by Elaina Jadin
There is a reason why I oversee the most volatile side of the Barons’ interests, the newest ventures we undertake, the ones that have yet to prove worthy of trust and longevity. Money, weapons, collateral—everyone and everything is a precarious piece on a constantly moving chess board. I help our pack stay in power by planning six moves ahead.
I motion to the board. “Ready?”
She pushes her plate away, half eaten, but I let it slide. The game itself may distract her from the playground, but I will still slice that wound open with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Perhaps it is better if she plays without a full stomach. I gesture for her to go first, and she moves a pawn forward one square.
“Have you been to a playground since the murder of your parents?” I ask, moving my own piece.
She startles, looking at me before letting her eyes slide over my shoulder to the structure behind me. “They tried to bring me,” she answers, not specifying who they are.
But it’s not hard to guess. She goes back to ignoring her surroundings, and moves another piece haphazardly. I notice her fingers tremble slightly and when she sees me looking, she tucks her hand into her lap quickly.
I take my turn slowly, biding my time. My eyes are fixed on the chess board, but I can feel her gaze on me. “See that wooden horse?”
She glances over my shoulder to an area where rambunctious young ones are scrambling over the brightly painted figures built to look like farm animals. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m contemplating bringing you back here tonight, tying you to it, and whipping you until you beg me to fuck you.”
Jemma’s eyes widen and she seems struck by my serious tone, but her cheeks grow pink and she shifts on the bench, rubbing her thighs together. I nod at the board again, and she drops her gaze obediently, returning her focus to the game.
“Am I allowed to ask questions, sir?” She slides a pawn into the perfect position to capture.
I train my eyes on her, enjoying the way she squirms under my strong gaze. Satisfaction courses through me as the flush on her skin spreads further. I rest my forearms on the table and lean forward. “You can ask me anything, Fawn. I’ll either answer, tell you I can’t, or—” my look is heated, and her blush deepens, “—suggest ways you can earn the answer.”
I capture her pawn with my rook as her lips part, and she lets out a quiet breath. Even if I couldn’t smell her excitement growing, it’s evident in the way her nostrils flare and her pupils dilate. I delight in the power I have over her by mere suggestion alone.
She contemplates the chess board as she asks, “What type of business are you all in?”
“Among other things, we operate an accounting service that tracks fluctuating investments and dividend payouts in regard to a network of unregulated sporting venues across the country.”
Jemma tips her head, a coy smile curling the corners of her lips. “You mean you run the betting books for underground fights, like the one we went to.”
“Yes.” I nod, pleased at how quickly she was able to translate my intentionally nebulous response. “As well as weapons trades and other financial investments.”
“Drugs?” she asks as she takes her turn.
I shrug. “Sometimes they come with the terms of a particular deal, but generally, no. It’s not a venture we’re interested in.”
She darts a glance at me, wariness in her eyes. “Human trafficking?”
“No.” My answer is quick and firm. Another move, another captured piece.
I move a pawn, seeing if she’ll take the sacrificial piece even though it will leave me open to end the game in six moves.
“Sex work… like brothels?” She takes the pawn, leaving her knight open.
I take her knight before answering. “Are you asking because you think you’re our whore?”
Jemma regards me with blatant shock at the pointedness of my question, then her expression flattens, her eyes growing distant, and she stares down at the board. “Isn’t that what I am? I agreed to be yours—the three of you—in exchange for money. That makes me a whore, doesn’t it?”
She doesn’t even look at me as she takes my knight with her bishop.
The move catches me off guard. “Well, what a clever little fawn,” I say, studying the board to re-strategize. “You didn’t say you knew how to play.”
“You never asked,” she counters.
“Touché.” I nod, conceding to her point.
My ingenious little geode indeed. For every bit of her hard shell I break away, more of her enigmatic self shines through. I’ve always enjoyed studying complex things—theories, programs, philosophies, machines. But Jemma is the most utterly fascinating project yet.
I move my queen to the left. “You’re not our whore, despite there being a financial component to our arrangement.”
An older couple walks by, their eyes widening at my comment, and Jemma lowers her face, staring hard at the board.
“Who taught you to play?” I ask.
“My father,” she answers, finally moving a piece. “Who taught you?”
“That’s a simple question with a complicated answer,” I tell her, my jaw tightening.
She glances at me curiously, but wisely decides not to press the topic, instead turning her attention back to the board between us.
Now that I know she’s not unfamiliar with the game, I can see the path she’s been taking the entire game. Her strategy is too simple to win against me, but it would be effective against Draven. He’s always focused on the outcome, the claim of victory at the end of a battle, and he’s too willing to sacrifice pieces of himself to ensure he gets there as quickly as he can.
He wouldn’t know what to do against this slow dance of movements, feigning and attacking, never striking directly. Jemma plays the way she lives—defending herself by making the world think less of her.
“Your father taught you about cars, correct?” I move again. Now that I understand her, I can win this particular game in three moves. Or I can draw it out, play with her longer, until I push her to the same inevitable end.
“Yes, sir,” she answers distractedly, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s invested in the game, and I enjoy watching the crease form between her brows as she thinks.
She’s almost forgotten that she’s immersed in the environment of her nightmares. I’ve kept her focused on the game well enough that she’s managed to relax a bit. But this is not truly a picnic at the park, and we are not simply here to play chess.
“Tell me what happened to your father that night.”
Her body goes stiff and her eyes snap to my face, her hand freezing midair as she reaches toward the board. She swallows hard, and her chest rises and falls quicker, the first wave of panic washing over her.
I study her, quietly waiting for an answer. She knows well enough by now that I expect one to be forthcoming, but I don’t immediately press her for it. Unlike last time, when I pulled the words and the pain from her body with harsh touches, today I will coax them out with unwavering silence, letting my patience be the threat that breaks her resistance.
She pulls her hands into her lap and her shoulders drop, her chest pulling in as though she longs to curl up in a fetal position. But there’s no pose that will offer her comfort, not here in this setting, not with my question forcing the invasion of terrible memories.
Her jaw tightens and her chin quivers when she glances past my shoulders, taking notice of the playground for the first time in a long while. Slowly, her eyes trail away from the wooden structure, and I watch as she follows an invisible path across the park.
Without looking, I know where her gaze lands—on a grassy area, similar to the one where her father was first attacked. It was evident to the crime scene investigators because of the deep gouges in the earth from the claws of the animals, and the tattered remains of clothing they found embedded there.
The reports I’ve procured are full of details, but I’m curious what she remembers.
Jemma draws in a shaky breath, her face twisted with torment. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
I remain silent, but my gaze is unwavering. Although her eyes are misted over and distant with the memories of that night haunting her mind, I know she feels my steady presence, my expectation that she push past her reluctance and answer me fully.
When she finally speaks, her words are stuttered and soft, as though she’s scared of the very sound of them. “He was attacked first. They jumped on him, and he fell to the ground.”
I simply nod, both an approval and encouragement to continue.
She squeezes her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks as she rubs the palm of her left hand, pressing so hard it blanches her skin. “We ran. My mom grabbed my hand and we ran,” she whispers, her eyes still closed. “We kept running, and I didn’t look back.”
Finally, I speak, my tone level but satisfied. “You did good, Fawn.”
“I miss them so much,” she says, a cry of anguish so soft it’s almost inaudible. Then her head lowers and her tears flow more freely, little drops dotting her hands as they fall from her face.
She sobs quietly, and I allow her the space to mourn. Around us, the world keeps spinning, the shouts of joy and warm sunshine belaying the hellish landscape of Jemma’s grief.
By the time I’ve finished my coffee, she’s dried her eyes and sniffed back the remaining tears. Her face is puffy and her eyes slightly bloodshot, but her shoulders are straighter, and the taut tension that held her in its grip is gone. She gazes at me with a calmness that she didn’t possess when we arrived.
“Let’s continue,” I say, waving a hand at the chessboard. “It’s your turn.”
Jemma nods and scoots closer to the table. “May I still ask questions, sir? I’d like to know if you have any hobbies, other than chess.”
“Of course. Many.”
She waits, clearly expecting me to continue. When I don’t, she asks, “Would you share some of them with me, Alpha?”
“Geopolitics, financial risk assessments, and heavy artillery, to name a few.”
Jemma blinks in surprise before she reaches out to the board and moves her last knight. “Respectfully, sir, those aren’t hobbies.”
I take her bishop with my own. “Should I have said knitting, decoupage, and flower arrangement?”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I hold her gaze. At last, she purses her lips together, trying not to smile, and moves her queen. “Check.”
“You’re afraid we’re just using you because you’re convenient.” It’s not a question, and the abrupt topic shift makes her glance at me warily.
After a moment she nods. “Yes,” she says softly.
“Well, you are convenient. You were delivered right into our hands, in fact. But we’ve taken to calling you Fawn for a reason. We’re the wolves in this world—we’re predators because it’s in our blood, our nature. Surely, you’ve felt that during your time with us.”
She nods again, her eyes fixed intently on me, and I continue. “You draw us to you. Powerfully—like a helpless fawn we can’t help but hunt. We sink our teeth into you because you’re delicate and tender, but full of life inside. We could resist you, but why would we offer clemency when we can enjoy the spoils of the hunt?”
Jemma’s quiet for a long time, her expression melancholy as she processes my words. “I’m not sure I understand, sir. I think I do, but I want to be sure.”
I move my king. “What I’m telling you, Fawn, is that we want you because of who you are, the way you fit us. Not because of any agreement.”
She falls silent, and I stay quiet as well, allowing her to absorb my words. In two moves, I capture her king and she lets out a sigh of defeat.
Instead of immediately packing up the set, I pull out the additional king that Miri added because that’s the type of woman she is. The board is clear now, except for a single queen and three kings opposing each other in the middle.
“Fawn, this is you,” I tap the queen in front of her. “The kings are myself, Draven, and Kade.” I add the pawns along the sides of the board, along with the rooks, knights, and bishops. “These are the players in our world. Look at me.”
Jemma’s eyes meet mine, and it’s clear she’s on a precipice she’s only now discovering.
“You promised to give yourself to us, and now we have become the most important pieces in your life,” I say, gesturing at the board. “But you may not realize that by accepting your life in our hands, we made a promise, too—to protect you at all costs, because you are ours.”
She draws in a long breath, her chest shuddering as I reach out for her hand and turn it palm up.
“To uphold that promise, we will destroy anyone who stands between us.” I set the queen in her hand, curling her fingers around it. “Because the queen is the most powerful of all.”
30
Jemma
The world is subdued around me, the warm water of my evening bath melting away all my cares. The water fills my ears, and all I can hear is the rush of blood within my veins as my hair floats around me. I used to pretend I was a mermaid when I did this as a child, even though it would drive my mom nuts when I used up all the hot water and managed to cover the bathroom floor with puddles from my splashing.
It’s been years since I’ve been in a bathtub deep enough to fully immerse myself, but today I’m reveling in the freedom of this big tub. And pretending I’m a mermaid once again because why not?
I wonder what the guys would think if I really were a mermaid—if I could change between woman and sea creature merely by dipping myself in water. That’d certainly bring a new meaning to getting me wet. The thought makes me laugh, and I almost gulp in a big lungful of water. Sitting up, I rub the water away from my eyes and reach for the bar of soap.
Draven, Bishop, Kade. Three dark men who send my heart racing.
Even after seven days, I still don’t know if I’m more terrified or turned-on by them. They’re as brutal as they appear, and no doubt—even more so. They’re the reason my body aches, from both the physical pain and the longing they create. Their strikes against my skin, their teeth pressing into my flesh, their bodies filling mine.
I want to hate it, and maybe I should. But letting these men break me down until I’m all but an echo of the person who followed Bryan into this building has brought me more than pain.
It’s pulled a sense of resiliency to the surface, one I haven’t felt in years. There’s a lightness inside me now. It’s a newfound freedom, of sorts.
My eyes stray to the bathroom counter, fixating on the small wooden chess piece I placed there before getting into the tub. I’ve not been able to let it out of my sight since Bishop first pressed it into my hand.
Perhaps it’s a symbol of how truly fucked up I am, but right now, I don’t care. I pull in a deep breath and plunge beneath the surface of the water again, my mind swimming with thoughts of the three men who’ve completely sucked me under.
As much as they’ve hurt me, I only hunger for their touch.
I want to feel the harsh crash of my walls being torn down. I want to scream as they dig their fingers inside of me and crack me open. I want to cry with release as they revel in my brokenness. And then, after they put me together again, I want to beg them for more.
The bathroom door opens, the sound muffled but still distinct through the water, and heavy footsteps clunk closer.
Kade.
Bishop is silent on his feet, almost like a ghost. Draven is, too, but his stealth is like that of a predator—waiting to make a sound when the prey is already caught.
But Kade... Kade doesn’t give a fuck because he’s barbaric. He doesn’t care if you hear him coming, because it doesn’t matter if you run, he will catch you. His footsteps will haunt your escape, reminding you that he’s unrelenting, and that sooner or later, he will have you in his grasp.
His face is blurry as I look up at him from beneath the water. I stay under, holding my breath even as my l
ungs burn. Will he reach in and pull me to the surface, demanding my attention? Or will he see how long I can hold out, until I lunge upwards, gasping to draw air?
I grow impatient with myself before either scenario happens, my mind racing to guess at what he wants, and I curl upwards, my hair slicking back, water dripping down my face. I don’t say anything as I sit up, but I do eye him cautiously. The thing I’ve learned about Kade is that I can never predict if I’m about to be slammed against the wall or quietly offered coffee and a pastry.
He cuts right to the chase. “I’m here to escort you to Draven’s office.”
A drop of water runs down my forehead, and I rub it away as I blink at him in surprise. They’ve given me privileges to move about the building unencumbered, so they could have simply sent Nio or one of the other men to tell me to haul my ass upstairs.
The water around me feels as though it’s turned to ice as I ask, “Am I in trouble?”
“No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Kade shakes his head, but his tone is all-business. “Get dressed, I’ll be waiting for you in the hallway.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice steady, even if my heart isn’t. But he’s already disappeared out the door.
Stepping out of the bath, I grab a towel and dry myself off briskly, scrubbing my hair with the thick, absorbent material as I make a beeline to the closet. I survey the items inside, but have no idea what to wear. Kade said I’m not in trouble, yet it seems something has changed. Do I dress casually, or in lingerie? Am I going to be punished or rewarded?
Finally, I select a gold wrap dress, simple in its elegance. I hope it fits the occasion, whatever it is that requires my presence this evening. There are slim pockets on either side of the dress, and I slip the small wooden chess piece into one. A few minutes later, my hair and teeth are brushed, and I’m fully dressed with my mother’s pendant in place around my neck.
I step into the hallway where I find Kade waiting for me, just as he said.
