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Dinner was mostly silent, a battle of wills as he watched me eat. I didn’t compliment him on his cooking or thank him, nor did I fight him as I consumed every last bite of chicken and Greek pasta salad barely holding in my groan of satisfaction. I assumed he’d leave as soon as he got his way. Instead, he’d ordered me into the formal living room and declared we’d be playing chess.
He wiped the board with me on our first game, which is no surprise. I’d be bored to tears if it weren’t for the company. I tuck that thought away as I try to ignore his effect on me from a foot away. It’s been a struggle sitting across from him. I’m exhausted from fighting the constant crackle of electricity due to his proximity.
My hate for him continues to grow, along with my attraction. I’m in a constant state of anger and arousal with him near, his smoldering gaze always calculating, assessing, when I catch him watching me.
It’s not intimidation or the power he holds. It’s the intimacy I felt in that kiss and the fact that his words and actions contradict it in every way.
Twice I’ve caught him looking at me with the same curiosity, and twice he’s kept me hostage with his amber gaze. But neither of us has said a word about it.
What’s there to say?
Neither of us wants to want the other. Neither of us wants to feel more than hate and contempt, and yet the draw is so strong, so blatantly obvious, it’s unnerving.
I’m all too happy to deny it until the bitter end of our arrangement. But the fact that he exists at all is still a revelation in and of itself. He’s the essence of an enigma. If he hadn’t of come to me that day at the pool, I would have remained in the dark about him. The fact that Dominic and Sean hid him so effortlessly is alarming.
Well played, boys, well played.
These men are skilled in deception and disguise it as trust. But it’s the bigger picture I see now when I think back to the beginning. And the fact that I’m not sure just how big it is.
“It’s still unbelievable, you know,” I say, moving a pawn only to have it swept away. He’s been anticipating my moves, just as he has every other I’ve made since he came into my life nearly a year ago.
“How so?” He knows exactly what I’m referring to, and it unsettles me even more. Anticipating another’s thoughts is a sign of shared intimacy.
I exhale a breath of frustration. I have to choose my words wisely. Instead, I opt for silence. These head games are grueling.
“In theory,” he says, knowing I’m unwilling to mull over my word choice, “when you take what thieves steal, they can’t exactly file a police report.”
“I know that part, but do they ever retaliate?”
“Stupidly, yes, and often.” He takes my knight. “And why is it so unbelievable? Haven’t you seen enough?”
“In a way, yes, but…”
“But what? Too close for comfort? That’s the beauty of it. You can’t for a second believe what’s going on in your own back yard, and that’s the hardest realization to come to terms with.”
“That’s true.”
His amber eyes flicker as he scans my face. “You know gangs exist, right? But you’ve never been in that environment. You’ve never witnessed a drive-by or seen an initiation, have you?”
“Also true.”
He leans back and crosses his arms, pausing our game.
“Do you believe the Cartel exists?”
“Yes.”
“The Mob?”
“Of course.”
“Why, because you saw GoodFellas?” He shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips. “So why is it so hard for you to believe a group of people banded together for a reason they felt was justifiable enough to warrant extremes to try and evoke change?”
“It’s just so…”
“When you were coerced in, you were just as ignorant until you saw for yourself.”
“Yes.”
