Page 4 of Cruel Pawn
Carmen sniffled against my chest, and my whole world narrowed to that sound as I held her tighter, ducking my face to kiss the perfectly straight parting of her hair. “Let me give youmy number,” I said, and quickly amended my tone when it came out pleading. “Then you can call me if you need to talk.”
“Alright,” she agreed, thick with unshed tears. She drew away from me to pull her phone from her bag and held it out for me to add my number. I really ought to have put my name in as something sane. Like my name.Ardenwould have been completely acceptable, the right choice to make.
I didn’t make the right choice.
She didn’t look at the screen when I handed it back, and I pressed my lips together to hide a smile, fighting the itch in my fingers that urged my to brush her hair back from her face again, to run my fingertips over the plush, irresistible curve of her cheek, to draw her close so I could kiss her.
“I’ll call you,” she offered with a sad smile, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Sorry for crying on you, and—thank you for understanding.” This time her smile was as bright as the sun. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to. I don’t really have friends.” Her smile dropped. “Ugh, that was a sad fact to admit, I should—”
“No,” I rushed to stop her, catching her hand again, physically unable to hold back the desire to touch her. My heart beat harder at the feel of her hand in mine, soft and calloused at once, delicate and strong. Fuck, I wanted her too badly. “There’s something about you, Carmen. I feel comfortable around you, like I could tell you my whole life’s story and you wouldn’t judge me. I’m fucking honoured you can talk freely around me, too.”
Her expression softened, her eyes growing wider, framed by those thick lashes. I wanted to count them. Was that insane? I knew that was insane, but I suddenly wanted to know how many lashes framed those beautiful eyes I couldn’t look away from.
“It feels like I was meant to meet you here,” she said, then ducked her head with a laugh. “Like god pushed us together, spilled coffee and all.”
“I feel the same.” I admitted breathlessly. She wasthe one—I knew it, felt it, had no doubt at all. This woman was the love of my life. The whole world seemed to shift on its axis, to move in slow motion to allow us more time together.
She wrapped her fingers around the strap of her bag, and I was instantly jealous of leather. “I’ll call you. I’d like to talk to you again.”
“I’m free anytime,” I said excitedly, then kicked myself. I didn’t want to scare her off. Not that she could run anywhere I wouldn’t follow. She was right when she said fate drew us together, and now I’d do anything in my power to have her.
It physically hurt me to watch her walk away, but I returned to the seat and got out my phone, ready to hunt her down and find out every last detail about my future wife.
3
Priya
Everything was going according to plan. It was easy to con Arden. Practically child’s play. So why was I irritated?
I stood in my attic, already dressed in my outfit for the date we’d set up later this afternoon and scowled at the wall. Silvio called me a cliché, but I couldn’t help my love of murder boards. There was something so satisfying about seeing the information organised and connected. The wall was pinned with photos and documents and screenshots of scant bits and pieces I’d managed to track down about Arden McFadyen, red string creating a network between them. I knew more about his family now, but very little about the man himself.
Meeting Arden had proven every theory I’d begun to make wildly inaccurate. He was like an overeager puppy—trusting and soft-hearted and kind. Vulnerable to a pretty face and a sob story. It didn’t fit the man who hid so much of his life. A man like him would plaster every last detail of himself on social media.But even running an image search with the photo I’d discreetly taken in Weasel Bean, I’d found little.
He was the owner and CEO of PamPurr, a spa subscription box for spoiled cats. It was over-consumerism at its finest, but I killed people for a living so who was I to judge owners who wanted to buy their pets paw balm and luxury shampoo and genuine rose quartz rollers? For what, you ask? Massaging their tiny, furry faces. It was ridiculous. And yet another piece of the puzzle that was Arden.
I’d managed to find an old social media account full of gloomy selfies, overdramatic song lyrics, and so much teen angst I could choke on it. From that I’d learned his home life and childhood hadn’t been perfect, and I could connect that to him going to live with the Marshalls at thirteen but that was all I had. A hint at a shitty childhood, a luxury pet company, and the fact he drank coffee with enough sweet syrups to rot his teeth with a single cup.
Who the fuck was Arden McFadyen?
Mafia-adjacent, and yet squeaky clean. No criminal record. One singular parking ticket. A passing mention of him graduating college in an old newsletter, with a grainy photo as proof. And fuck all else.
Was he so private because he was deeply involved in the Marshalls’ bloody, criminal business? Or because he had something else to hide? Only rebels and clinically insane people and serial killers didn’t have an online presence.
“At some point, you need to admit that you’re obsessing over this guy because he might be like you,” Silvio said, his tinny voice making me jump hard. Shit, I forgot I had him on speakerphone.
“I don’t think he’s like me,” I scoffed. No one was like me.
“And yet the fact he’s not chronically online like most of us is a thorn in your psychotic side. Why? Because it’s abnormal, and you wonder if he’s the same brand of abnormal as you.”
I rolled my eyes this time, my stare always returning to the photo I had pinned in the middle of the wall, taken from PamPurr’s website. Arden was dressed in another sleek shirt, this one a charcoal grey, and he had the top two buttons unfastened, showing the smooth, pale column of his throat. Annoyingly appealing.
“It’s not just that,” I muttered, scowling at my phone like my friend could see me. “It’s—him. He’s smiley andniceand loves cats and waved off me spilling coffee on him even though he should be a rich jerk.”
“Hm.”
“And someone put a hit on him!” I said emphatically, gesturing at the wall. I made a new one with every job. There were usually a lot more connections.
“So, you like him because he’s… nice?”
