by Skye Warren
THE PAWN AND THE KNIGHT
SKYE WARREN
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
THE PAWN
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
THE KNIGHT
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Excerpt from Overture
More Books by Skye Warren
About the Author
Copyright
THE PAWN
SKYE WARREN
Every pawn is a potential queen.
– James Mason
Prologue
The party spills over with guests, from the ballroom to the front lawn. It’s nighttime, but the house is lit up, bright as the sun. All around me diamonds glitter. We’ve reached that tipping point where everyone is sloshed enough to smile, but not so much they start to slur. There’s almost too many people, almost too much alcohol. Almost too much wealth in one room.
It reminds me of Icarus, with his wings of feather and wax. If Icarus had a five-hundred-person guest list for his graduation party. It reminds me of flying too close to the sun.
I snag a flute of champagne from one of the servers, who pretends not to see. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a detour through the kitchen. Rosita stands at the stove, stirring her world-famous jambalaya in a large cast iron pot. The spices pull me close.
I reach for a spoon. “Is it ready yet?”
She slaps my hand away. “You’ll ruin your pretty dress. It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”
We have caterers who make food for all our events, but since this is my graduation party, Rosita agreed to make my favorite dish. She’s going to spoon some onto little puff pastry cups and call it a canape.
I try to pout, but everything is too perfect for that. Only one thing is missing from this picture. I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Rosita. Have you seen Daddy?”
“Where he always is, most likely.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. Then I’m through the swinging door that leads into the private side of the house. I pass Gerty, our event planner, who’s muttering about guests who aren’t on the invite list.
I head up the familiar oak staircase, breathing in the scent of our house. There’s something so comforting about it. I’m going to miss everything when I leave for college.
At the top of the stairs, I hear men’s voices.
That isn’t unusual. I’m around the corner from Daddy’s office. There are always men coming to meet with him. Half the people he works with are downstairs right now. But he promised no work tonight, and I’m going to hold him to it, even if I have to drag him downstairs myself.
“How dare you accuse me of…”
The venom in the words stops me on the landing. That doesn’t sound like a regular business meeting. Things might get tense around a contract, but there’s plenty of back slapping and football talk before and after.
More heated words hover just below the noise of the party, ominous and indistinguishable. I twist my hands together, about to turn around. I won’t bother him after all.
A man rounds the corner, almost colliding into me.
I gasp, taking a step back. There’s nothing behind me. The stairs! Then two hands grasp my arms, hauling me back onto steady ground. I have only a glimpse of furious golden eyes, almost feline, definitely feral. Then he’s sweeping past me down the stairs. I cling to the carved banister, my knees weak.
It’s another minute before I can detach myself from the wood railing. My breath still feels shuddery from that near miss, from that man’s hands on my bare arms. I find Daddy pacing inside his office. He glances up at me with a strange expression—almost like panic.
“Daddy?”
“There you are, Avery. I’m sorry. I know I said no work—”
“Who was that?”
A cloud crosses over his expression. Only now, in the lamp’s eerie glow, do I notice the lines on his face. Deeper than ever. “Don’t worry about him. This night is all about you.”
Now that I’ve started noticing his appearance, I can’t stop. His hair. All salt now. No more pepper. “You know I don’t need all this. This party. Everything. You don’t have to work so hard.”
The smile that crosses his face is wistful. “What would I do if I wasn’t working?”
I shrug, because it doesn’t matter. My friend Krista’s dad plays golf every single day. Harper’s mom is on her fourth husband. Anything but plant himself behind a desk, eyes soft with strain. “You could date or something.”
He laughs, looking more like himself. “You’re the only girl in my life, sweetie. Now, come on. Let’s join the party before they trash the place.”
His arm around my shoulders pulls me close, and I curl into his jacket. I breathe in the comforting smell of him—the faint scent of cigar smoke, even though he swears he’s quit. I lay my head on his shoulder as we pass the chessboard where we play together.
“I’ll miss our games.”
He kisses my temple. “Not as much as I’ll miss you.”
“You could download an app on your phone. We could play online.”
“I’m lucky if I can make calls on this damn thing,” he says, laughing. His expression darkens when he looks at the screen of his phone, reading the text across a white popup background. “Sweetheart, I have to call someone.”
Disappointment burns down my throat. Of course he’s a busy man. Most of my friends barely know their dads. I’m lucky he’s always made time for me. No matter how crazy things get at his business, he always makes time for our chess games. Every week.
I kiss his cheek, seeing the age spots on l
eathery skin for the first time.
Downstairs I find Justin by following the sound of his laugh. It’s a big, booming laugh that I suspect he’s practiced. However it happened, it’s infectious. I’m already grinning when I enter the room.
He holds out his hand to me. “The woman of the hour.”
I fold into his side, tickled by the champagne in my bloodstream and the relief of being downstairs. Whatever happened in that office was tense. Dark. “I was just checking on Daddy.”
“Working,” Justin guesses.
“Unfortunately.”
“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me,” Justin says, winking at the couple he was talking to. I recognize them as a famous neurosurgeon and his wife, parents to a man running for the state senate seat.
I make my introductions to them. Of course this party isn’t only for my high school graduation. Like all the other parties in Tanglewood society, it’s about networking. For my father. For Justin, who has big plans to follow his father’s footsteps into politics.
“Salutatorian,” Justin’s saying. “You should have heard her speech about the way the things we do now are the myths of the future.”
The man smiles, somewhat indulgent. “She’ll be a great asset to you, son.”
I manage to keep a pleasant expression, even though I hope to be more than an asset. I want to be his partner. He knows that, doesn’t he? Justin has that public smile, the one that’s too bright and too white. The one that doesn’t mean anything.
By the time we make our excuses, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
Justin pulls me behind a screen, nuzzling my neck. “Maybe we can sneak up to your room.”
“Oh,” I say, a catch in my breath. “I think Daddy will be down soon…”
“He won’t find out,” he murmurs, his hands sliding over my dress, under it. We’re not visible to the party, but anyone could walk back here. My heart pounds. His hands are soft and grasping—and for some reason my mind flashes to the man at the top of the stairs, his firm grip on my arms.
“Justin, I—”
“Come on. You turned eighteen two weeks ago.”
And okay, I did use that as an excuse before. Because I didn’t feel ready. And it has nothing to do with how old I am or how much I love Justin. Maybe if my mother were still alive, if she could have told me the secrets of being a woman. The internet is a terrifying teacher.
I turn in his arms, pushing him to arms’ length. “I love you.”
He frowns. “Avery.”
“But it wasn’t just being seventeen. It’s everything. I want… I want to wait.”
His eyes narrow, and I’m sure he’s going to say no. He’s going to storm off. What if I ruined everything?
By degrees he seems to relax. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He sighs. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m willing to wait. You’re worth waiting for.”
My throat feels tight. I know it’s a lot to ask for, but he’s the best boyfriend I can imagine. And Daddy loves him, which is a huge plus. This fall I’ll start school at Smith College, the same private all-girls college where Harper’s going. Everything is perfect.
That’s how it feels in this moment, like flying.
I have no idea that in less than a year I’ll fall from the sky.
Chapter One
Wind whips around my ankles, flapping the bottom of my black trench coat. Beads of moisture form on my eyelashes. In the short walk from the cab to the stoop, my skin has slicked with humidity left by the rain.
Carved vines and ivy leaves decorate the ornate wooden door.
I have some knowledge of antique pieces, but I can’t imagine the price tag on this one—especially exposed to the elements and the whims of vandals. I suppose even criminals know enough to leave the Den alone.
Officially the Den is a gentlemen’s club, the old-world kind with cigars and private invitations. Unofficially it’s a collection of the most powerful men in Tanglewood. Dangerous men. Criminals, even if they wear a suit while breaking the law.
A heavy brass knocker in the shape of a fierce lion warns away any visitors. I’m desperate enough to ignore that warning. My heart thuds in my chest and expands out, pulsing in my fingers, my toes. Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the whoosh of traffic behind me.
I grasp the thick ring and knock—once, twice.
Part of me fears what will happen to me behind that door. A bigger part of me is afraid the door won’t open at all. I can’t see any cameras set into the concrete enclave, but they have to be watching. Will they recognize me? I’m not sure it would help if they did. Probably best that they see only a desperate girl, because that’s all I am now.
The softest scrape comes from the door. Then it opens.
I’m struck by his eyes, a deep amber color—like expensive brandy and almost translucent. My breath catches in my throat, lips frozen against words like please and help. Instinctively I know they won’t work; this isn’t a man given to mercy. The tailored cut of his shirt, its sleeves carelessly rolled up, tells me he’ll extract a price. One I can’t afford to pay.
There should have been a servant, I thought. A butler. Isn’t that what fancy gentlemen’s clubs have? Or maybe some kind of a security guard. Even our house had a housekeeper answer the door—at least, before. Before we fell from grace.
Before my world fell apart.
The man makes no move to speak, to invite me in or turn me away. Instead he stares at me with vague curiosity, with a trace of pity, the way one might watch an animal in the zoo. That might be how the whole world looks to these men, who have more money than God, more power than the president.
That might be how I looked at the world, before.
My throat feels tight, as if my body fights this move, even while my mind knows it’s the only option. “I need to speak with Damon Scott.”
Scott is the most notorious loan shark in the city. He deals with large sums of money, and nothing less will get me through this. We have been introduced, and he left polite society by the time I was old enough to attend events regularly. There were whispers, even then, about the young man with ambition. Back then he had ties to the underworld—and now he’s its king.
One thick eyebrow rises. “What do you want with him?”
A sense of familiarity fills the space between us even though I know we haven’t met. This man is a stranger, but he looks at me as if he wants to know me. He looks at me as if he already does. There’s an intensity to his eyes when they sweep over my face, as firm and as telling as a touch.
“I need…” My heart thuds as I think about all the things I need—a rewind button. One person in the city who doesn’t hate me by name alone. “I need a loan.”
He gives me a slow perusal, from the nervous slide of my tongue along my lips to the high neckline of my clothes. I tried to dress professionally—a black cowl-necked sweater and pencil skirt. His strange amber gaze unbuttons my coat, pulls away the expensive cotton, tears off the fabric of my bra and panties. He sees right through me, and I shiver as a ripple of awareness runs over my skin.
I’ve met a million men in my life. Shaken hands. Smiled. I’ve never felt as seen through as I do right now. Never felt like someone has turned me inside out, every dark secret exposed to the harsh light. He sees my weaknesses, and from the cruel set of his mouth, he likes them.
His lids lower. “And what do you have for collateral?”
Nothing except my word. That wouldn’t be worth anything if he knew my name. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I don’t know.”
Nothing.
He takes a step forward, and suddenly I’m crowded against the brick wall beside the door, his large body blocking out the warm light from inside. He feels like a furnace in front of me, the heat of him in sharp contrast to the cold brick at my back. “What’s your name, girl?”
The word girl is a slap in the face. I force myself not to flinch, but it’s hard. Everything about him overwhelms
me—his size, his low voice. “I’ll tell Mr. Scott my name.”
In the shadowed space between us, his smile spreads, white and taunting. The pleasure that lights his strange yellow eyes is almost sensual, as if I caressed him. “You’ll have to get past me.”
My heart thuds. He likes that I’m challenging him, and God, that’s even worse. What if I’ve already failed? I’m free-falling, tumbling, turning over without a single hope to anchor me. Where will I go if he turns me away? What will happen to my father?
“Let me go,” I whisper, but my hope fades fast.
His eyes flash with warning. “Little Avery James, all grown up.”
A small gasp resounds in the space between us. He already knows my name. That means he knows who my father is. He knows what he’s done. Denials rush to my throat, pleas for understanding. The hard set of his eyes, the broad strength of his shoulders tells me I won’t find any mercy here.
I square my shoulders. I’m desperate but not broken. “If you know my name, you know I have friends in high places. Connections. A history in this city. That has to be worth something. That’s my collateral.”
Those connections might not even take my call, but I have to try something. I don’t know if it will be enough for a loan or even to get me through the door. Even so, a faint feeling of family pride rushes over my skin. Even if he turns me away, I’ll hold my head high.
Golden eyes study me. Something about the way he said little Avery James felt familiar, but I’ve never seen this man. At least I don’t think we’ve met. Something about the otherworldly glow of those eyes whispers to me, like a melody I’ve heard before.
On his driver’s license it probably says something mundane, like brown. But that word can never encompass the way his eyes seem almost luminous, orbs of amber that hold the secrets of the universe. Brown can never describe the deep golden hue of them, the indelible opulence in his fierce gaze.
“Follow me,” he says.
Relief courses through me, flooding numb limbs, waking me up enough that I wonder what I’m doing here. These aren’t men, they’re animals. They’re predators, and I’m prey. Why would I willingly walk inside?
