Rise Of The King: Checkmate, #5

by Finn, Emilia

  “Finally!” Hands in his jeans pockets, coat wrapped around his broad body, and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, Jay pushes away from his apartment door as I round the staircase and step onto the fourth floor. “I’m starving, Soph! Jesus, I’m wasting away down here, but I never know if you’re home, ‘cause you got those dancer feet. So I tap-tap-tap, but I dunno if you’re there to hear me.”

  I don’t stop when he steps in front of me. I use my dancer feet and move around him, then I keep moving down the stairs. “Hi, Jay.”

  “Wait up.” He jogs down the stairs and catches up until our shoulders touch. I pull my handbag close, though I doubt he’s here to mug me. “You hungry? Because I’m starving and have a hankering for more of Ginnie’s curly fries.”

  “That’s a good idea.” I swing down to the third floor.

  “Awesome. We can–”

  “You should go there. Ginnie is so nice, so I bet she’d hang out with you.”

  “Oh!” Laughing, he snags my arm when I hurriedly take the bottom two steps and stumble. “That was a solid brush off, Miss Wise and Peaceful. It was so smooth, it makes me think you get asked out on a regular basis. Your comeback was smoother than butter, but my stubborn streak is my most loved quality. Come on.” He tugs me in the direction of the diner as soon as we step out onto the street. Digging his free hand into his coat pocket, he comes out with gummy worms and holds his hand up in offering. “Want to pre-game our meal?”

  I scrunch my nose and study his hand with distrust. “Ew. No. Did nobody teach you about food hygiene and accepting opened food from a stranger?”

  “Nope. Where I come from, you eat what you’re given, and you don’t bitch about it.” He doesn’t say it in a cutting tone. He’s not telling me to eat what I’m told and to stop bitching. He’s recounting a literal childhood lesson. With a shrug, he pulls his hand back and shoves the worms into his mouth. “I need food, like all the damn time. It’s like a nervous energy thing; I gotta eat, or I go mad.”

  “Okay, well,” I try to spin out of his grasp, “you enjoy your meal. I was actually heading…” to Ginnie’s. But now I’m not so sure.

  “Come on. We’ve slept in the same building for months, and I didn’t murder you yet. Isn’t that proof I’m not a creep?”

  Laughing despite myself, I stop fighting and instead step into the diner when he swings the door open. “You tell all the girls to trust you on that basis?”

  “Nah. I rarely even talk to girls. Just you and Ginnie. Hi, beautiful. We’re gonna sit in a booth today.”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll be over in two secs.”

  Jay leads me to a booth on the far side of the diner and helps me slide in. From the moment I stepped out of my apartment, I’ve been railroaded and shuffled where he wants me to go. I should be pissed, but mostly my mind is stuck on I rarely even talk to girls. “I find it hard to believe Ginnie and I are the only female companions you know, Jay. This isn’t a date, and we aren’t a thing, so you don’t have to lie.”

  “Oh, nah. I meant it literally – I don’t talk to many women. I fuck them; we have fun, then they leave again. But we hardly talk.”

  I walked straight into that.

  I’m such an idiot.

  “Okay, well…” I attempt to scoot out of the booth and run away, only to be stopped when he slides in my side and jams me between his strong body and the wall. “Um…”

  Digging a hand into his coat pocket, he comes back with more gummy worms. Again, he offers, and again, he shrugs when I shake my head. “More for me. How’s your week been? Anything exciting going down?”

  “Nope.”

  “Get an offer from the Russian Dance Troupe yet?”

  “Ah… no.” Stuck for now, I pull my bag over my head and set it on the bench seat between me and the wall. My laptop is heavy, and my notebooks make it all heavier, but I don’t mind. Carrying my laptop with me has become as natural as putting on shoes on my way out the door. “I don’t really dance anymore. I’m too busy for that.”

  “Put on private shows?” His eyes come to me and show a whole other kind of hunger. “I’ve dreamed of your body, Sophia. I’ve dreamed of your beautiful eyes and long hair, and I sure as shit wouldn’t mind seeing you dance. We don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna. Clothes are optional.”

  “You’re so crass!” I forgo the knife and jam my fist into his thigh instead. “I’m not dancing for you, asshole. I’m not doing shit, except maybe applying for a new apartment on the other side of the city.”

  “Don’t do that,” he laughs. “I don’t want noisy assholes moving in upstairs. That’d make me insane, so then I’d have to move. And knowing your luck, we’d be back in the same apartment building.” He flashes a charming grin. “So really, you should just save your time and energy and stay put.”

  “I don’t dance anymore. And I definitely don’t dance for men, so you’ll just have to find a different Russian princess to lift her skirt for you.”

  “We’ll see.” He turns when Ginnie arrives with burgers and fries despite the fact neither of us ordered. My plate is just as heaped as his, but my stomach doesn’t give a shit about proprietaries and acting like a lady. I snag my plate and pull it closer before he gets it in his head to steal a fry, then picking up my burger, I take a massive bite to fill the void in my stomach.

  Jay winks at Ginnie in thanks, then turns back to me with an appreciative eye as I eat my burger. “Well, alright then.” He picks up a fry and tosses it into his mouth, then a second, and a third, until we’re a couple of cows out to pasture. “When was the last time you ate somethin’, Soph? I’m scared you’re gonna eat the table soon.”

  “I ate at nine.”

  He glances at his watch. “Nine last night?”

  “No, nine this morning.”

  He frowns. “That was two hours ago.”

  “I know.” I take another bite and moan. “Two hours is a long time in my world. I eat a lot.”

  Leaning back, he stares along my body with a critiquing eye. Fuck him for critiquing me. “You weigh, what… a hundred and fifty pounds? At the most.”

  “One-forty-three, jerkoff. You don’t see me judging your plate. You have the exact same amount of food as me.”

  “Right, but I weigh twice as much as you.”

  “You’re fat,” I grumble.

  He’s not fat. Not even a little bit. He’s toned all over, with broad shoulders and strong hands. His chest is large, and his jawline is square. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, not even beneath the extra winter coats he wears.

  Lips twitching, he turns back to his burger and picks it up with both hands. “Touché. Guess I could stand to lose a couple pounds.” He takes a large bite of his burger and winks when ketchup drips onto his chin. Playfully, he slides a finger over the mess, then pushes his finger into his mouth and sucks.

  I feel like such a cliché as I look on in mesmerization, but when he chuckles, I turn back to my food with a roll of my eyes and keep eating.

  Minutes pass as we consume our massive portions. Our plates empty at the same rate; my stomach keeps up with his despite his challenge that I can’t possibly eat it all. When he shoves the last of his burger into his mouth and chews, he picks up the napkin and wipes his hands. “You got a medical condition for eating so much?”

  “That’s a rude question to ask a lady.”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t mean to be rude. Just inquisitive.”

  His lack of filter is charming, like he’s a child and genuinely curious, and no one taught him the basic societal rules like how it’s rude to ask a lady her weight or age.

  “I have hypermetabolism, so I have to eat a lot or I get shaky. It’s not a big deal; I like eating, and I can eat anything I want without guilt, so it’s whatever. My job requires a lot of work and concentration, so I have to keep up with the food, or I spaz out and make mistakes.”

  Nodding, he selects a fry and brings it to his mouth. “Same, I guess. I developed this weird me
tabolism this year. I was always a hungry dude, but this year it went into hyperdrive. Now I have to eat all the time, too, or I get kinda nauseated.”

  “It’s not a big deal though, right?”

  “Right. I get to eat all day long. It keeps my hands busy and my energy up, so I’m not complaining. It’s kinda expensive eating out so much, though.”

  “You don’t cook?”

  He shrugs and selects another fry. “My father taught me how to cook the essentials; beans and toast are a good protein boost. I can cook for sustenance, but not for flavor. So that’s why I visit Ginnie.” Turning with a grin, he accepts the tall glass of soda when she stops by our table and shuffles it in front of me when she sets a second down. “Thanks, Gin.”

  “Welcome, honey. Ready for your dessert?”

  “Yeah, bring some for Soph, too?”

  “Of course,” she laughs. “I wouldn’t dare make you share. Back soon.”

  “So, you used to dance, but not anymore. You eat a lot and visit the diner as often as I do.” He turns so his leg hitches up onto the bench and leans against mine. “What do you do for a living, Sophia Solomon?”

  “I work in customer service.”

  He lifts his soda and sips. “Care to elaborate?”

  “If I must…” I grumble. “I work from home sometimes, and sometimes on location somewhere else. I take phone calls, usually complaints, and placate the whiner until they hang up.”

  He sets his Coke down with a snort. “You’re in a call center and take customer complaints.”

  That’ll do. “Yup. Seven days a week. I’m always working.”

  “But not between the hours of five and six in the morning.”

  “No.” I use my last few fries to mop up the ketchup that dripped from my burger. “I’ve usually already been up a few hours by that point, and by then, I need to eat again. So I come down to stretch my legs, then I get back to it.”

  “You work before five in the morning?”

  “Sure. The whole world doesn’t revolve around our country, and there’s always someone awake somewhere. There are whiners everywhere.”

  “Do you speak other languages?”

  Effortlessly, he extracts my story and makes it seem so easy. “None that are super helpful to my job. Most people in most of the countries I communicate with still speak English. Sometimes I have to work in a little Mandarin and–”

  “Mandarin?” he cuts in. “Like, Chinese?”

  “Uh-huh. I also speak Arabic. But my job mainly deals with English-speaking countries.” I pick up my Coke and fold my other hand over my bloated belly. “What do you do for work?”

  “Me?” I swear, it’s like no one has ever asked him that before. Or maybe he was telling the truth about never speaking to women. I doubt Jay discusses his career while fucking. “I sell fridges.”

  “You…” I choke on my soda and set the glass down. Accepting his offered napkin, I mop the mess from my chin. “You sell fridges? You’re joking, right? Like, if you’re going to lie, you should at least come up with something cool. You have the broad chest and shoulders, so you could say you work in a warehouse, or you’re a pro athlete, or maybe you stack sandbags or something. But you’re telling me you turn up to work every day wearing a tie and a pen in your breast pocket, and you sell fridges to every Susie Homemaker who walks in?”

  Shrugging lazily, he hides a small grin and spins his fork between our plates. “The only thing I heard just now is that you think my body is sexy, so…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” I turn back to face my empty plate and fold my arms over my stomach. “You’re delusional and a liar. You don’t sell fridges.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are that you think you can call me a liar. But whatever, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

  “Fine,” I huff. “Why aren’t you at work now?”

  “I took the day off.”

  “Why?”

  “Doctor’s appointment.”

  I narrow my eyes, because he’s such a liar. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Well, that’s a rude question to ask a guy you don’t know.”

  His chest bounces when I grind my jaw. “Fine. Whatever, it’s none of my business anyway. Can you slide out? I need to get back to work.”

  “No.” He spins his fork again. “You didn’t eat your dessert yet.”

  “I don’t have time.” When he doesn’t move, when he sits back and spreads his arms as though to settle in for the long haul, I pick up my bag and pull the strap over my head. Given no other choice, I stand in the booth to the sound of his surprised cussing and step onto the table. Standing tall over the broad and strong Jay gives a woman a special kind of power, a swirling power that makes the air in the room turn electrical.

  Bending my neck and staring down into his eyes, I swallow the lump in my throat and turn away before I say something weird. Or creepy. Or implicating.

  Stepping down onto the opposite seat, then onto the floor, I glance up when Ginnie walks toward us with wide eyes and both hands carrying plates heaped with pie and ice cream. “You’re leaving?”

  “I am, sorry.” I reach into my bag and take out enough money for his meal and mine, plus an extra twenty because now she has to scrub the tabletop extra hard because of my filthy shoes.

  I accept one of the plates and spoons, and stuff pie into my mouth as I walk away. One spoonful. Then another. Then another. The ice cream freezes my brain, but the warm pie helps defrost it again in the next breath.

  I eat two-thirds of my dessert before I reach the front counter, and because my stomach grumbles its displeasure, I stop for a moment and slam the rest down. “Thanks, Gin.” Swiping my sleeve over my mouth and setting the empty plate on the end of the counter, I drop my cash right beside it and walk away. “I’ll catch you later.”

  3

  Next

  Jay

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  From: AcesAndEights

  Subject: Peter Aguilar

  Your next target is Peter Ramone Aguilar, age thirty-seven, blond and brown, five-nine, often wears gold chains around his neck like he thinks it makes him look bad. He’ll be on third at the Gentleman’s Lounge from nine. Get in, get his information, then take him out. I’ve attached images of him buying and selling children, in case you need extra motivation.

  When you’re done, let me know what you find, and we’ll keep moving forward.

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  From: KingOnD8

  Subject: I don’t need motivation

  I’ll be there at ten. I’ll take care of it. Be ready to receive intel, because this is taking too long. You need to move faster.

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  From: AcesAndEights

  Subject: re: I don’t need motivation

  Fuck you. Don’t tell me I’m slow on this. I work around the clock for these answers. Take what you’re given and shut your pie hole.

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  From: KingOnD8

  Subject: Now I want pie

  Pie at nine. Pete at ten. Home by eleven.

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  From: AcesAndEights

  Subject: re: Now I want pie

  You keep fucking around with that chick, and I’ll remove her from the equation. Don’t get distracted, Bishop. This is more important than a good time.

  Ace’s easily thrown around “I’ll remove her from the equation” makes me angrier than it should. He’s so casual about it, so fucking smooth about extinguishing my beautiful neighbor’s flame like she doesn’t mean a damn thing.

  All because we ate a meal together and Ace is getting jealous.

  Pushing away from my desk, I stride across my apartment and stop at the windows. It’s past dinnertime; the sky outside is pitch black, and the streetlights are on. I look every damn day wi
th my binoculars, but I never see him. I never see an apartment window that might be the one that peers into mine.

  I know what to look for. I was trained to be the best, but I don’t see him no matter how often I look.

  He knows about Sophia, though she’s just a girl from the diner. I’ve watched her for months, visited that diner specifically because she’s beautiful and caught my eye, but I’ve never brought her back here, never spent time in her apartment.

  I’d like to do both.

  Fuck me, I’d like to bring her down here and fuck her against the glass just to work her out of my system.

  But wishes and actions are two completely different things, and as it stands, I’ve yet to touch Sophia.

  So why is Ace bringing her up?

  He’s never mentioned any of the women I’ve spent time with in the past.

  So why now? And why threaten her?

  Turning, I go back to my computer and hit reply.

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  From: KingOnD8

  Subject: We need to talk

  Two years, Ace. We’ve been in communication for two years, and I’ve trusted you to do the right thing. I’ve walked toward bullets on your promise it would be okay. I’ve left my brother in someone else’s care, because you said it would be okay. I’ve stayed away from Kane for months, on the proviso that you’re watching him and that he’s okay.

  I trust you.

  I’m trusting you.

  But if you threaten an innocent again, I’ll find you, and I’ll end you.

  Sophia isn’t part of this, so step the fuck back and cool it.

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  From: AcesAndEights

  Subject: re: We need to talk

  Look at you! One burger and a cute laugh, and you’re already distracted. You need to get your head on straight and remember our main objective.