hell out of there before he finds me spying on him.

  It should take me less than thirty seconds to get the broom and dust pan, but I’m still a little shaken by the whole incident. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and drink half of it before I have myself calmed down enough to go back into his office.

  With my implements in hand, I make my way back there. The door is still open. Asher sits behind his desk again, packing up papers into a briefcase.

  Without looking at me, he says, “I’m going to go into the office for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Okay,” I murmur in response.

  Is he mad? Morose? Indifferent? I can’t tell.

  I make quick work of sweeping up the glass from the floor, then dump it into the garbage can by his desk.

  “I’m really
sorry,” I feel the need to apologize again, wondering if the status of this budding relationship just took a major hit.

  Asher stands from his chair. Again, I get another smile—genuine and understanding. “Hannah… don’t apologize again. You hurt nothing. Do you understand me?”

  I nod although it’s not clear if he’s talking about the frame, himself, or both.

  He holds my gaze with his for what seems like a pointedly long moment, and then he bowls me over with his next words. “It was time I put that picture away.”

  “Oh, no,” I rush to assure him, stepping in close and putting the hand still clutching the dust pan to his chest. “I would never want you to feel like you had to put away a picture of the woman you love just to make me feel better about the whole thing.”

  A twinkle of amusement lights up his eyes, and he bends down to put his face on level with mine. So now, he’s not looking down at me, but rather right at me. It’s a move that says, I’m being serious so listen well.

  His hand comes to my face. He uses it to take hold of my jaw, the implication being that I can’t look away from him.

  “I did love Michelle,” he says in the softest of tones, yet its shot through with an iron strength of determination. “But that’s not why I’ve kept her picture out five years after her death. I had it out as a reminder that you never truly know someone.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper as I lower my hand and the dust pan away from his chest.

  For a moment, his expression turns pained, causing me to want to throw my arms around him. He grimaces and sighs. Setting his briefcase down, he leans back against his desk and crosses his arms.

  “Michelle had some bouts of depression,” he explains. I feel ridiculous standing there with a broom in one hand and the dust pan in the other, but I’m rooted to the spot. “She took medication for it. I assumed it was working because not in a million years would I have ever thought she was in such a dark place that she’d kill herself. I’ve tortured myself since then, Hannah, wondering what I missed. How I missed it. Was I stupid or just naïve? Or was she just so fucking great at hiding it? What if I should have seen it, though? What if it was right there in front of me and I just missed it because I was so wrapped up in work or myself or what the fuck ever?”