Page 44 of Spearcrest Queen

Maximilian Fitzpatrick stands beneath the ostentatious light of a Baccarat chandelier—his own personal limelight. His red-blond hair is pushed back in sleek waves, his mouth already curling in a way that makes me want to introduce his teeth to my fist.

“There are more useful people you could be brown-nosing than me, Fitzpatrick,” I answer him after taking my time swallowing my food. I know perfectly well that’s not what he was doing, but I’m more interested in pissing him off than anything else. “Shouldn’t you be sucking up to the Big Law partners and federal circuit judges or wiping off a Supreme Court clerk from your chin?”

Max plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter without so much as looking, his eyes, a pale brown like polluted water, fixed on me.

“Like your girl’s doing, you mean?”

Maximilian says it in such a friendly way that his words take a split second to land.

I know exactly why he says it and what he wants me to do.

And actually, our interests are aligned: Maximilian wants me to lose control, and I want to beat him until there’s nothing left of him but a pile of mush and blood with two shiny cufflinks in it.

But I muster all my self-control. This evening is too important to Sophie, and I refuse to be the one who’ll fuck this up for her.

“You’re not usually so behind on gossip,” I tell him with a shrug. “Or you’d have aimed a better shot than that, since I’m currently single.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Did she figure there was bigger fish she could catch?”

A poorly calculated shot.

Out of all the reasons Sophie would want to keep me her secret, or even break up with me, it could never be because she was trying to find herself a richer guy. If anything, it’s the opposite: it’s the poor, humble guys that walk into her life I’d have to worry about.

“Maybe,” I say, throwing an exaggerated look around the room. I scan the clusters of judges, CEOs, law firm partners—New York’s elite chattering over cocktails and bellinis. “Good thing your father isn’t here tonight, Fitzpatrick: isn’t he exactly the kind of fish that likes getting caught?”

We both know why Senator Fitzpatrick’s not at the gala: he can’t go anywhere without being trailed with allegations of coercing inappropriately young women into having sex with him before paying them off.

My insult, unlike Maximilian’s, is a bullseye shot. I watch him physically recoil at my words, his smirk wavering like the flicker of a dying lightbulb. His jaw clenches, muscles twitching like he’s chewing broken glass.

Because if there’s one thing Maximilian can’t buy away or laugh off, it’s the fact that his father is a degenerate fucking predator.

“Last call on donations, so I better run.” I give him a smile that’s just his own earlier smirk thrown back at him. “Enjoy my mom’s party.”

Max lets out a breathy laugh, a thin, reedy sound. “Pride comes before the fall, Knight.”

I flash him a grin, tilting my champagne towards him in a mock toast.

“I’m sure you know that better than anybody else.”

And I walk away with the satisfaction of having his blood on my knuckles without ever raising a fist.

22

Checkmate

Sophie

When I first enteredthe gala, I felt like a young soldier, a fresh, nervous recruit stepping out onto a battlefield of marble and gold, every sound and smell an assault on my senses, every diamond-strewn figure a faceless enemy.

But I was wrong.

The gala isn’t a battlefield; it’s a chessboard. Every piece has its own value, its own moveset, its own importance. There are pawns and rooks and bishops and queens and kings. Any piece can be conquered, if I know how to.

Because I’m not a piece on the chessboard: I’m the player standing above it.

I’m deep in conversation with two partners from a Manhattan firm when Alice Liu sidles up to me, making an excuse to steal me away. The men nod and smile, and I feel their eyes follow us as Alice draws me in the direction of the bar, where she turns to me with a knowing look.

“Well?” I ask, tipping mychin up.

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