Page 33 of Pawn

“All aboard!” the conductor calls.

Damien leads us to the last car, and when I enter, it’s far from what I arrived on.

“Wouldn’t be Damien King if it wasn’t fancy,” Allie says, patting Damien on the back before she makes her way into the car.

I’m still frozen by the door in awe. “Is this whole car ours?” Looking around makes me feel like I’m on the train equivalent of the Titanic. A couple of large grey sofas line both sides, a huge bed in the back next to what looks like a minibar. Lamps with blue shades hang from the ceiling matching the gold and blue decor, fluffy pillows arranged throughout.

“If you want, you can join the commoners in Business,” Damien says, striding towards the bed in the back with sheets that look as comfy as fancy hotels.

When I mimic his comment, he laughs, throwing his duffel onto the bed as I walk further in. Allie’s already made herself comfortable on a sofa, tapping away on her phone. A smile spreads across her face and I can only bet Lea’s on the other line.

Damien slips off his jacket, tossing it on the mattress, his tattoos on display again. “You gonna be comfy there, Perez?” he asks, running a hand through his hair like he’s on a goddamn runway, a bicep popping with his movements. “Or you want the bed?”

Allie doesn’t even look at him when she answers, waving her hand, “Thanks, I’m good.” Unlike me, she looks comfy in all this high-end luxury. I thought I’d get used to it but I was way wrong.

“All set?” A woman sticks her head in the car. “I’ll be your attendant tonight and if you need anything just press this button.” She points to a blue button at the end of the car, there’s an identical one next to Damien’s bed.

I didn’t even know they had private train cars but of course, High School Billionaire over there shows me different.

Damien nods and she gives him a smile before closing the door. I don’t have a passport for this overnight trip to Quebec but Damien doesn’t seem bothered. I won’t admit it calms my nerves having him here. That’ll be admitting I actually need him.

“Getting comfy with me, Medusa?” he asks, flopping on the bed with his arms behind his head. That makes his shirt lift enough to get a look at his lower abs as he crosses his legs.

“Ew.” Allie comes back to earth. “If you guys are fucking I’ll take Business class.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not doing a damn thing,” I protest, sitting on the sofa across from her. Not that we already haven’t

“Yet,” he says, his eyes closed, perfect face to the ceiling. There’s only a hint of the bruises he got from Marion’s henchman, his smooth complexion coming back. “She can’t last six hours with me in this bed. No way.”

Ignoring him, I pull my calculus book from my backpack, setting the heavy hardcover on my legs. After a few moments, the train starts to rock back and forth, signalling that we’re on our way, out of Eden.

From the corner of my eye, Damien pulls his headphones out of his duffel bag. With his phone in his face, punk rock blares, and I wonder how he doesn’t go deaf. The song he’s playing makes me tap my foot and I know he’s watching because he smirks.

“Fucker,” I mumble, and when I do he lets out a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifts higher, revealing that chiselled washboard and my body betrays me, lip going behind my teeth.

Allie lifts her head, an eyebrow raised. “You okay?”

“Yep, fine,” I say before I realize that was way too quick of an answer. Is the whole ride gonna be like this? If I stayed back at the mansion at least I could close the door, block him out. But he knows how to dangle that syringe in front of my face. He knows I’ll use it if I come close.

Trying to keep my focus on math is damn near impossible. Damien makes a show of making himself visible, even when I turn my back to him. Allie’s quick to fall asleep curled up on her sofa but just like the past week, shut eye’s not coming for me.

It’s not coming for Damien either.

“Shit, it’s late,” Damien finally speaks when we’re about two hours into our trip. “You tired, Jo?”

Allie’s snoring away, phone clutched to her chest when I do the thing I shouldn’t. Look his way. He stands at the edge of the bed, pulling off his shirt like he’s in the middle of a Calvin Klein ad.

The room slows, Damien’s body catching the dim light above and I can make out every ripple, every muscle he’s showing off. It ignites that tingle between my legs, that twist in my stomach. He hasn’t played hockey in weeks and he still looks like he can own it on the rink. In bed.

“I’m not tired,” I reply.

“Me either,” he says, walking over to the bar. “Bourbon?” He wiggles a bottle he takes from the small metal shelf. “You always sleep like an angel after some good whiskey. Or a good fuck.” He’s speaking in that low, deep way that makes me curl my toes in my boots. “But we all know you’re far from an angel, Medusa.”

“I don’t want to drink with you,” I groan before I sit up, giving him that glare again. “Matter of fact, I don’t wanna do anything with you cause someone will end up dead and I actually like Allie.”

“That’s not what it sounded like the other night,” he chuckles, pouring amber liquid into two sparkling glasses. “You know, when you were calling me ‘God’ with my head between your legs? Is that what you need instead, Rowland? Me between your legs?”

My eyes widen and I glance at Allie. Still asleep. Grabbing a thick pillow from beside me, I send it flying at his head. “Can you stop being an ass?”

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