Page 41 of Forbidden Pawn

Chapter 32

Ryker

I knew it. I knew I couldn’t trust her.

I’m standing in the doorway, watching Grace as she rifles through the drawers of my desk, while my blood boils. Her back is turned to me, but she freezes mid-motion, her body stiffening as she hesitates. She knows I’m here, yet she doesn’t turn around to face me.

“What the hell are you doing?” My voice is edged with a mix of shock and betrayal, but surprisingly composed, considering I feel like I’m about to explode with rage.

Slowly, she turns around to face me, her eyes wide, lips parted, the perfect sight of a thief caught in the dead of night. The documents she’s holding tremble in her hands, and she’s holding them up to her chest, as if to shield herself from the inevitable.

“I was just…,” she stammers, glancing down at the papers as if they might suddenly provide a believable excuse. “I thought I…”

She trails off, but her silence speaks volumes. I take a step forward, my eyes narrowing as an uncomfortable thought knocks at the back of my head. I’ve had this thought before, but I cast it aside, thinking it was too farfetched and just a sign of my ridiculous paranoia. But there’s no doubt left in my mind now. The pit in my stomach tightens with realization.

“It’s you,” I say, the accusation heavy in the air between us.

She blinks, visibly puzzled, her expression shifting between confusion and guilt. “I’m… what?”

“The mole,” I growl, coming closer, my words coming out sharp as a knife. “You’re the mole. You’ve been snooping around and feeding information to people on the outside.”

Her face pales as I come closer.

“I knew someone was leaking information about our operations, feeding details to the wrong people, and I’ve been wondering for weeks who it was. It was you.”

Each word lands hard, my frustration boiling over.

She stares at me, momentarily speechless, before she regains her voice.

“Weeks? I haven’t been here that long,” she counters. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I narrow my eyes, studying her pretty face. A face that fooled me into thinking she might actually be an innocent victim in all of this, an innocent victim seeking solace in my arms. But no, she’s a fucking snake, just as I feared she might be.

“You’re scaring me,” she says now, looking at me with slanted eyes, appealing to my good side. There’s a subtle flicker that betrays her denial, and every instinct inside of me screams that I’ve let her too close, that I was a fool for trusting even an inch.

My anger surges as I grab her by the wrist and the documents slip from her hands, scattering across the floor like evidence.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I shout, the betrayal clawing at me. How could I have been so blind, so careless? All the signs were right there, and I ignored them, because I’m a fucking idiot who was too focused on getting laid.

Her face twists in defiance before she protests. “I’m not lying! I’m no mole. I don’t even know who these ‘wrong people’ are or what fucking operation you’re talking about. I’m not—”

“Shut up!” I snap, cutting her off, my grip tightening as I pull her out of my office.

She twists in my grip, writhing as she fights against me, trying to yank her wrist free. But I’m done playing games. Her betrayal feels like a knife twisted in my gut, and there’s no way I’m letting her back into her nice and comfy bedroom. I holdher tighter, feeling every kick and shove she throws at me, her shouts growing louder, filling the hall with her protests.

“Let me go!” she yells, her voice laced with desperation as her fists pound against my chest. Her nails scrape against my arms, and she kicks her feet, struggling to get out of my hold. But the more she fights, the stronger my grip becomes. I lift her off the ground, her legs swinging as she tries to find a foothold, and I continue to move down the stairs. She’s a delicate little thing, weighing next to nothing in my arms and her silly punches have little to no effect on me.

“You know what?” I say, my voice cold as I carry her through the hall. “I lied when I said there was only one room here that locks from the outside. But you will not like this one as much as your pretty bedroom.”

She bucks against me; her struggles intensifying as we reach the basement door. I swing it open, the heavy, dark wood creaking as we step into the cold, dimly lit stairwell. The basement stretches below us, clean and dry but cold and uninviting. I’ve rarely ever used it, because I have no need for storage and my most important secrets are stored digitally, anyway. The floors are a dark tiles, lined by exposed brick walls that lead down a narrow hallway.

“No!” she cries, her voice echoing in the silence as I drag her down the stairs, her feet skidding on the steps, struggling against me. She digs her nails into my arm, trying to pull herself free, but I barely feel it over the fury pulsing through me. Every curse, every desperate plea, only fuels my anger.

When we reach the bottom, I pull her down the narrow hallway, her feet scraping against the floor as I steer her to the end, toward the small, windowless room I’ve kept empty. She jerks her head, trying to see around, trying to understand where she is, but I shove her forward, forcing her down the narrow hall until we reach the final door.

I open it and push her inside, hard enough that she stumbles, catching herself against the wall. The room is bare, walls stark and unadorned, the floor cold beneath her feet. She spins around to face me, her eyes wide in shock.

“Don’t!” she cries out, but I slam the door shut, the lock clicking into place.

---