Page 91 of The Pawn
She knows I mean her father. Three dots undulate, disappear then begin again.
Amal: No. But I heard something. Is Michael
She stops typing.
Me: He was killed
I say it so she doesn’t have to.
Amal: I’m so sorry
Me:
Amal: Listen. There’s something else. I think I know what he’s planning for me. Governor. Moore. Do you remember him?
Me: Yes
Amal: I had to sign some contract bullshit. He thinks he’s going to make me marry him. He’s planning on killing Cassian and taking over his territory and your family’s and when I marry the governor, no one will be able to touch him.
Me: Moore agreed? There’s a contract?
Amal:
Me: Does he know you’re 17?
Amal: Do you think he cares? Shit. I have to go. I won’t do it. They can’t make me do it. Listen, there was talk about a lakeh?—
She goes offline a moment later.
Me: Amal? What’s going on? I’m going to come get you. Cassian will come. Amal?
Nothing. I read back about Malek’s plans to marry her off to a man old enough to be her father and her easily brushing it off. I look at my hand. Thing is, even if she refuses, they can make her. They can very easily make her. She is unprepared if she thinks she can simply refuse.
I get to my feet and hurry out into the main part of the house.
“Where’s Cassian?” I ask Enzo. He’s the first guard I see.
“Office. Why?” I don’t answer, I just hurry to the study, Enzo on my heels.
“Cassian?” I knock, then open the door. He and Jet are talking. They look up at me, alarm having Cassian on his feet in an instant.
“What is it?” He steps around his desk, and I meet him half-way.
“It’s Amal.” I hand him the iPad. Jet is at his side a moment later. “Malek will force her to marry the governor. He’ll make her. I know he will.”
Cassian’s phone rings.
Jet takes the iPad from him. Cassian walks back to his desk and picks it up. When he looks at the display, his forehead furrows. He swipes his thumb to answer.
“This is Cassian.”
I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but I know it’s a man.
“What? How is that possible?” He pushes a hand into his hair. That hand soon becomes a fist. “I’m on my way.” He disconnects, shoves the phone into his pocket and turns to us.
“What is it?” I ask seeing the panic.
“Seth.” He looks from me to Jet and back. “He had a fall.”
