Warren The Knight

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-1-5427-8180-0
Verlag: Skye Warren
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 2, 350 Seiten

Reihe: Endgame

 - Jodi Ellen Malpas, #1 New York Times bestselling author

The price of survival...

Gabriel Miller swept into my life like a storm. He tore down my father with cold retribution, leaving him penniless in a hospital bed. I quit my private all-girl's college to take care of the only family I have left.

There's one way to save our house, one thing I have left of value.

My body.

A forbidden auction...

Gabriel appears at every turn. He seems to take pleasure in watching me fall. Other times he's the only kindness in a brutal underworld.

Except he's playing a deeper game than I know. Every move brings us together, every secret rips us apart. And when the final piece is played, only one of us can be left standing.

THE PAWN is a full-length contemporary novel from New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren about revenge and seduction in the game of love. It's the first book in the bestselling ENDGAME series.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Warren, Skye

Leseproben

Chapter Four

In Greek mythology Helen of Troy was the most beautiful woman in the world. There are countless depictions of her in medieval and Renaissance art, each according to the artist’s own interpretation of beauty. Maybe every little girl thinks her mother is the most beautiful, but I have no problem imagining my mother in a flowing gown, looking out over a glittering green sea.

That’s my Helen James, a woman with multiple men vying for her hand in marriage. A woman who married a king. A woman completely unlike me.

So far I’ve dropped out of college, lost the family home, and sold my virginity. Not exactly anything I want told in myths years from now.

And whatever else Gabriel Miller might be, he’s not royalty.

Even so I can’t deny the grandeur of the glinting building slicing through the sun. In the lobby of Miller Industries, chandeliers made of a thousand shards shine light on a carved statue of Atlas. The earth is made of some kind of metal, its curved surface corrosive and yet somehow beautiful.

“Mr. Miller is not available,” the receptionist says, eyes a pretty blank blue behind steel-rimmed spectacles.

“I know,” I say, apologetic. “And I know this is unusual. But he knows who I am, I swear. We have a…personal connection. If you could just call up to him—”

She flicks a few keystrokes on her keyboard, managing to do her job while being a brick wall. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. Mr. Miller is—”

“Not available,” I finish, because she’s said it a half-dozen times already.

She’s determined to send me away, and I’m just as determined to stay. Whether or not Gabriel Miller intended to be kind with the donation to the nursing home, he still owns my family home. I have a slip of paper from the city proving that much.

“You can speak with the business manager assigned to your house.”

Part of me knew that Gabriel might refuse to see me, but as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Frustration churns in my stomach, acidic and hot. He did this on purpose, sending me away just as I found out he’d taken my family’s house, making sure I’d have nowhere left to turn.

“All right,” I say, hollowed out.

A random employee won’t be able to help me. He won’t know anything about the illicit auction for my virginity or Gabriel’s role in my father’s downfall.

Except the person who comes to greet me isn’t a man. It’s a woman, her navy-blue suit accentuating a narrow waist and long, dark legs. Younger than I would have expected for a person in charge of accounts this size, only a couple years older than me.

“Ms. James,” she says, her voice almost sympathetic. “I’m Charlotte Thomas. Please, let me take you upstairs. We can discuss your case.”

“Oh, thank you,” I manage, dimly aware of her shepherding me toward the bank of gleaming elevators. I hadn’t expected to be greeted so warmly by anyone here, especially not someone who has knowledge of my family’s situation.

She directs me to the elevator at the end and swipes her key card to make it open. “After you.”

I step into the gilded box, acutely aware of my plain clothes. My image is reflected back at me as the doors slide shut, a scared little girl instead of the woman I wanted to become.

“Ms. Thomas—”

“Call me Charlotte, please. Ms. Thomas is my mother.” She gives a delicate shudder, mischief sparkling in her twilight eyes. “A shark of a woman.”

I blink, awareness seeping over me. “Wait. Nina Thomas?”

A wide grin, beautiful but somewhat reminiscent of a shark herself. “That’s her.”

“She was friends with my mother,” I say, at once charmed. I met Nina Thomas only a few times at society events, but she’d given me a genuine hug each time and told me I looked just like Helen James. And she’d been the maid of honor at my parents’ wedding.

“I know,” Charlotte says, cheerful. “Mom says they were best friends. And considering she only tolerates most people, that’s saying something.”

It strikes me then that Charlotte works for Gabriel Miller, the man who tore down my father with ruthless calculation, the man who bought my virginity. The man who stole my mother’s house. My throat tightens with grief, the strange relief that my mother’s not here to see what’s happened.

Dismay must show on my face, because Charlotte touches my hand. “I know your case has…special circumstances. And I’m going to do everything I can to help.”

“Does that include giving my house back?”

“No, but I’ll explain the process to you and walk you through it. Mr. Miller is—”

She breaks off as the elevator dings. Doors slide open to reveal a broad expanse of carpet framed by deep mahogany walls. The art consists of two large canvases on either side, white with bold slashes of color, more texture than covering, a visual gauntlet.

“Mr. Miller is…?” I prompt her.

She glances back. “He’s a hard man to understand, but he’s fair.”

Fair. That’s one word to describe the way he purchased me, the way he fucked me.

My head spins from the new surroundings, the dim lighting. I felt small in the elevator, but it’s nothing compared to this hallway. I’m Alice in Wonderland, having eaten the cake that makes me small. Everything feels oversize and dark. I’m falling, falling.

In contrast Charlotte walks brusquely across the heavy pile. “Don’t be afraid,” she says.

Which isn’t exactly comforting.

But I follow her anyway, working to keep my head held high, fighting the strange oppressive weight of all this space. We reach a wood panel with no doorknob. The faint outline of a rectangle in the wood is the only hint that there’s something here. Charlotte touches the wood, which lights up in a keyboard beneath her fingertips, some kind of glowing installation. High-tech security disguised as old-money luxury. The panel swings open, revealing an even larger office.

She leads me inside, her movements full of grace.

I feel like an unsteady colt following her, newborn and naive.

There are two wide leather chairs sitting in front of a desk the size of a car. I perch on the end of one, knees pressed together, hands squeezed between them. The hard press of denim against my skin grounds me. I’m not really falling. Or if I am, I’ll have to land soon.

Charlotte perches on the edge of the desk, only a few feet away. “Your house is in a kind of financial staging area, owned by a temporary holding company pending its auction to collect debts owed.”

My hands wring together. “I don’t understand how the house left my trust. It wasn’t owned by my father. It shouldn’t have been responsible for the judgments against him.”

And a dark part of me whispered that my mother had known something like this might happen, that she’d put it into my trust to protect me no matter what my father might do.

What secrets had she known?

“I’m not sure about the trust,” Charlotte says, expression apologetic. “All I know is what happened after the court seizure and subsequent placement with Miller Industries.”

I know my next step needs to be visiting Uncle Landon. He’s been the administrator for my trust ever since my mother died. And he told me the house was safe. But the last time I saw him was at the auction, when he called me a whore. When he told me I’d disgraced my mother’s memory.

Deep breath. “Is there any way to stop the auction? What if I can pay the debt owed?”

Gabriel Miller paid one million dollars for my virginity. He put the money into escrow after the auction, but I can only collect it after a month. That means in two weeks I could pay the taxes and whatever else.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. An auction is the only way it can leave our possession, due to the strict regulations that define our role as a holding company.”

I bite my lip. “Could I bid on the house?”

“You could,” she says slowly.

“How much will it go for?”

“The bidding will start at a nominal two hundred thousand dollars. How far it goes after that…” Her slender shoulder lifts. “The house is worth several million dollars on the regular market, but in an auction houses are often sold for a fraction of their worth.”

A fraction, like one million dollars? Because that’s all I have. “When is the auction?”

She hesitates. “That’s why I’ve been calling you.”

I couldn’t afford my cell phone anymore. “Why?”

“The auction is in two days.”

Definitely falling. “No. I can’t have the money by then. Why is it so soon?”

“Auctions are usually conducted with reasonable speed, so the debts are paid quickly and interest doesn’t grow.”

“Two days!” God, the trial and judgment for my father’s case took six months.

Her pretty brown eyes don’t meet mine. “Your case has been especially fast.”

Heat stings my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of her. My hands tighten into fists, fighting the wave of emotion. “Is there any way to delay the auction?”

“You could file for an extension,” she says slowly. “A lawyer could help you do that. But…”

A low voice comes from behind me. “But no judge in this city will grant the motion.”

I jump to my feet and turn around, facing Gabriel Miller for the first time since he took my virginity. I had been naked that night, skin pale, a streak of red on the sheet. For all that I had been vulnerable then, I’d also worn makeup. And I had known what I...