“Wait.” He tugs on my hand, still encased in his. I stumble as our arms go taut and he refuses to let go. He pulls me closer, until I am standing between his legs. “Look at me, Kaye.”
My cheeks burn. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. He stands, and I try once again to move away, but he still won’t let me. His body is flush with mine, his hips pressing just below my belly, our chests touching with every breath. His free hand tips my chin.
His gaze snares me, holds me captive as he skims his lips against the back of my hand. “You have no idea how long I have waited for that, but I can’t do this if you don’t trust me. Too much is at stake, and I respect you too much for that.Can you honestly say you trust me, Checkmate?”
“I’ll help you with C,” I deflect.
He sighs, his arms falling away. His forehead presses to mine until he’s all I can see. His pupils are dilated, blown wide as if I am the light he desperately needs in the darkness of shadow. His lips part, the tip of his tongue darting across his lower lip. I drag my gaze from the sight.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he says. “If you don’t trust me after, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to let you go, Kaye. Not anymore.”
A chill races across my skin as reality sneaks in and I remember exactly who he is. What he can do with even the smallest touch.
What will happen when we are enemies again?
More concerning is the thought echoing in my mind long after I leave him there:
For this man, I might just be willing to break.
17
KAYE
“This is what you wanted to show me?” I study the sturdy, stone architecture. Smooth arches flaunt gravity, framing leaded stained-glass scenes of religious lore and towering over shadowy walkways. “It’s a church.”
“A cathedral.”
As if that makes it better.
The dark windows lit only by the glow of candles give the structure a warm, albeit intimidating glow. The Neo-Gothic stone spires point to the sky with ominous precision. It’s the kind of building that inspires awe and trepidation in equal measure.
It’s large, despite being tucked in a corner of town far away from the main population of the city. Eyeing the smattering of crumbling houses, empty lots, and abandoned buildings surrounding the sizable parking lot, my nerves grew. The parishioners must be dedicated. On the far side of the concrete lot, a community garden stretches as wide as the parameters of its wooden fence allows.
An angelic statue towers not far from the path, its wings spread wide to engulf the sky on either side. Its downcast eyes examine a sword resting across its marble palms. The sculpturemanaged to capture a sad, but righteous expression. A plaque at the angel’s feet names the place of worship as “Our Lady of Sacred Redemption Cathedral and School.”
“Come on.” Zane tugs on my sleeve. His mask gleams alabaster under the streetlights, its blank expression still disconcerting even if it has been softened by my newfound ally’s ease.
My own unfamiliar mask itches against the contours of my cheeks. George bandaged the scratches before we left, but the extra fabric made it worse. It’s plain and white, far too similar to Charade’s for my liking. Definitely not something Checkmate would wear.
I may never be Checkmate again.
The realization presses the air tight in my lungs, tight enough that I begin to feel dizzy and need to focus on breathing. I press my lips closed, my knuckles whitening as I grip the door. I already got an earful from George about taking it easy. The only reason she let me go is because Zane would be there too.
We left the manor in a nondescript gray Honda Civic sporting a license plate that Zane pulled out of a random cupboard in the garage. The GTR needed “a little love” since my joyride, and a little anonymity wouldn’t hurt while we were both on the mend. We stashed the car in a covered lot a few blocks away and the distance make my anxiety spike.
“I’ve got your back.” Zane bites the corner of his bottom lip, brow furrowing.
Strangely, I think I believe him—and that’s the most dangerous thought of all.
Wooden doors decorated in delicate carvings of shepherds and cherubic children guard the cathedral’s entrance, each lined in black forged iron. The cool metal turns easily in my palm and the door swings inward on well-greased hinges.
The scent of incense tickles my nose as we step inside. Movement catches in the corner of my eye before a solid force pushes me to the side, my shoulders thundering into the uneven surface of the wall. I find myself face-to-face with a tall, imposing woman around my age. She has dark skin and darker eyes that are only emphasized by the bronze mask wrapping around her face, her perfectly braided hair wrapped into an up-do at the crown of her head.
“State your business.” Her voice is pleasant but dry, and it’s only through trying to answer her that I realize her forearm is digging into the hollow of my throat. Zane’s light fingers grip onto her wrist. I had all but forgotten he was there.
“She’s with me, Fulton,” he says, a warning laced into the words.
The pressure recedes, and when I finally gulp in a breath, it is around the lump of pressure lodged there.
