Page 80 of A Game So Reckless

As we move to the edge of the room, my clutch purse, which I’ve largely forgotten is hanging from my elbow, bumps my side, reminding me of its existence.

And reminding me of what’s inside.

My heart batters its way up to my throat as I furtively scan the room to see if anyone’s noticed me leave the dance floor with Darragh. No one stops me. No one calls my name.

No one draws a gun.

I reach a single wood door – not one that leads out of the venue, but one that leads further in – and pull it open.

Chapter32

Valentina

Ahallway with lush green carpeting leads to a set of bathrooms. I tug Darragh towards them, and then beyond them. We move through another hallway, then a dark and empty sitting room, then another hallway, until we reach the end of this particular path.

It ends in a library.

It’s not a huge library. More of a cozy-yet-lavish study, with floor-to-ceiling books on every wall, a wooden desk on one side, and two leather armchairs with a table between them on the other. On the table stands a chess board with all its pieces set up for a game.

A click makes me halt my observation of the room. I turn around just in time to see that Darragh’s locked the door behind us. He doesn’t linger on that, doesn’t give me too much of a chance to panic, because he lets go of my hand, then, stalking over to the desk and turning on the small lamp there.

Once the light is on, he turns to face me once more. He leans his hips back against the desk and grips its edge with his hands.

“Take off your mask.”

The command feels oddly intimate. Even more revealing than if he’d asked me to take off my dress.

“Why?”

His nostrils flare. A muscle feathers in his jaw.

“Because it’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve seen your face,” he replies, his voice so harsh and grating it nearly cracks, “and so help me, Valentina, if I have to go one more goddamned minute, I think my head’s going to explode.”

His words fall between us, hitting the floor like stones at my feet.

“Turns out,” he mutters, yanking off his own mask and scrubbing a rough hand down his face, “this withdrawal shit’s a fucking nightmare.”

He stops rubbing his face and drags a hand through his hair, pushing back the dark red strands.

He’s gone two weeks without me.

He’s in withdrawal.

And it’s a nightmare.

The realizations come at me like punches I can’t dodge. My ribs feel tender in response. My pulse is fast, but everything else feels so, so slow as I hook my fingers beneath the edge of my mask and pull it away.

Something like hunger, something likeagonyflares in Darragh’s gaze. He stares at me, and I stare right back at him.

Because I’ve gone two weeks without seeing his face, too.

And I didn’t realize how much I was actually capable of missing him until now.

His face looks more drawn than usual. Shadows that I thought were from his mask are actually purplish marks beneath his bloodshot eyes, so striking I can’t tell if they’re from lack of sleep or if he’s been punched on both sides.

My fingers twitch to touch him. I fiddle with my clutch instead.

“You look like hell,” I murmur softly.

---