Page 54 of Cruel Pawn
“I’ll do your hair,” Arden offered, as if that would change anything. “I’ve been practising beachy waves.”
“You’ve—” I turned to give him a strange look, those words completely incongruous with my kidnapper. “What?”
“I look very fetching with them. I’ll show you some time.” He kissed my forehead and stepped back. My eyes betrayed me by following the sharp line of his jaw down to his tattooed neck and the perfect fit of his suit jacket. “Like what you see, my opera?”
“Don’t make me cut the other side of your throat,” I muttered, leaning against the locked door with my arms over my chest.
Arden smiled. Goosebumps broke out on the back of my neck. I didn’t like that smile one bit. I was clever and knowing and devious. It was the smile of a man who knew he would get what he wanted.
“Was there a reason you took so many jobs, my opera? Saving for something, perhaps?”
My eyes sharpened on him, and I strangled my breath before it caught and gave me away. “What do you know?”
“Everything.” He unhooked the wedding dress and held it out to me. “And when I say everything, I don’t just know what you were searching for and why.”
I accepted the dress numbly, a tingle in my face. “How?”
“I told you, Priya, I knoweverythingabout you.” His stare gentled, the backs of his fingers brushing my jaw. “I know you lost your parents when you were ten because someone had them taken out.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Do you know who?”
He slid closer, moving as sleekly as a predator. “A better man might give you the information you’ve spent most of your life searching for, for free.”
“But?” I prompted, breathless. Did he know who killed them? Did he know the name I’d been searching for this whole time?
“But I’m a villain, my opera. Marry me, and I’ll tell you who killed your parents, and we can hunt him down together and make him beg for death.”
I went cold all over, numb down to my toes. He knew. He really knew. Arden wasn’t a liar, as much as I wanted to deny this. That victorious look in his eye, that smile, that deviousness—he really knew, and was well aware he had me shackled to him with that information. No wonder he let me run.
“For always and ever, my opera,” he said as a promise, a reminder, a threat.
I stripped without feeling my fingertips, and pulled the wedding dress up my legs, reeling so hard I barely felt the smooth silk lining caress my body. I turned without comment, and Arden actuallyleaptto fasten my buttons. He laid reverent kisses to each inch of my back as he closed the buttons, his lips scorching hot.
“How?” I asked, my stomach in flux at how close I was to finally achieving my goal. Finally, justice for my parents. Finally, answers about their deaths.
Who took them out? Why? Grandfather hadn’t even been able to uncover that truth, but Terry Lyons, an up-and-coming gangster I worked a job for five years mocked me by offering to give me a name, in return for five million. I’d been working all this time to buy that name, especially since all my attempts to kill Lyons had failed. He was a slippery bastard and had more power now than ever thanks to deals with bent cops and corrupt politicians.
“I saw all your notes, pretty girl,” Arden replied, the term of endearment finding its mark in my soft heart. I glared and yanked myself away. “I know Terry Lyons is holding a name over your head for a ruthless sum of money. My dad Kavan went toschool with that douchebag, so it was pretty easy to lure him out of hiding. He’s tragically dead now.”
I froze, cold crawling across the back of my neck. “Tell me he passed on the name to you before he died.”
“Yep.” Arden’s grin returned. “Sit here, my pretty opera, and I’ll curl your hair.”
I sat. And stared at the fading wallpaper as he lovingly styled my hair, an empty space filling my chest. Was I going into shock? I’d been trained to handle shock, but I never saw this coming. I should have seen this coming. Arden knew everything else about me; of course he knew about my parents and my hunt for their murderer.
I barely blinked as Arden braided red roses into my hair and daubed makeup on my face.
“Would this red look good on me, too?” he mused, holding up the lipstick he’d painted on my lips with shocking precision. “Priya.” He put the makeup down with a sigh, taking my hand to give it a squeeze. “Talk to me.”
“You knew all this time,” were the words that came out, forcing past everything else I wanted to snap. Instead of a snarl, they emerged flat and aching. “But you kept it from me so you could leverage me into marriage.”
“I warned you I was crazy about you,” he replied, unapologetic. His lips lingered at my forehead, burning their imprint into my temple. “All you have to say is two words, pretty girl, and everything I know will be yours.”
“Divorce exists, you know,” I sniped.
“Not for us.”
He approached the wriggling man tied to the chair and ripped the tape off his mouth. The sound was viciously satisfying. My heart quickened despite myself.
